#a blood stain or a lipstick kiss or even a really good bruise is just as wonderful a reminder as a trinket

[my-burnt-city]

have you even spent a loop with vini's agamemnon if you don't come out of the show in such a state that the foh staff feel the need to be extra reassuring about how easily stage blood washes out of clothes

[kosmosguk]

Bloody Artistry (M) ~🥀

pairing: celeb! kim taehyung x journalist! reader; minor pairings: jungkook x reader, coworker jimin x reader (platonic)

Word Count: 8K

Summary: when the scrutiny of fame becomes too much, perfect kim taehyung finds his peace within a lavish bathroom located two blocks away from the nearest club, a corpse in the bed with him. the fans have never questioned his behavior, not when his company is much too good at cleaning up his mess to not have done it before, but when a reporter with too many questions threatens to break the peace he’s established, he finds himself in a tango with the devil that he can’t bring himself to want to break.

[Warnings: MURDER, death, literally Taehyung being a sick bastard 25/8 (but only in fiction), company corruption, violence, yandere themes, mentions of noncon smut (intoxication, mentions of being drugged, fingering), blackmail, obsession, stalking. EVERYTHING that happens in this fic is FICTION; plz don’t go busting nuts for serial killers]

A/N: Thank you to yoongissugarmommy for requesting this! Part 1 of a short series starring Taehyung. Was going to do smth similar to Lineage with him, but this has been staying in my drafts for too long (like i wrote most of this before I even wrote Lineage, which is why my writing for part of this is a bit different from my current one), and I feel like going a bit modern now to take a break from Lineage (taking a bit to write pt. 4 just because it’s the end of the main story). Thank you for 2.9k followers! We’re only less than 50 away from 3K which is so wild to think about; kisses and hugs to everyone who’s supported my work! 

“Today, in the studio, we have our nation’s golden boy, the first love of all of our viewers: Kim Taehyung. Everyone, please clap your hands for him!’’

The MC turned to grin at the audience as the audience cheered loudly; her glossy black hair swept down and framed her face delicately in perfect shiny strands. The lipstick that coated her unnaturally wide smile was a deep shade of red, stark against her pale white skin. Dressed in her primly pressed suit, she looked lovely, like a blooming rose, but as she turned to face the guest star, his presence seemed to easily outshine her own.

“Thank you for having me. It’s an honor to have an interview here and have an opportunity to see all of my lovely fans,’’ Taehyung’s deep voice rang out as he smiled in his heart-swooning way, flashing pure-white teeth handsomely in a carefully maintained and practiced way that made all the fans, both in the studio and watching from beyond a screen, unable to resist letting out shrieks and screams.

“Now, Taehyung-ssi, with a record-breaking album that topped the charts as soon as it came out and a modelling gig that sells out magazines faster than before, how does it feel to have really made it? It must stress you out. Any tips on how to relax?’’

Taehyung leaned back slightly in his seat, his smile flashing coy for a brief second before settling into a rehearsed contemplative expression. He shrugged his shoulders, letting them drop out, as he made a soft hmm noise.

“How I relax? It’s not that big of a deal, really, but that’s an interesting question to ask, noona,’’ Taehyung widened his eyes slightly, looking ever so much like the golden boy persona he had stickered upon his reputation,’’ When I’m really, really stressed, I like to play with Tannie, my dog, and eats lots of yummy food that my mom sends to me when I get stressed. Also, my manager Namjoon is a good person to talk to when I’m really stressed; he always knows what to do and say.’’ Taehyung tapped the tip of his nose lightly, scrunching his face in an expression that made fans coo in adoration. “I also like to think of my fans and read all the letters they’ve sent me. I saved all of my letters from my beloved fans since my debut, and I like looking through them.’’

“Hey, Kim Namjoon, fucking hurry up,” Taehyung hissed into the cellphone pressed against his flawless cheek,” My shoes are going to get stained at this point. You know blood is a pain to properly get out of letter.’’

“Were you at least careful this time? We don’t want rumors getting out,” Namjoon’s voice crackled over the receiver, barely a hint of emotion in his voice. The beeping and honking of cars on his side of the phone call signaled the rush his manager was making towards his location.

Taehyung huffed in agitation, clicking his tongue sharply in annoyance as he skimmed his nails for any trace of dried blood. “Oh, come on, you think I really even care at this point? With the way the company takes care of everything, you’d think perfect ol’ me was…well perfect. But still, aren’t you guys way too good at this job? 7 girls and not even a peek from the public. Who else do you do this for, huh? Suga-sunbae? J-hope-sunbae?”

There was no reply. Taehyung threw his gaze over to the practically mangled body. Too bad, he thought to himself, she was really pretty this time. Red lipstick, silky black hair, wanted to become better acquainted with such a famous celebrity after her little interview, the whole fanatic spiel tied with a pretty bow of the title of an mc. She would’ve never thought that she’d go from being a bed-warmer to being so cold.

“I must be right then, huh? Suga-sunbae I can see, but J-Hope-sunbae…’’ Taehyung whistled lowly under his breath. “I thought you’d at least deny that. It’s the bright ones you gotta watch out for.’’

A dial noise was the only response. Did…Did this bastard hang up on him? Taehyung grimaced before three knocks rang on the door of the hotel suite, a signal from his asshole manager that Namjoon had finally arrived. Taehyung rolled back his shoulders, his joints crackling a little, and made sure all of his jewelry was perfectly back in place before he opened the door.

As Namjoon shuffled in with some of the staff members, Taehyung clasped his silver watch around his wrist with a soft click. He rolled his neck, trying to get the stiffness out of it, and exposed purple marks and bruises from the bites the now dead girl had given him when they had been fucking earlier.

Finally, his headache was gone.

You chugged down a cup of stale coffee and wiped the dribble of liquid that escaped the corner of your mouth as you clicked off some article about a newbie mc receiving slander after rumors of her making moves on a popular idol was exposed and disappearing to avoid the backlash. Squinting at your screen with dry eyes, you pursed your lips and snapped the laptop shut, pushing the device away from you in an agitated huff.

“Wbat’s got you in the gutters, huh? Let me guess…,’’ Park Jimin, your desk mate, rolled his chair over to your side, his glasses askew on his nose,” Ah, your favorite celebrity go into a dating scandal? Let me think, who was it that recently go into a scandal… Oh, is it that pretty boy from a new idol group?’’

You gave him the stink-eye, and your sigh this time was even louder.

“You’d think there’d be something more…interesting going with these celebrities that we could get our hands on. Too much money, lots of stress, yet no story that’ll really seize the audience by surprise, and don’t you dare say a dating scandal would do it. Boss’s been on my case for the whole week on writing an article to shock the audience and wants me to release a major headliner story in two weeks, or that asshole’ll fire me. Damn it, Kim Seokjin!” you hissed out before slamming your forehead onto the desk.

“Man, be careful with your volume; if he hears your tone, he’ll chew you out for another hour that you could be using to research. Boss Kim is picky like that with everyone because our company’s a small piece of seaweed in a system dominated by crustaceous predators.” Jimin poked you in the side jokingly, his plush lips spread in a wide smile that lit up his exhausted face. “Just think really hard; use that big brain of yours and focus on a celebrity. Come on, no one’s perfect, even that one super famous idol Kim Taehyung must have some flaws, so don’t sweat it.”

“That golden boy? Man, the whole nation’s pussy-whipped for him. He couldn’t possibly be anything bu—,’’ you sharply inhaled before pushing your seat back and rapidly swiveling to face Jimin,’’ Park. Fucking. Jimin. Oh my God, you’re a fucking genius! A whole career with not even a speck of dirt… Come on, even pure-faced idol Soyeon was caught with a scandal last month. There must be something on the nation’s golden boy!’’

Jimin’s eyes widened in surprise with your sudden outburst, and he opened his mouth to speak. “Be careful about the way you go when you try to fish out info on him. His company’s security isn’t something easy to get through, and not a single celeb from that company has gotten into a single scandal. No reporters been able to get any dirt from them…”

“Which means that…there’s something sketchy happening. Jimin, Jimin, have I told you I’m in love with you?’’

You turned around quickly in your chair, spinning in glee. Jimin dropped his mouth open to sputter something, and his cheeks were tinging red, but you weren’t looking at or even listening to Jimin at hat point, having already cracked open your laptop to furiously type Kim Taehyung into Naver. This was it! Your big break! Your motivation sky-rocketed, and you felt the first rush of energy that wasn’t fueled by some caffeinated drink in a long while.

Two hours later, you were ready to throw up.

All of the results were sickeningly the same bullshit, as what was expected for someone as beloved by the nation as Kim Taehyung was. You couldn’t fathom the amount of fancams and magazine spreads of him posing on some brown leather sofa and fact pieces—hell, you even knew what kind of socks the man liked—that you had spent the past hours scrolling through.

Realizing that the office was nearly empty, and that the sky was dimming into a dark hue, you were about to shut down your laptop and call it a long fucking day when a tweet on someone’s SNS caught your eye.

@truth-teller: kim taehyung? nation’s golden boy? are you all really sure about that nonsense?

The tweet was spammed with angered replies, so many that the thread seemed to stretch on for at least a mile, but your interest was piqued. This was the first word of slander you had ever witnessed against Taehyung. You quickly pounded out a message to the account.

@name_01: hey, I saw your tweet about taehyung! Do you perhaps have any more information on him? I find him suspicious too.

You tapped send and waited with bated breath for a reply. Minutes crept by, and you were about to turn off your phone and head out of work when you noticed three dots pop up, dancing before disappearing.

@truth-teller: you fr? I had to suspend my acc because of all the spam I got. No one’s believed me on it, but I have proof

You chewed on your lip. What if this was a joke, and you were just wasting your time on some internet troll with too much time on their hands. It seemed like you were taking too long to reply because another message popped up.

@truth-teller: if you don’t believe me then that’s fine. I don’t have to waste my time

@name_01: WAIT! Sorry, it took me a second to comprehend this information… Please tell me more.

You were worried that the account wouldn’t reply anymore, and that you had ruined your opportunity before the three dots popped up again and another message was sent.

@truth-teller: ok, if you want to find out more let’s move to a better messaging platform, just in case my acc gets suspended by more fans. here’s my number: xxx-xxx-xxxx

It was a gamble to send some stranger on the internet your number, but at this point, you were too desperate to really give a damn. There was a story just out of the reach of your fingertips; you would be a fool to deny the carrot on a stick you were being provided.

@name-01: okay, I’ll message you.

Name: hey! Truth-teller right? This is me from the messages

JK: yeah that’s me. I prefer JK when I’m not on sns tho

Name: I’m (y/n). I don’t mean to sound like I’m hurrying you, but I want to hear what you have to say about Taehyung.

JK: lol r u a reporter or smth? Real bossy of you keke

You sucked in a breath. Should you reveal that?

Name: haha would it be bad if I said I was?

There was no response for the next 15 minutes. Exhaling a long sigh, you decided that you should at least maneuver your way home; the office had been cleared out completely during your conversation with this JK, and you couldn’t help the creeps that the emptiness gave you. If anything, the walk back to your place would give you some outlet for the nervous energy radiating throughout you. You were nearly at the door of your apartment when your phone vibrated in your pocket, signaling a message.

JK: just checking. Makes sense that you’re one though. It’d be nice if you could break this story out, but I hope you trust me enough after I tell you what I know

You clicked the door shut behind you, your eyebrows creased as you stared at your phone screen.

Name: don’t worry. I trust you!

You dropped your bag down onto the sofa before throwing your body onto the seat. The three dots under JK’s name popped up for several minutes before disappearing. In the place of the three dots, a long message had been typed out.

JK: I didn’t really think much of taehyung when I first heard about him since he’s the nation’s golden boy or whatever bs title they call him nowadays, but my sister’s friend was a big fan of him. she went out with my sister and they met him in some shady club in gangnam. my sister’s friend got to talk to him exclusively and my sister got separated from her and got a text from her friend saying that she had smth come up and she already went home. she tried to contact her friend the day after, but she got a text back saying that her friend wasn’t feeling well. my sister’s friend was “best friends’’ with her but she didn’t contact my sister again until a week later saying she got a job opportunity overseas and already was about to board on the plane because it was important she got there fast. my sister’s friend didn’t contact her again like she dropped off the face of the earth

You pursed your lips in contemplation as you tapped out a message back, your nails clicking against the screen.

Name: ?? Are you sure that isn’t a coincidence?

JK: yeah, I thought so too but it was rly sus that my sister’s friend who had known my sister for 12 years to suddenly go overseas for a job opportunity without telling her at all. and when my sister tried to get new contact info from her friend there was no reply. but I got curious and since I do some computer work for my job i wanted to see if I could track the ip address of her phone but there was nothing. her last previous ip was all the way back in gangnam and my sister’s friend lived in incheon. that was a red flag so I decided to go talk to the landlord at my sister’s friend’s old apartment and the landlord said he didn’t see her come back since before that night but woke up to a fully paid lease and the apartment cleared out 

You squinted your eyes at the screen, unable to properly process the information that this so-called JK had just given you. Chewing on your lip, you closed your eyes briefly before opening them back up and typing back a message.

Name: anything else? Sorry…just seems a bit far-fetched.

JK: think whatever then. I have to go to work now

Right when JK’s message popped up, another message pinged on your cell. You refused to let yourself ponder more on JK’s last message as you clicked on your friend’s text notification.

Platonic LOML <3: BAE, R U FREE TONIGHT? I’m lonely n want someone to come with me to this club— ik you’re not into clubs but pretty please

You were about to reply with a refusal when JK’s words came up to your mind again. You didn’t know why, but there was a sharp feeling in your gut that told you that you couldn’t miss this opportunity Call it silly intuition or some coincidental fabrication spurned by your mind, but that feeling persisted until you typed out a reply to your friend.

Name: okay fine. Come over in 30.

Taehyung swirled the liquid in his glass, watching the deep burgundy of the wine stain the glass a soft pink. His head was hurting again, and the new medication he had been taking for them on advice of the company didn’t work.

He scanned the dim, musty club, watching the pulsating lights cloak the dancing bodies in sallow shades of pale yellow. This club was a downgrade from his previous celebrity-exclusive club that he had gone to the previous week, but his manager had told him that if he really wanted peace, he should choose an area where no one would really know him.

Taehyung knew the real reason why his manager had insisted on this. Deaths of other celebrities were much harder to cover up after all.

Pity he actually followed his manager’s advice for once. The wine in here, despite the bougie price tag, was complete shit and provided him a slight buzz at best. And there was no one who really caught his eye out of the crowd of people. As he was about to get up from his seat and leave the club for somewhere with better—he contemplated going back to that celebrity club just to fuck with his company—pickings, he caught sight of someone entering the club.

You looked absolutely gorgeous, swathed in a black shift that you kept fighting to keep over your ass—and god, was it a plump ass too, the kind that made Taehyung’s cock hard in his tight black pants—with hair framing your face in a breathtaking way that showed glimpses of sparkling jewelry. Your friend, some chick with dyed green hair that Taehyung didn’t bother paying attention to, was clinging onto your arm, dragging you near the dance floor.

Taehyung knew.

He couldn’t take his eyes off you.

His head seemed to clear from the mind-numbing throb it always had when he spent too much time without another victim to take his aggression out of. Feeling the cool metal of the blade he always had tucked near his body, Taehyung sat back down in his seat, a playful smile perking at the edges of his lips. Funny enough, the blood thirst that never seemed to properly leave him was gone from his mind, an occurrence that was as rare as the pills the company liked shoving down his throat actually working for once.

You maneuvered your way over to the bar, to him, your friend pouting as she noticed you leaving before melting away into the crowd of grinding bodies. Taehyung swore then and there that the attraction between you and him was absolutely magnetic, with the way you seemed to pull the other towards one another.

He watched as you ordered some pretty-colored martini, adorably scrunching your face as the burn of alcohol coated your tongue and hit the back of your throat with a singe.

Maybe, Taehyung though to himself as he propped his chin lazily on his palm, he should really start listening to his manager more often.

Your mind was in a haze, and you didn’t even notice the man next to you until he was nearly pressed to your side, barely leaving a gap of space between the two of you.

You glanced at him, your tipsy mind suddenly sobering up as you realized who the man sitting next to you was. Kim Taehyung? What the fuck was he doing here?

“Another drink for a pretty lady?” Taehyung’s teeth showed as he charmingly flashed an award-winning coquettish smile at you, his already extremely handsome features seeming to increase in beauty from the grin.

You remembered JK’s words and a chill ran up your spine. God, his messages didn’t seem so implausible now, did they? Goosebumps rose up on your skin, freezing you to the bar table. Were…Were you his next victim?

You swallowed dryly as you tried to calm your racing heartbeat. The side of you that was a reckless journalist wanted to take a nosedive at the headliner just out of reach, but the rational side of you knew that leap of faith had a much bigger chance of you ending up disappearing off for a new job opportunity overseas, as Taehyung’s company would have it. You couldn’t write a good story if you were dead, after all.

“Thank you, but I can pay for my own drinks,’’ your lips twitched slightly as you forced them into a hopefully convincing gentle smile, refusing his offer softly before moving your body casually a few inches away from him,” Having drinks bought by strangers isn’t really my thing.”

Your smile must’ve looked a hell of a lot less nervous than you actually felt and a lot more convincing too because Taehyung’s shoulders, which had previously been winded like he was a predator getting ready to pounce on prey, seemed to relax at your words.

There was a dark gleam in his eyes when he again invaded your personal space and pushed his body near yours. He leaned in and whispered softly into your ears, his voice clear despite the early 2010s hits blaring from the speakers by the dance floor.

“If you’re scared of strangers, why don’t we get to know each other a bit?’’

Your fake smile grew stiff on your face. You felt like you were going to hurl the convenience store meal of ramen that you had scarfed before coming to the club all over the bar and Taehyung’s expensive luxury bran clothes. You could feel a sense of dread in your bones, the kind a prey animal would feel as a predator focused its carnivorous attention on them.

You forced a fake laugh, trying to drive the message that you were just not interested to Taehyung as loud and clear as you could manage.

“No thanks; I have enough people I’m close to. If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ve left my friend alone for far too long on the dance floor.”

You pushed yourself off the bar table, flashing a strained polite smile before you headed over the dance floor, trying to keep your pace slow and steady instead of breaking out into the outright run you wanted to do.

Taehyung inhaled the linger scent of your perfume, a natural smell that sweetly layered itself over the damp musky air of the club. His eyes, even as you tried to focus on the pounding music and forget the fear embedded deeply in your gut, never seemed to leave your form. Even when you burrowed yourself deeply into the crowd away from his view, you could still feel it.

You found yourself painfully sober after that encounter, trying to look normal in front of your friend for the rest of the night that seemed to painstakingly drag on for eternity. Even when you had the short 2-minute walk from the cab you took to your front door, you didn’t stop looking over your shoulder, still feeling the chill that came with the thought of Taehyung’s gaze. When you got inside your home, the bubbling nausea in your stomach took control over you, and you ended up heaving your dinner down the toilet.

When you managed to somewhat pull yourself together, you typed out a quick message with practically shaking fingers to the only one you could think of in that moment would understand what you were feeling, You stared at your unsent message before hastily pressing send.Name: I didn’t know who to talk to, but I saw Taehyung at the club today. I think you’re right about what you said about Taehyung.

Name: I didn’t know who to talk to, but I saw Taehyung at the club today. I think you’re right about what you said about Taehyung.

Ping!

You barely managed to fall asleep that night, and your eyes painfully ached when you peeled your eyelids open, hurriedly grabbing your phone and turning it on to check your messages.

JK: what happened? Sry for late response. Job keeps me busy all night

Your fingers flew over the keyboard as you typed out your message, furrowing your eyebrows in concentration as you tried to relay the events of your night in hopefully comprehensible words.

Name: I went with my friend to some sketchy club idk what area at this point but I went to the bar and I felt someone come up to me ?? I turned and realized it was Taehyung, and he offered to buy me a drink but I declined. Makes me sick how I could’ve been his next victim, so I tried to leave and go back to where there was more ppl in the club, But I can’t stop thinking about the look in his eyes. There was something sickening in them, I couldn’t put my finger on it.

JK didn’t respond for a bit, and you exhaled a trembling breath when his message popped up.

JK: be careful. Im glad you managed to get away

Name: I’m scared. I didn’t know what to do, but hopefully I’ll never see him again once I get this scoop out.

JK: stay safe. Thx for telling me. Text me if anything else happens.

You let out a shaky breath before clicking your phone off, your nerves still rattled but slightly more calmed down after talking with JK. You had to get ready for work, but at this rate, you weren’t even sure how you would be able to get through the day. Maybe you should take a sick day? No, you couldn’t.

The elevator dinged closed behind you as you stepped out of it into the office. As you were about to take a seat at your desk, your boss rushed out of his office, relief, something he never showed to you, evident on his expression once he caught sight of you.

“(Y/n)! Come into my office; I have an important job for you,’’ your boss ushered you into his office without another word, practically pushing a baffled you into the room frantically,” You know the company that manages Kim Taehyung? They reached out and agreed to an exclusive one-on-one interview with Kim Taehyung only, and only, if you agreed to the interview.”

You stiffened, your body frozen as you tried to process the words your boss had just spoken. Your brain seemed to be running a marathon as you computed the words your boss said, and you could only meekly respond with a limp,” Why me? Can’t somebody…Can’t someone else take over? Boss…you know I’m not that experienced.”

Boss Kim barely paid any attention to your words as he rested a hand on your shoulder with a confident look on his face.

“Then, use this opportunity to get more experience. You want to show the world that you’re a journalist by getting a scoop? Then take this interview! You know the company never agrees to exclusive one-on-one interviews unless they’re all staged, but there wasn’t even talk of this being staged at all. If you can use this opportunity and get something big, won’t this be your biggest step towards a great journalist career?’’ your boss exclaimed,’’ If you back out, another chance like this won’t come again!”

As much of an asshole Boss Kim was sometimes, you could find the logic in his words. Besides, it must be a coincidence that Kim Taehyung wanted you specifically to give him an interview; maybe he wanted a newbie, so they wouldn’t have much experience trying to fish out personal details and twist his words.

That’s right. There was no way he even remembered what you looked like. You guys interacted for, what, a solid 2 minutes last night. And if you did this interview right, you could use it as a building block as evidence for the headliner you intended to release with what JK had told you.

You exhaled, nodding your head firmly.

“I will. I’ll take this interview.”

Boss Kim’s face brightened, making him look much more like the stereotypical handsome CEO character found in dramas. Since he always looked exhausted and stressed out, he always seemed more intimidating, an aura that seemed to scare off any thoughts about how gorgeous he actually was. You had to admit: your heart did flutter a bit at his face.

“Excellent! He’s waiting in the meeting room right now! You only need, what, six hours to prepare, right?”

Fuck, you take back that heart flutter. Boss Kim was an asshole.

“S-Sir,’’ you sputtered,” I can’t…’’

Before you even finished your words, Boss Kim was already ushering you back out of the office.

“I believe in you! You got this!”

He closed the door behind you. You swallowed back the mouthful of swears you wanted to spew before scrambling towards your desk.

You weren’t prepared, but you knew you would do anything for a scoop.

Exactly 6 hours and seventeen seconds later, you were primly seated in front of Kim Taehyung.

The seats were annoyingly too close, and you cursed Boss Kim in your heart, knowing that the reason why the chairs were placed in such an unprofessional manner was because Boss Kim wanted to create the perfect intimate setting for no cost. If you tried to extend your legs, you’d end up smacking them straight into Taehyung’s legs.  

You, although disgruntled, had to admit that there was a reason why so many major brands wanted him as their model. He was handsome under the shitty lighting of the musty club last night, but here, with his hair and makeup carefully done despite the fluorescent lighting of the room, he was every synonym of the word beautiful combined into one person.

Blond strands of his hair brushed his chiseled features, and his eyes, curved attractively and framed with delicate long wisps of eyelashes, was intensely focused on your face. He looked ever like a marble statue, carved with attention and detail to be the most perfect specimen artistry could ever create. But he wasn’t perfect; that was what you knew. And that would also be what would you get just one step ahead of him.

You swept a piece of hair and tucked it behind an ear as you scanned your hastily scribbled notes. His eyes clung to that movement, as if he was mesmerized by your every action, and you peeked a look through your lashes. Your eyes met, and you forced a stiff smile.

“Kim Taehyung-ssi,’’ you rolled your shoulders back into a proper posture, gingerly extending a hand out for him to take,” Good morning. It’s an honor to be able to do an interview with you.”

The edges of his lips tilted upward, and there was a playful glint in his eyes as his previous fiercely predatory state melted into the façade he put up in front of the public. He reached out and took your hand, throwing you off guard as he leaned in and pressed a tender kiss on the back of your hand.

“Likewise, it’s an honor to have an interview with you, (Y/n).’’

Yuck, you were going to have to wash your hands later. Anyways, what kind of person even kissed the back of people’s hands nowadays? This was the 21st century for fuck’s sake. You somehow kept your grimace to yourself.

You nervously laughed as you practically yanked your hand back out of his grasp. You casually wiped the back of your hand on the fabric of your skirt, disguising the movement as simply brushing off dust. Taehyung’s eyes didn’t leave any of your movements, and he laughed a little as he realized just what you were doing.

Oh, you were so interesting. You weren’t like the rest of them, the fans that threw themselves at him adoringly; hell, he was sure you weren’t even a fan. He was entranced. When he was close to you, the headaches seemed to fade; he didn’t want to drown himself in another body when he was with you. He didn’t want to kill when he was with you.

You ignored his burning gaze, breezing through the beginning parts of the interview. Finally, you reached the part that you had been anxiously preparing for.

“So, I heard that you’re trying out a new actor role. As a model and an artist and now an actor, we have to admit that your talents are incredibly versatile, Kim Taehyung-ssi.’’ You continued speaking. “Could you tell us a little more about this role?’’

“You flatter me too much, (Y/n).’’ He purposefully had left any formalities to the wind in this interview, a move that made you want to grind your teeth. “Yes, I was offered one of the leading roles in a new thriller movie. I’ll be acting as one of the charismatic but complex characters. I hope to show you and all of my fans a new side to Kim Taehyung.”

“Ah, a new side,’’ you nodded lightly,” Your new role as a charismatic serial killer who targets his admirers is certainly what many would call…complex. How do you go about preparing for such a twisted role?”

“Hmm…,’’ Taehyung’s lips curled up menacingly for a brief moment before fading away into a breezy smile,’’ It’s quite difficult to immerse myself into a role in which I have limited experience in, so I like to read through the script and make a map of what the character is like. What motivates him; what makes him so…complex, as you called it. I pretend to be like the character. How do I make myself think like him? That’s the question I like to try to find an answer to.”

“Ah, this is simply my personal opinion, but to truly play the character requires some true life experience…Is it possible that you’ve ever done anything similar to what the character has done in real life?”

A pin seemed to drop in that very moment from the silence that crowded the room. Everyone in the room froze and stared at you, their glances less than pleasant. You bore it all as you stared intently into his eyes. Slip up, you prayed, do something that will make you slip up. There was not even a brief soft sound in the 10 seconds that it took for Taehyung to respond.

He was rigid, the smile plastered on his face barely fading. Come on, you begged, expose yourself just a bit.

“Your response is lagging for just a bit, Kim Taehyung-ssi. It makes you seem guilty just a bit, doesn’t it?’’

He snapped out of it right then and there.

“I was simply contemplating my response. Your impatience is something not so befitting of a formal interview. To answer your question, isn’t a role just a role at the end of the day? If you think about it, I’m not the only person to have played a role like this. Many actors and actresses have done so without any thought of relating it to their real life. After all, a role is simply an imaginary self.”

You both stared into each other’s eyes, and you felt the gazes of other people around you burn into you.

You settled on a retreat. It was fine; this interview was just the first building block. You laughed lightly, throwing off the previous tense silence easily.

“Of course! We wouldn’t expect nothing but, right? We hope to see your talent truly shine through in this new role!’’

The tenseness in the room seemed to slip away right then, and the deathly gazes on you flitted away, like they were never there in the first place.

You let out a sigh as you left the interview room. God, that was terrifying, but you knew that you had to do what you had just previously done. What you had just done asserted the theory that you had. His company was hiding something about him, and that something was nothing less than downright horrific.

JK, you thought to yourself, I’m going to expose this story, just you wait.

“You weren’t just going to leave, huh?’’

You heard a familiar voice speak behind you, and you quickly spun around.

“Kim Taehyung-ssi,’’ you forced out of your throat,’’ I believed you had already left.”

“I was going to, but I wanted to speak to you about the interview. The company rarely lets me do interviews, so it was really refreshing to have one done with you. We worked so well together, and I would like to thank you for the pleasant experience you had given me with dinner. You must be starving, right?’’

You had been starving earlier, but one word from Taehyung left your stomach churning in nausea.

“No!’’ your voice was a bit too loud, so you hastily softened it,’’ No, that’s not necessary. You don’t need to thank me.”

Taehyung took steps closer to you, and you unconsciously took a step back. Noticing your movements, he looked at you and flashed a grin that might’ve looked harmless to others but outright menacing to you.

“Are you scared of me?’’ his voice was almost like a purr. You fought back a shiver, straightening your back and looking him straight in the eyes.

“No,’’ you stabilized your voice, keeping a waver out of it,” Why would I be scared of you? You’re not some higher being than me just because you’re a celebrity. You’re human, after all. But, as you can see, I have work to do, so I will have to politely decline your offer.”

“You can have the rest of the day off.”

You spun around on your heels, your gaze colliding with Boss Kim’s. When did he arrive?

“Sir! Boss! No, if I skipped out on work, I’d be a burden to everyone. Besides, I—,’’ your voice was cut off by another voice.

“It’d be good to establish a positive relationship between your company and ours. Your boss would usually be the one to go to a dinner, but I believe he already has plans. Any work you were unable to fulfill today will be taken care of.”

The voice seemed to chill you to the bone. You turned to make eyes with a man. Was he…Taehyung’s manager? Although he was handsome, the kind of handsome that was comparable with Taehyung’s, something about him churned your stomach. While Taehyung was like a predator waiting to pounce on his prey, the man behind this voice was already sinking his teeth into the neck, wringing out the… You snapped out of your thoughts.

Snap out of it, you mentally scolded yourself.  

“How about it?’’ Taehyung’s manager coldly smiled, his tone like glaciers.

You opened your mouth to try to refute, but with the burning gaze from your boss, you could only dip your head in a bow, your voice low.

“Thank you for the offer. I accept.”

They couldn’t kill you, right? It’d be too obvious.

You followed them out, and when you passed by Boss Kim, you made a panicked glance at him. What greeted you made you halt briefly in your pace.

When Boss Kim made eye contact with you, he patted your shoulder in what should’ve been reassurance. His lips spread out in a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Don’t disappoint me, hmm?’’

His words, spoken low and steady, left a chill in your veins as you kept walking, and the sliding doors of the elevator dinged close behind you, effectively trapping you with Taehyung and his manager.

You somehow made it out of the elevator and through the tense car ride alive. Now, you were seated next to Taehyung himself in the private room of a restaurant. Smoke rose from the grill, briefly obscuring your view of his manager from across you.

You tried to think positively of the situation. If Taehyung was drunk, maybe he’d slip up, but…you made a furtive glance at his manager from across the grill, slightly jolting when your eyes collided with his own. The fear that nearly overcame you made you nauseous.

“A drink?”

Taehyung’s voice broke the tense silence, and you turned to see him already raising his glass. You stiffly smiled, barely managing to keep the nervous twitch out of the curves of your lips.

“I don’t drink.”

“It’s impolite to decline a friendly offer. Come on, a toast to a wonderful…partnership.” Taehyung chuckled, raising his glass, as he leaned his chin onto the propped palm of his hand,” And we wouldn’t want a bad start to it.”

You were panicking by now, but you could imagine what Boss Kim would say if Taehyung’s company pulled out because of something so miniscule. You couldn’t afford to lose your job, not with the way you had fought tooth and nail to get your position; you wouldn’t last a month without your job or the meager protection it gave you.

You made your decision, a decision you would’ve done anything else but avoid, and tilted the glass up, clinking it against Taehyung’s glass. Turning away, you made it look like you were lightly sipping the drink, but you only allowed the liquid to slightly wet your lips. You set down the still-full glass and smiled pleasantly.

“I can only drink this much. Anymore, and I would experience terrible side effects.”

Taehyung didn’t seem even irked by your feeble attempt at pretending; instead, his eyes filled with amusement. He didn’t stop staring at you, and the threatening vibe of it caused you to unconsciously delve into your habit of gripping your glass of water and drinking it in an attempt to calm your nerves.

You placed the empty glass back down before resuming anxiously picking at your food. A pair of chopsticks—specifically Taehyung’s chopsticks—placed a piece of barbecued meat on your bowl of rice.

“Not feeling hungry? You need to eat. Skipping meals is bad for your health,’’ Taehyung beamed as he watched you carefully pick up the piece of meat and eat it. It would’ve been delicious any other time, but the churning in your gut made it taste like sand in your mouth. You dryly swallowed it.

“I’m heading to the restroom.”

You heard Taehyung’s manager speak in his flat tone, and you threw a skittish glance at him as he stood up and walked out of the private room, closing the door with a soft click behind him.

“Ah, now that that nuisance is out of the way, why don’t we talk more?’’ Taehyung’s tone was playful, and you flinched as he leaned closer to you, his breath brushing against the outer shell of your ear.

“Kim Taehyung-ssi,’’ you gritted the name through your teeth,” Please respect my personal space.”

He laughed lowly before he dropped a hand on your thigh. You were about to make a move to push him away, but your body suddenly felt tired, like you weren’t quite in control anymore.

“Come on, do what I say, and your little news company will do so much better. Your boss didn’t tell you this, but your company’s going bankrupt. One peep from me, and your company will rise in ranking, but I can only do that if I’m in a…happy mood.”

Taehyung pressed even closer to you, his nose against the curve of your neck as he inhaled your scent deeply in. His hands moved from his side and he ripped open the buttons of your shirt, groping your bra-covered tits. You let out an incoherent mumble in response, trying to flimsily kick at him.

Where was the waiter? Why was his manager taking so long? They planned this!

Disgust and heat coiled in your gut, but you were too dizzy to move. Something…that bastard…Did he spike your water? You were too careless, fuck. Taehyung moved one hand to tilt your chin up before his lips met yours. Despite how sloppy of a kiss it was, you could tell he was experienced, practically tasting every inner crevice of your soft mouth with his tongue, and you should’ve continued to be revolted, but whatever pill in your system had you melting into his mouth.

Taehyung seemed to sense the turmoil and conflict in you and the soft give of your will, and that seemed to make him even braver. He slid a hand up your skirt, his touch hot even through the fabric of your stockings, and you let out a startled moan against his lips, drool dribbling down the corners of your mouth. He pulled back, and you could barely see through the teary haze of your eyes. It had been too long since the last time you had a good fuck. You just wanted to be touched…wanted to be fucked so hard his cock would press against your womb.  

“I just want to see you let go a bit, baby,’’ there was the triumph of domination in his voice. The sober part of you wanted to rebel, wanted to push and scream and kick him away, but you weren’t sober, weren’t clear-minded. Your legs spread as if begging for more of his touch.

He ripped his fingers through your stocking, and the material easily gave way underneath his strength. You could feel the damp spot on your panties, growing as he rubbed his fingertips against your drooling pussy. You shivered slightly in delirious pleasure as his finger rolled over your throbbing clit.  

“Mmph!’’ you let out a sound as he pushed your soaked panties to the side and pushed his fingers deep into your pussy. You couldn’t object, not when your pussy was stretching with a spine-tingling ache around his fingers, and especially not when he begin to set a teasing pace. He pushed his fingers in, and you shut your eyes in shame as your moans grew louder.

Your toes curled as his movements grew faster, reaching deep into you, and you were so, so close. Oh my god you could feel…and you were cumming hard. Your walls shivered and twitched around his still moving fingers, and you murmured a dazed plea as he finally stilled and pulled his fingers out. You, still twitching from how hard you came earlier, were ashamed to see the way his fingers glistened with the remnants of your arousal and orgasm.

The sound of his pants being unclasped drew you out of your drugged state. No, he wasn’t going to…Come on, snap out of it, snap out of it.

He drew back closer again, and you sucked in a breath, trying to push through your daze. He leaned in. You managed to bring your arms up to the table, grabbing the nearest object that you could reach. Your trembling fingers closed around your nearly empty water glass, and you took it, raising it and smashing it as hard as you could over his head. Water, ice cubes, and glass shards struck as the glass broke. Taehyung, not expecting the blow, had a temporary moment of weakness, and you managed to push him off you.

You shoved yourself up onto shaky legs, wrapping the ripped blouse around your weakened body, and forced yourself into a run outside of the room. The hallway of the restaurant around the private rooms was empty, devoid of any person. You frantically looked over your shoulder, relieved that you didn’t see him coming after you. This was a public place, though it was late at night, and you knew Taehyung wouldn’t risk his perfect reputation. But still, you remembered his manager was still out there.

You couldn’t let them kill you…You had to survive! You broke into a blind run, ignoring the strange looks and the calls you got from the restaurant’s staff as you pushed out of the restaurant into the street. You kept running despite the dizziness of your mind, and you could barely see what was in front of you before…You crashed into someone, slamming into their body so hard that you were sent sprawling to the ground.

“Please…,’’ you choked out, your voice strangled, crying out a desperate plea as you grabbed onto their clothes,’’ Please help me.”

Your mind was dizzy, splotches of colors splattering your blurry vision. Your body had overexerted yourself, and you prayed that you wouldn’t end up a dead body on the news as your grip around the clothes went lip, and you collapsed into the road. Through the buzzing of your ears, you could hear a startled voice call out, feel a firm touch grab your shoulders and try to shake you awake. Some strange hope rose in you; maybe…maybe…?

You murmured desperately one last mumble, your words barely making sense, as you spiraled into unconsciousness.  

“JK…please help me.”

A/N: if you want to be added to the taglist for the next part, reply with a  ❤️. If you enjoyed the story, please leave a comment or a detailed review below <3

Next work will be a fic for Jungkook’s upcoming birthday. Poll will be released soon for what kind of plot it should have! 

[gravesightings]

TMI: lipstick stains - masked slasher edition

the inevitable dilemma happens: it’s on their mask, on them, on you. Masked slashers reactions when things get a little messy.

Asa Emory / The Collector

on his mask and clothes? eh, it happens.

while he does seem to be neater compared to the other slashers he’s not going to fuss over it too much.

his “work attire” is almost completely black anyways so it’s hardly noticable. on his regular clothes however he might get a little peeved if it keeps happening.

meaning: next time he’s going to hold you by the chin (or by the neck, if you’re into that) so you don’t get too excited.

on himself? he’s the one calling the shots here so he’s aware of it. doesn’t put too much thought into it and cleans up afterwards.

on you, however, he’s really into it.

the first time it happens he immediately realizes that he actually prefers you to look like you had just come out of a particularly steamy makeout session. (especially if he has other victims around.)

rating: 8/10. hot. nothing like matching pairs of smudged lip stains to let everybody know who you belong to.

Brahms Heelshire

this greedy lad’s always asking for kisses anyways so he’s already anticipating it.

if you cover his porcelain mask with kiss marks he’ll be over the moon! if you sneak around quietly enough, you might catch him admiring it in the mirror. no, he’s not going to clean up. not even if you ask!

on his clothes? who cares! more! more kisses! (let’s be real here - you’re probably the only one doing all the laundry anyways.)

on his actual person? who cares! again this is brahms, so it’s going to get messier real quick. love bites are more his thing but lipstick marks are good too. hell, have a load of both!

he is NOT going to leave you time to freshen up at all if the grocery boy happens to stop by. and yes, while the undignified fool will ogle at your slightly dishevled post-makeout state, that’s all he’s going to get.

INSTANT EGO BOOST. ..sooo how’d it go? did that idiot see how nicely he messed you up?

rating: 10/10. now he’s twice as horny. loves it on you. sees it as asserting his dominance against the grocery boy.

Bubba Sawyer / Leatherface

kisses for him? he’s excited! he would be SO happy to get kisses in general so he’s not going to mind all the lipstick.

kiss him some more! he loves it! like brahms, he’s likely not going to clean up his mask afterwards either. to him, it means you love him enough to show it off to everybody else. his heart would swell with pride.

if any of the sawyers nag at him he’ll begrudgingly clean up a bit. but surely he’ll feel better if you gave him some more?

either way this man is a sappy romantic so he’ll probably have a designated handkerchief for it. you know, to save all your kisses, and also to keep in his pocket for safe keeping. (if you happen to find out he’ll get a little embarrassed.)

on you? oh, you’re so cute with your wobbly lipstick! how silly! here, he’ll help you clean up and reapply.

rating: 12/10 for the kisses. not that into the “we just made out” look. doesn’t see the appeal in it, just knows he loves you a whole lot. honestly he’s just super thrilled about being a lovey dovey couple with you and making you look nice again after.

Jesse Cromeans / Chromeskull

on his mask? cute. if he’s in a playful mood he’ll even let you get more on there but only because he has a twisted sense of humour. imagine he’s out and about, slaughtering people in all his bloody glory - but with little kiss marks on his otherwise polished mask. he can be lovable too, see?

don’t expect him to keep it on there for long though. he’s a very well-kept man. on his clothes he’ll allow it if it’s accidental. but like asa, he won’t hesitate to hold you in place if it keeps happening.

if he happens to bring you to his workplace he’s a little less tolerant.

loves basking in your affections in private, but he’s just more strict around his cohorts. takes pride in dressing well and you, being the trophy spouse, would no doubt be decked out in designer and looking your best too. stain-free.

unless of course, an impromptu makeout session in his office occurs he might allow it. if it was your doing, he’ll rough you up at home afterwards.

rating: 5/10. thinks its cute but for his eyes only. his clothes and his mask are expensive, so it’s only endearing the first few times. otherwise it gets annoying.

Jason Voorhees

loves loves getting kisses. probably won’t notice it on his mask at first since he normally doesn’t like looking at himself. once he notices he’ll immediatelly get butterflies in his stomach. this man is just so weak for you, even remembering you kissing him gets him all warm and fuzzy.

he’ll admire it for a while before reluctantly wiping it off. he might not remember to wipe it off if there are intruders around. your safety is his first priority, after all.

if you happen to be at the stage where he’s comfortable kissing you unmasked he’ll get visibly flustered seeing you with your lipstick smudged.

immediately feels guilty for having dirty thoughts. what would his mother say?

like Bubba, he’ll tidy you up afterwards. he’s less confident in his makeup skills but he’s not going to leave you looking like that, especially when his mind is going to all sorts of unholy places.

starts picking you up and holding you a lot after this. (lowkey giving you access so he can get more kisses.)

rating: 7/10. thinks its hot but won’t admit it. impure thoughts BEGONE! only romantic christian kissing at his camp. wait.. you’re technically already married, right? ...right? now worries about pre-marital kissing.

Michael Myers

physical affection with michael = russian roulette. he could be indifferent to it, stalk around and continue doing business as usual with his mask covered in kiss marks.

or it could go VERY badly. catch him in a bad mood and you’ll be choked until you pass out.

michael likes being in control above all else so having little old you covering his face with kisses? on your own accord? HORRIBLE. choke and think about what you’ve done.

he is however, a big fan of seeing you look completely and utterly undone under his hands. the smudged lipstick is just a nice icing on top.

he’s a curious man, so he’s probably going to try to cover you with... other questionable things. the possibilities are endless!

if you somehow have unlocked unmasked!mikey he won’t care much for the lipstick on himself. wipes it with the back of his hand later on if he happens to remember.

rating: either -10/10 or 8/10 depending on his mood. kinda meh about just the lipstick stains, more into the bruises he can decorate you with or the reactions he can pull from you. you know what would look hot on you? your flirty co-worker’s blood.

Thomas Hewitt / Leatherface

hums appreciatively if you happen to smooch him all over after a long day. it might take him a while to notice the lipstick all over his face. luda mae might have to teasingly point it out to him - prompting a hurried exit. THE leatherface? embarrassed? you must be seeing things.

he has it set in his mind that he needs to be the intimidating chainsaw-wielding man that protects his family so as much as he loves you, he’s likely not going to keep your kisses on his face for long.

tommy absolutely adores you though, so expect him to nudge your head slightly with his as an indication to start covering him in kisses again.

if he sees you in a messy state with your lipstick smudged, the realization will hit him hard. he’ll be in awe. he made you like that. you allowed him to - and enjoyed it. once he snaps out of his daze he’s quick to escalate things.

afterwards this man is going to pamper you to the max. he’ll clean you up and cuddle you for as long as you let him.

rating: 100/10. loves the affection but gets shy around others. doesn’t ogle the marks, but seeing it on you gets his gears going.

Vincent Sinclair

very hesitant to let you anywhere near his face at first. eventually he’ll realize you’re trying to kiss him and not forcibly unmask him to pick at his appearance. (oh, dear trauma...)

while it takes him a long time to even allow it, and even longer with his mask off, he savours every bit of affection like it’s the last time.

on his mask he’ll notice right away and be blushy about it. he would keep it on for a while but would wipe it off eventually. he’s very particular about the upkeep of his mask since he considers it his actual face, after all.

on his actual face, he’d be more focused on the feeling of your lips on him more than anything else. feel free to go south if you want to hear him whine. he gets excited quickly.

he’d be super overwhelmed if you covered his face with kisses! and maybe a tad bit emotional. you love him this much? all of him? is this real? are you real? he isn’t dreaming?

doesn’t notice the lipstick until much later on and gets super embarrassed about it. might freak out about it secretly in the bathroom. if you happen to leave marks on him further down, he’ll be way into it.

on you, he’s going to try and fix it up afterwards. has his hand always been this shaky? don’t give him that look! excessive blushing.

rating: 9/10. affects him a great deal, but it’s the intimacy that has his heart doing flips. this man blushes a lot underneath the mask. takes him a while to be affectionate. he’s trying his best, damn it!

[namunad]

MISFITS

Some things are meant to be and some aren’t.

word count: 5k

Warnings: smut, mentions of mental ilness, smut, switch!jungkook, switch!reader, curvy!reader, angst  (like lots and lots).

It’s 1 a.m the air is cold and breaths puff up as soft clouds in the air, walking in silence you’re feeling the soft buzz of the few drinks that you had leaving you euphoric on this cold night. Jungkook seems to be fighting with the wind to light up his cigarette, the glow of the nearby bar playing on his face, purple and pink reflecting on his cheekbones. He squeals exited when finally hot red flashes before him and lets him drag the smoke to his lungs.

“Why the fuck did I pay 50 dollars for a drink?” his hand comes up to his temple massaging the tense skin frowning his red lips tug downward, his foot tapping on the hard concrete “but most importantly where the fuck is our taxi”. You shrugged not having an answer for his last question, the breeze forcing you to wrap your arms around yourself.

“You asked for the most expensive drink Kook” the soft smile that plays on your lips calms him briefly before he rolls his eyes huffing.

“I asked for the best drink, not the most expensive, and it wasn’t even that good” you laugh knowing that he is lying, the image of his face enjoying the drink impressed behind your eyes. Skin flushed and mouth slightly agape leaving your mind running free, fantasising about what could be wetting his lips like that. Soft petals after a moist night.

“Quit whining, you act like it's the end of the world” he scoffs and gives you a soft push, his lips spreading into a smile, the cigarette lying on the corner of his mouth. Ash falls on the collar of his black coat, your hands move their own accord dusting the soft ash off the fabric and staying above his heart.

Neither of you smoked when you first met, it's a bad habit that college got you into. You remember promises of never drinking, smoking or make use of any illegal substance. You start laughing, the irony of your past floating above your heads. How does one change completely within years?

“You’re lucky we’re friends, keep running that mouth and you’ll not be anymore” you purse your lips and sneak your fingers to the cigarette stealing it from Jungkook. The filter is stained from his lipstick, when it finds a place in your mouth you can’t stop your mind from thinking about where it had been before. Can it be considered as a kiss?

“Lucky me then, I love to open my mouth such a shame you don’t” the implication of what you’re saying is not lost on him. His eyes are dark and heavy, as always he doesn’t reply to your flirting leaving you like a call unanswered. The phone rings and behind there’s only buzzing statics. Suddenly awake, the night seems darker and colder.The sound of air leaving your lungs makes the wait even worse, the cigarette is suddenly unlit and cold. You throw it and step on it roughly.

Fuck him, you think and you almost say it. Stopping you is the tall figure that gets in between you two, the guy which is clearly drunk offers you a lopsided smirk and cocks his head at you.

“What are you doing here alone, pretty lady? Want some company?” as you open your mouth to say that you're actually not alone you stop yourself, mad and uncorresponded you tell him that you simply are not interested. But it doesn’t stop there, it never does with this type of man. The stranger hand finds your wrist and tuggs you against him “Don’t play hard babe, lets have fun”.

“I told you that I’m not fucking intrested” you shove him away from you, receving attention that you dindn’t want -attention from someone who wasn’t Jungkook- made you more upset. The guys face twists into a deep frown gripping tighter your wrist.

“You should be grateful bitch that I’m giving your fat ass a chan...” this time his words die on his mouth the reason being Jungkook. The sound of bones breaking makes you screech in horror, the guy takes a step back but doesn’t fall, doesn’t let go of you. Bloodshot eyes find yours, a wicked feeling gripping you from the inside. Red pops in your mind, it screams danger.

“She doesn’t want you dumbass” he screams with a proud glimmer in his eyes, maybe the feeling of victory, but this isn’t a film and before you can do anything Jungkook is falling on his back holding his face. The blood that gathers on his hand makes you sick, the world spinning beneath you. His vice grip leaves you and you fall against the wall, you bounce from the contact. Hard rubber against the floor.

From then it's just flashes, the tall man swings a fist at Jungkook then he says something and Jungkook is on top of him. When black starts filling your vision you can hear Jungkook yelling, he drags you to the cab and gets you on the backseat. Perfect timing. There you recoil and think.

On the way home you both don’t talk. You want to ask him if he’s okay but the hardness of his gaze stops you. You come to the conclusion that he is mad at you, every night that you had together finishes somehow badly. It's not the first time you get laughed at, the both of you being used to their mean comments you usually just go on, it had never led to a physical fight.

In the worn backseat you start crying. You know he probably hears you sniffle behind him but he doesn’t address it, which only makes you sob louder. He doesn’t care about you, not romantically and not friendly. When the taxi comes to a stop you quickly get out and realize that you’re not in front of your house, the doorsteps to his studio come to your vision making you want to scream.

“Why the fuck am I at your house?” the bitterness of your voice leaves Jungkook gobsmacked, you’re angry at him he understands it. He feels feverish staring at your face, red eyes and runny nose stare back at him. Were you crying for him?

“I thought that given what happened you didn’t want to sleep alone” you nod and relax your shoulders, your body feels at ease like it suddenly hit water and floated to the surface. But your mind seems to disagree, the need to refuse his offer on the tip of your tongue, the goose bumps on your skin convince you otherwise. His apartment is warm, more than yours would be in a night like this, you sigh tired beyond limits. Jungkook disappears in his room, you decide to not investigate to not hurt your feelings further and you sink on the sofa. Sleep getting the best of you and giving you some needed rest.

What wakes you it's him hissing and grunting, making jolt out of your place and run towards him. When you barge through the door you find him facing the mirror his eyeliner smudged and the cut on his lips crusty with dried blood. When his eyes settle on you he quickly avoids your gaze, but it doesn’t stop you from getting the cotton ball full of alcohol out of his hands and throw it. He shrugs and chugs the brown liquid before sighting sadly, as if someone was pushing on his stomach hard enough to make him exhale all that air.

“You should use something else”

“I only have this bourbon” comes his immediate response.

Strangers. You feel awkward telling him to get a chair so you can help him clean up, never in your years of friendship you felt like an outsider but as he settles the chair in silence you can’t help but to feel so. When he sits the lights of the bathroom finally lets you see the damage done to his face, a sigh of relief leaves your mouth. Aside from the cut on his lips and light bruising on his cheek you can’t see anything else.

“Were you expecting worse?” his eyes finally meet yours, you nod cleaning lightly his cheek “You know what you’re doing, it feels better when you do it” soft eyelashes flutter at his words. He is apologising, since you were kids it has been his way of being sorry. Big eyes and a pout is all that took him to be forgiven by you. This time is different, far from the simplicity of a stolen spoon of ice cream, you want to hear him say sorry. To be sorry .“The silent treatment, huh?” you scoff and start cleaning his mouth.

Full lips parted waiting for you, far from his hard stare you let your fingertips touch the soft skin. Jungkook winces slightly as if waiting for the burn of the alcohol not the softness of your caress. He doesn't move after that and lets you indulge in your fantasy, it doesn’t occur to you that your thumb is pushing past his lips to settle on top of his tongue until the wet muscle touches you. You gasp and try to move your hand as fast as possible, his teeth sinking on your finger keeping it in place. His tongue moves around your digit and sucks the life out of it, you tell yourself that he likes the taste of bourbon that is lingering on your skin.

When he opens his eyes his jaw suddenly goes slack but you don’t find it in yourself to drag your finger out of his mouth. So you stay in that position, outside the sun is starting to light up the sky through the curtains. The light reflects on every shiny surface, a snowstorm of dust dancing in the apartment. A car outside honks and you jump surprised clutching your hand, against your erratic heart. How you wished to be outside, under the cold sun.

“I’m sorry” he offers you a sad look, his hands pressing against his thighs as if cleaning all the sweat that they collected. You know better, his anxiety habits being close to your heart. Brown orbits follow your gaze, stopping every movement he was doing.

“I know you are” comes your reply

“I really am”

Jungkook opens his mouth slightly and then he closes it. He knows he shouldn't do it, yet his hand comes to your hips and tug you towards him, fingers digging into the rough material of your jeans. You tip your head making your face hover his.

“For what?” His hands fall on his sides, he has shown you everything that he could.

He offers you his palms up, they say ‘read through the lines about my future’. What does it hold for us? Lovers, friends or strangers?

“Kiss me?” he whispers against you, soft breath warming your lips. The question lingers in the air, it dances between the two of you. Soft limbs press against each other.

“You don’t want me to” his eyes are fierce long lashes bat before you, tongue poking at his cheek. His nose finds yours and swipes against it.

“I wouldn’t ask if I didn't want it” he purrs and presses his lips against yours. The kiss is messy and far from what you had dreamed of in the years. He was ravishing you not tasting you, disappointed and surprised you decided that you liked it. The bourbon tang moves from him to you, and you blame the alcohol for the quickness with which you’ve forgiven Jungkook. His tongue plunges in your mouth, and you find yourself thinking about the softness that you had experienced against your finger in contrast with the rawness of it now. Plump lips work against each other for longer than you think.

“You taste of bourbon” you mumble as he detaches from you, he smiles and grabs your face caressing your cheeks. His lips kiss the apple of your cheeks, and then your eyes pressing lightly against them. He chuckles as you eyelashes tickle him, as you open your eyes you find him smiling so dumbly that if you didn’t know better you’d think this is the most beautiful day in his life.

“I think you taste like me” he says before getting up and pushing you to be the one sitting on the chair.

Switched roles. You gasp when he falls to his knees and starts unbuttoning your pants, his lips plant themselves on your tummy as if sucking the life out of it. His eyes don’t leave yours, your gut twists at the fastness of his movement, when your thighs are free from the tight confinement his face pushes against them. Jungkook closes his eyes enjoying the softness of them, how would he love to sleep on them forever. how easy would it be to die there. Your fingers ruffling his hair are enough to wake him from his reverie and start kissing your inner thigh with a new fund intensity.

He trails his open mouth kisses to your clothed core, which receives a soft caste kiss as if it was the cheek of his mother. Wanting to ask him if he really means that gentle gesture,if he sees you as a delicate creature worth the tenderness. You need to bite hard on your tongue to stop yourself from ruining the moment. His next actions give you an answer.

You never deemed Jungkook as the rough type and neither the soft type, in your mind he was passionate. Hot skin melting under his touch. In the years it had happened that you heard others enjoying his company, dreaming to be them you indulged in the fantasy that he was an intense lover. Not too much and not too little. As his fingers tear your underwear and his tongue finds your most sensitive pearl, you can see how much you were wright. You can feel it in the fervor in which he is eating you out, the hard muscle working on your insides as his nose keeps stimulating your bundle of nerves.

“Take this off” he tugs on your revealing top, that you had worn in the hopes of an event like this “Wanna see your tits”. He doesn’t give you time to think about a mouthy answer diving back to your moist cunt, your legs shake against his shoulders while hard teeth start nibbling at your soft labia. You take off your last garment without any complaints, Jungkook smiles against your heated mound and detaches himself from you. Wet strings follow on his face, a moan leaves your mouth.

The cocky smile that tugs at his face doesn’t surprise you, knowing that Jungkook is used to winning. To be good at anything of that matter, he thrives of what makes him understand that he is the best. He knows he is good and he knows that you love it. The thought makes you shamefully more aroused than what it should.

“You have such a pretty pussy” two of his fingers spreading your wet lips, they move to circle the tight hole collecting your juices and then start pushing inside “So tight for me ...” . Jungkook loses you right there, overwhelmed from the fast pace you don’t hear him saying the last words. “...only for me”

You hum and then scream when his mouth finds your nipple and starts sinking his teeth into it, by the end of his work when he leaves your nipple to move to the other one you feel raw everywhere. From the tip of your sensitive boobs to your insides which are gripping so hard on Jungkook's hand that he thinks that you're going to break his fingers. He sees you nearing your end, the look on your face, the delicate moans that leave your mouth spur him to start going impossibly faster. His lips find your clit, making you cry out loud the lord's name

“I’m gonna cum. Gonna cum right now Guk” you keep chanting his name, the only word that bounces in your brain “Fuck, fuck” you whine as he keps the same pace. Jungkook is amazed when he sees your orgasm face, the lonely nights in which his hand had helped him get through his impossible feelings for you he imagined something else. When you cum your mouth opens to what seems like the most relaxed expression to ever touch your face, he cant help to hope to see you always this rested and calm.

You spasm and cry his name once again. Your toes are painfully curled against his back and your spine is so curved that you think you might develop a disease with how long you stay in that position. His fingers work you through your climax keeping a steady pace, when overstimulation starts to settle in you move from the imaginary cast that you created. As you come back to your senses you feel too naked and vulnerable, your hands come instantly to your stomach as your eyes drop to the floor. You showed your all to him and as he stares at between your legs you almost want to tell him your deepest secrets.

“Don’t cover yourself” he tugs on your arms that are firmly planted to your skin “I love your body”. You give him a tight smile knowing well that it wasn’t about your appearance, if only he loved you.... Is it bad to want something that someone doesn’t want?

He knows why you’re suddenly so tense but he isn’t ready to talk about it, Jungkook wants just to feel you and as he's getting up his hands snake under your arms bringing you flush against him. As if he always did it, his head falls on your shoulder as he holds your naked body, he shifts his weight rhythmically singin so faintly that you find it difficult to even understand him, let alone understand him. His lips hover on your shoulder, hot breath making you squirm in his hands. Again he has succeeded in calming your pained heart.

“You’re so perfect” he whisper against your ear

“but not for you” you breathe discouraged

“yes, for me”. And I’ll show you, he thinks but doesn’t say. As if nothing happened his lips search for yours and they find them waiting for him, you sight on his mouth. The frown that was deeply creasing your forehead relaxes.

He walks backwards holding you until he touches his bed and sits down bringing you on top of him. Painfully dressed, the rough material of his jeans press onto you so harshly that you whimper way too loudly. His hands, that now are resting on your ass, squeeze it and then slap it playfully. He almost breaks his neck trying to get a glimpse of the ripples of your flesh. You pull on his shirt trying to get him out of it, the tight black turtleneck doing wonders for his figure, he shreds the piece of clothing not before making you laugh as he gets his head stuck. Once uncovered he falls back to his back giving you access to his unmarked body, ravishing the sight of him so pliable under you as your mouth presses against his hot skin.

When you notice them, two lines like a railway leading to nowhere. Two long scars. Your heart jumps out of his place with sorrow and what you think is defeat. You arrived too late, someone had already hurt him. Lips aching to kiss it better, at least until the pain is gone. Erased from the face of the earth, you find yourself wanting to hurt who made him think less of himself. You knew of them, of course you knew, after all you were the first call that his mother had made that disgustingly sad day.

“I’m sorry”. I’m sorry for what happened to you. Sorry that you felt so alone to think that no one was going to miss you. Sorry to not have been there, to not have noticed.

“I know you are” his nails are now scratching lightly the skin of your thighs. You know it's not like that, but you can’t help yourself to think that's a punishment. You hope that his finger cut you, digging through your muscles permanently damaging you. So that you could understand what he feels, and he would understand how deeply you feel for him.

“I really am” shame grips you so strongly that your eyes fail to stay open and look at him

“Don’t cry about it”, you gasp as you realize the wetness on your cheeks. “It happened a long time ago”. Birds are chirping outside and he smiles collecting your tears and kissing each of your fingertips.

“Besides I really need you now, please”. Jungkook is impossibly hard and your boiling sex against him, makes him want to tear his closes to tiny peaces until they don’t exist anymore. His fingers force you down on your hips, pressing himself closer to you.

His tongue is reckless in mouth, pushing past your teeth and dancing with you own. Jungkook delivers the sloppiest kiss that he can give you, pushing his, still clotheted, erect cock into you.

“Want to feel you” you huff, your fingers struggling with the tightness of his trousers. More skin comes into your vision; you cannot stop your mind from screaming to worship him. You take in a breath so intense that it tickles your chest, his eyes are waiting for you as soft whines leave his mouth. On your knees you start praying that no one will ever see what you're seeing, will never see him that sweaty and needy. A mole on his knee catches your attention so much that you find yourself kissing it, and so to each of his little beauty marks. You slowly work your way up until you’re kissing him. His bottom lip is as soft as a pillow after a stressful day.

Chest to chest nipples rubbing against each other, you take hold of him. It pulses in your hands as it finally gets the attention that it deserves, it looks painfully pleasurable neglected for so long that when you look at it the tip has a flushed color to it. His hand finds yours and guides your movements, as his thighs tremble. Your thumb plays on his slit as he moans throwing back his head

“So fucking good” he grips your hips and pushes his thigh in between your legs. “Can you ride my thigh? Fuck cherub that would be so hot”. He rolls his eyes so hard that he nearly loses sight as you put all of your weight on the taunt muscle, the wetness in between your legs permits you to move so smoothly that he’d think you’ve done it you’re entire life. You can feel his dick rubbing against your upper thigh.

His finger comes up to your nipples, pinching and rolling them. Your heart starts beating faster, the feeling of a new orgasm building makes you slump forward and press your forehead against his. Jungkook would love to be a sponge right now, just to absorb all of your thoughts. Was he what you had imagined? Your second orgasm is more dull in comparison to the first, still better than any escaparedes that you had in the years. Jungkook bats his eyelashes waiting for your next move, his arms holding your trembling body up.

“You’re so patient” is the first thing that you say “such a good boy” he purrs at your words, nose scrunching at your praise. He is a complete mess from the black locks falling on his eyes, bruised skin to his raw lips.

It would be a shame not to kiss them, you would be disappointed in yourself if your lips didn’t impress themselves on his forever. Profoundly interconnected like time and space. As you whimper against him his hands travel to hold your head against his, even as you start to struggle breathing you keep kissing him. When you feel your lungs screaming for oxygen you break out of his hold but his fingers that now are on your hair tug roughly on your scalp. You cry, pain mixes with pleasure as your head falls back and gives finally Jungkook the access that he needed to devour you.

He wants you to have his marks for a long time, he sucks on your neck as if his life depended on it. His teeth nip on the abused skin and a smile stretches on his face thinking of you the next day checking the damage that he had done. If he could Jungkook would cover you in hickes, from head to toe.

The power dynamic has changed, now you’re the one who is squirming and fighting against his mouth. As he flips you to have you on your back, you can only be impressed by his force and drool over the sight of his biceps flexing. How can someone be so fucking hot?

“Missionary, huh? Isn’t it a bit basic” you ask as he starts rubbing his tip against your sodden folds.

“You better close your mouth cherub” He pushes on your hip making you twist your lower half and give him the perfect view of your ass. A hard slap echoes through the room and then another one, finally Jungkook can see the jiggle of your soft body coming to the conclusion that you’re an otherworldly creature.

He holds one of your legs up and thrust in your tight walls, as he bottoms out you both shiver from the contact. “So deep” you keep blabbering as you squeeze your breast holding them from moving too much. Sweat is collecting on his temples and it shines on his bronzed skin as kisses given from the gods. He is relentless, his crown kissing your cervix with how roughly his ramming inside you dragging his cock so perfectly in you think you're ascending the material world. Your hands leave your chest to find his and quickly pass on his little buds, he growls and lets your leg fall to his side probably tired.

Jungkook drops on you, hips flush against yours, stomach against stomach, heart against heart. Forearms on the sides of your head he picks up a destructive pace, hitting right on your g spot, stimulated beyond limits you can only kiss him. His hands find yours and enterwine, you’re so close that you start feeling claustrophobic. Buried under the weight of your deepest desire.

“Are you going to cum for me?” your spasming also are enough of a response and the screech that comes out of your mouth is so lustful that he starts throbbing inside of you

“Fuck, can I cum inside you”

“yes, please” White stars are spotting your vision, he seems an angel to your hazed mind. The experience is so shocking, that you can’t even call it an orgasm. Your brain floats, intoxicated with his smell.

“Gonna fill you up so good Cherub” you humm at his words as he suddenly stops, he is impossibly deep inside you when he spills, so much that you think you’re going to bear his child. He rolls to your side panting like a dog after chasing his favourite toy in the mud. You feel dirty as the piercing air hits your skin, no longer hidden from his fraim you shiver.

He stays like a dead body for a few minutes, when his eyes open and his chest starts moving you feel oddly satisfied. Your nakedness no longer a concern you reach to kiss him and he welcomes obediently, his hand coming to take you closer to him.

“Can we stay like this forever?” he sighs and squeezes you. Doesn’t he know? How can someone be so oblivious?

“If you wanted we could” you whisper. Finger sinking onto him in the desperate try to not let go of him

“I don’t mean it in that way”

“Then which way?” Which way do you perceive me; friends, lovers or strangers?

Life is beginning outside, you can hear the commotion. Kids screaming, students laughing, the workers hurried steps. You can hear it all, but his reply. Your work is done, you quickly get up straightening your back and turn around. Leaving his warm embrace feels like being born again, being thrown into a pool and not knowing how to swim.

You tug your now cold clothes back to their original place running to the door while he calls your name, scrambling to get your coat and shoes you fall and get quickly up. Your knee sting and you're sure that you'd find them bloody if you looked at them. The fist breath of air feels hot as if breathing through fire, thousands of needles poking at your lungs.

“For god's sake can you wait?” he is scrunching holding himself against his knees “I like you. No, screw that I love you but I cannot do this to you”. Surprise washes over your features over the sudden confession as you try to reach for him he takes a step back and continues. “I cannot let you fall for me because I can’t guarantee that I’ll always be there”

This time when you cry tears are falling freely, the reality of what is happening starts to sink in and you feel like you’ll be crying forever. A tap broken on the hottest setting, so when you try to fix it you’ll be left in excruciating pain.

“You should find someone else, someone who cares so much for you that wants to stay alive”

“But I already love you” you love him so much that the extent of your love scares you. So firmly rooted in your heart that if this love is eradicated from you, you’ll be left as empty soil. Moist land without seeds.

“Then you shouldn’t”

It’s 10 a.m, the air is cold and breaths puff up as soft clouds in the air, walking in silence you’re feeling overwhelmed by what happened in the few hours that you had with him leaving you alone on this cold day.

[donutloverxo]

New years eve

Note- Sequel to temptations

For the lovely @star-spangled-beard-burn s challenge.

Please do not steal or repost my works. Reblogs are welcome.

Summary- You might not be his girl but you are still his.

Warnings- smut, semi-public sex, cheating, slut-shaming, dark elements

Word count- 2.2k

Masterlist

He clutched the tall champagne flute in his hand hard enough to almost break it. His jaw clenched as he looked at you dancing with that loser boyfriend of yours, having the time of your life.

Your hair swirling to the sides as you bobbed your head to the rhythm. He smirked when he remembered how he’d pull on it as he pounded into you from behind. He went back to frowning when you started grinding your ass against that assholes crotch. He was too drunk and clueless to do anything but stand there.

And then you looked at him across the dancefloor, and fucking smiled, before turning back to capture the drunk idiots lips in a kiss. Your titts, almost spilling out of the tight dress you wore, as you pressed up against him.

He had enough. He stalked towards you with purpose, grabbing your arm pulling you against him. “You mind if I grab her for a second, Bryce” he spit the name out with such venom while his lips were curled in a dubious smile.

Bryce, being too delirious to remember his own name, just nodded.

Ransom pulled you towards the mens room, he purposely kept his grip on your arm a bit to harsh. He loved hearing you moan and protest to let up a bit, while you struggled to keep up with him in your high heels.

He pushed you up against the wall. He didn’t bother locking the door, if someone finds out that’s not really his responsibility.

He forced his tongue into your mouth swallowing your moans. Pushing his knee between your legs grinding it against your cunt. He could feel the wet spot forming on his dress pants.

You broke the kiss to take long gasps of breathes while humping his thigh. Watching you fall apart was now one of his favorite things to do.

It all started six months ago. When Bryce introduced you as his girlfriend. You looked so beautiful, enchanting even, with your pale pink dress that ended just below your knees, your lips stained with pink lipstick bore a shy smile. Your hair perfectly framing your pretty face. You were so demure, so reserved. A classic good girl. But he knew better. He knew something was fishy.

He caught your gaze lingering on him too long for it to be considered proper. Or how you’d blush from the slightest touch from him.

You showed him just how bad you were when you ambushed him while on a getaway to the Bahamas and practically bullied him into fucking you.

He did feel slightly bad, but any semblance of guilt was gone when he was buried balls deep inside you, your cunt clenching around him, milking him for all he’s got.

If Bryce didn’t want you to wander he should've taken better care of you. That’s on him.

You’d always complain about how boring and clichéd Bryce was. Ransom didn’t know why you were still with him, he never bothered to ask.

It wasn’t the first time he was with an ‘unavailable’ woman. He actually preferred it that way. No commitment, no strings attached and he always had the upper hand, the leverage.

But you were different. He didn’t plan on getting so attached to you but if he sees you kissing or in the vicinity of your good for nothing boyfriend, he will do something to be guilty about.

“What you like being a tease?” He mocked pushing your panties to the side, pumping his fingers in and out of you “I can see your ass hanging out of that dress. You want to be groped huh?” he taunted while brutally finger fucking you.

“Just you” You gasped holding onto his shoulders for dear life as you came around his fingers.

He unzipped his pants taking himself out of his boxers. He pushed you down to your knees. You weren’t like anyone he’d ever met. You tricked him, of all people, into believing he had power over you. That he was in control. It took him too long to realise you were the one pulling the strings all along.

“Suck” He demanded and you followed like the good slut you were. You took him in your mouth. Your cheek hollowing while you bobbed on it making loud squelching noises.

He groaned holding onto you as you moaned around him. He could cum in your mouth and make you swallow every last bit of it, but he needed to fuck you, remind you who you truly belong to. It would bring him great satisfaction knowing you’d go home with that prick when he was still inside of you.

He pulled you off of him much to your disappointment. Pinning you to the wall your legs wrapped around his waist.

He cupped your cheek smudging some of your lipstick with his thumb. You bit his thumb gently sucking on it. Your eyes looked so sweet so innocent. Maybe that’s how you managed to trick him and everyone else.

“I’m going to fuck you so hard. You will feel it for days” he drawled out pushing his thick cock in your cunt, right away setting a hard brutal pace. “Is his cock this big? Huh?” He cruelly rolled his hips against yours and all you could do was shake your head.

No one had ever fucked you like Ransom. You would be lucky if Bryce managed to last more than five minutes.

You felt yourself tipping over the edge again. Clenching around him, he grunted cursing, his thrusts became erratic your orgasm triggering his own. He spilled inside of you, making sure to sit deep within you for a moment.

“The next time you think about teasing me” He paused buckling his pants up “don’t”

“There won’t be a next time” you state as you look at your state in the large mirror. Your blood red lipstick smeared across your face, your mascara running down, your hair a mess. There was no way you could go back out looking like this.

“What did you say?” He pulled at you to look at him. If looks could kill.

“Ah stop doing that!” You yelled your bruised forearm hurting even more so.

“What do you mean last time?” he sneered.

“I mean we’re not doing this again. I found an engagement ring in his sock drawer. I’m sorry Ransom” You finally freed your arm from his grip caressing it with your other hand. You could feel Ransoms rage, looking around for a way out. But he was standing in front of the only door.

“What? You don’t even love him. You’re going to marry him?” He knew people didn’t need to be in love to get married. Since you were willing to marry just about anybody, then why not him?

“I do love him. I love you too” You caressed his face with your hands. As if that would make it hurt any less for either of you.

Ransom was meant to serve as a distraction from your boring life as a trophy girlfriend and a future trophy wife. You didn’t want to reach a point where you would blow your brains out of boredom.

You thought you could have harmless fun with Ransom but then your conscience got in the way. Bryce had been kinder to you these last few days, more than anyone you’ve ever known. You couldn’t start a marriage based on lies and infidelity.

“Really? Then marry me” He said. You shook your head at him in denial. He caged you in against the counter. “What’re you worried about? Money? I’ve got plenty of it”

And he wasn’t afraid to spend it on you. He had got you plenty of designer bags, perfumes, jewellery just because he could. He almost bought you a car. But you drew the line there. You didn’t need to give your boyfriend any reasons to be suspicious.

“It’s not just that. Bryce is...safe” you mumbled looking at the floor.

He propped you chin up to make you look at him. “If you wanted safe, you wouldn’t be here” He leaned in to whisper in your ear “Just admit it. You like this. You like a little bit of danger”

Oh but Ransom wasn’t just a little bit of danger. He was prone to fits of rage and temper tantrums along with not having the ability to keep his dick in his pants. He didn’t have a job, if his grandfather cut him off he’d never be able to support himself or you. Then there was his dysfunction and toxic family.

“Why would you even want to get married? Didn’t you say ‘I don’t do relationships' ” You said trying your best to mimic his deep hoarse voice.

“You’re mine and that’s that. A piece of paper doesn’t mean anything”

You sighed exasperatedly. You knew he wouldn’t give up easily. Nobody has ever said no to him. You weren’t too thrilled to be the first. “I was never yours” you said softly “let’s go it’s almost midnight”

Surprisingly Ransom let you go. Keeping his distance from you for the rest of the night. However you knew it was just the calm before the storm. Whatever, you could deal with him later. He wasn’t as complicated as he seemed.

At the stroke of midnight you kissed Bryce. Your heart broke a little when you catched a glimpse of Ransom kissing a girl before you went back to watching the fireworks light up the dark gloomy sky.

It was hard to say goodbye to him. You didn’t want to. In a perfect world you and him would be together forever. Right now you know you made the right choice. You might feel a bit sad now but you would appreciate choosing Bryce in the future.

You quickly left the party not being able to stand to be around Ransom anymore. Bryce wanted to hang out with his friends some more so you left alone.

You got home taking off your makeup. The tight dress Ransom gave you and made you put on a little show for him. You already missed him. You cried yourself to sleep.

You couldn’t stand the fact that he might hate you. That you’ll never be able to kiss him again or hold him again. You made the right choice but was it worth it?

You woke up the next afternoon with a migraine. Your break up and the copious amounts of alcohol hitting you just now. You looked to your right to see that the bed was still perfectly made. Looks like Bryce spent the night at one of his friends house.

You sent him a text to check in with him. The day went by. You tried your best to keep busy with chores and work to think of anything but Ransom and your missing boyfriend.

When it was almost bedtime and Bryce still hadn’t turned up you called up all your friends, including Ransom, to see if they had heard from him. Ransom never answered. Which you understood you had hurt his feelings along with your own in the process. Your hopes to hear his voice again were crushed when his phone went straight to voicemail.

The next morning you went to the police with Bryces parents. They blamed you for leaving him alone at the party.

You walked home alone in the dark feeling completely lost. Your year wasn’t off to a good start. That’s when you saw him. Ransom standing in front of your door waiting for you.

Your body moved of its own accord, running to him, embracing him in a tight hug. You were crazy to think you could ever stay away from him. He hugged you back nuzzling your neck, his light scruff tickling you.

You pulled away to look at him with tears streaming down your face. “Bryce... he’s missing. I don’t know what to do. It’s my fault isn’t it? I should’ve stopped him, he drank too much” You covered your face with your hands trying and failing to hold back your sobs.

Ransom rubbed your back to sooth you. “It’s not your fault doll. I promise he’ll turn up” He cooed “Let’s go inside you’re freezing”

He ordered you some take out chicken soup while you took a long hot bath. You had barely eaten anything in the past few days. The hot soup burned down your throat. With a full stomach you slept peacefully in Ransoms arms.

He proved you wrong and made you feel safe and protected. You didn’t know what the future held for you. If you would still be with Bryce after he comes back. Right now you were content to cuddle in your lovers arms.

[fourmarkdove]

Wings.

Title: Wings.

Summary: Bouncing back into the dating scene after a bad breakup seems like a good idea until your Tinder date becomes an absolute nightmare.

Paring: Vampire!Henry x Reader

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: Angst, physical and a hint of sexual assault, violence, blood, dissociation, murder (most foul). You know, the usual. Please avoid if you trigger easily. 

A/N: Inspo based on this edit (above) of Vampire!Henry by @demivampirew​ 

“I’m going to go to the bathroom!” you shouted to your date over the hard thumping house music.

Surprisingly, he looked exactly like his Tinder profile picture, with his perfect blonde haircut, clean lines of an expensive suit, bioluminescent grin. It seemed odd he refused to meet his brown eyed gaze to yours, electing to keep his sunglasses on during dinner, but you cared less and less as the top tier mixed drinks kept coming. He’d thrown his arm comfortably around you way too early, smiled much too brightly. But if you were completely honest, it’d been so long since your last date, before that rough break-up, and you were starving for the attention. It’s not like you were a one night stand kind of woman, certainly not with a smooth, nearly perfect, stranger but if the situation presented itself you were pretty sure you were going to jump on the opportunity - not because he was as amazing as his profile said he was. He was actually quite boring, despite the flash and swagger, tossing cash around like he legitimately owned the nightclub he took you to after dinner.

In the bathroom, you pressed your hips firmly into the edge of the counter to keep from tilting on your fuck me heels. Applying a fresh bit of lipstick, you felt giddy, despite all of the alcohol pumping through your bloodstream. The room spun and you were hazy but in a fun way.

You are a sexy bitch. Smiling at yourself in the mirror, you decided you were going home with him.

He gripped your hips bruisingly hard and kept ramming his bulge against you every chance he got. He even started to kiss and nip at your neck, right there on the dance floor with people pressed in all around you. Who does that? People who find other people incredibly desirable and not at all desperate for validation, that’s who.

Your drunken logic, like your lipstick, was flawless.

After adjusting your push-up bra so your breasts lifted even higher from the black dress you wore, you stumbled back out the door to where he was waiting, leaning against the wall, your tiny purse strap dangling from one of his fingers.

“You ready to go, babe?”

“Mm I think so,” you purred hazily, running your nails over the buttons down the front of his shirt. He gripped your hand so hard you squeaked. His crushing grip hurt as he dragged you through the writhing mass of dancing bodies. You were going to get fucked. And you were going to feel it tomorrow.

“Uber?” you questioned, pulling out your phone the moment you cleared the club doors and were slapped with the shudderingly cool night air. Damn. You should have brought a jacket.

“Nah, we’ll walk,” he griped, leading you a few steps down the sidewalk. “My place isn’t too far.”

You made it exactly three steps teetering on those fuck me heels before you rolled your ankle on the uneven sidewalk and cried out in pain.

“I’m so s-sorry, Bryce,” you whimpered, leaning against a sign post to slip off your heel. “Give me a minute.”

He glanced over his glasses at you and then further down the street. “Come on, babe. Worry about it when we get to my place.”

“I think I might have pulled something. It’s really swelling up. Will you please wait a moment?”

“No, I don’t think I will,” he hissed menacingly. “I guess we’ll just have to do this here.”

Before you had a chance to ask what he meant, he fisted your hair and yanked hard at the roots.Your hands flew around his wrist, attempting to free yourself as he dragged you toward the darkened alley beside the club. Stumbling in only one heel, your throbbing ankle gave way again and you howled painfully, begging him to let you go. In the rush pry yourself from his grip, your purse swung from your body and landed on the sidewalk.

“Please stop!” you sobbed when your back grated flush to the stone cold brick wall behind you.

He held you by the throat, taking his time pulling off his sunglasses and tucking them into his jacket. There was no hurry now that he had captured and caged you in with his body. He hovered, blown out eyes black as midnight, and breathed in the warm scent of your skin, nuzzling along your hairline.

“You’re a fucking tease; you know that, yeah?” he breathed, tipping his head and playfully edging your strap off your shoulder.

“No, I’m really not,” you gritted, holding onto his wrist for dear life. In your peripheral vision, you noticed your purse had fallen open and spilled its contents under the buzzing orange streetlight. Fuck. Mace was in your purse but too far to manage now, especially on a sprained ankle.

He took advantage of your sideways glance, pressing his mouth hungrily to yours. Pressure and sharpness made you gasp audibly. He sighed, savoring the moment and you licked over your bottom lip to find the sting.

“You fucking bit me!”

His grin shown dark, stained with your blood. Wordlessly, he jerked your head to the side and sunk his canines into the soft place between your shoulder and neck. You cried out in shuddering pain, attempting desperately to shift your weight onto your injured side so you could at least give him a swift kick. He had you pinned too well though and any movement made him just grip tighter.

Bare shoulder blades scraping into the bricks behind you made you arch from the wall, but he pressed a thigh between your legs and forced you back onto it, his other hand roaming freely all over your body; grasping, kneading, bruising.

Letting out a choked, desperate cry, you felt your vision going dark. The lightheaded sensation swept through your body and your grip on his wrist loosened. You felt sick and hot and just wanted to escape your body.

You neither saw nor heard your date’s attacker approaching, but the pressure release and being tossed into the gravel shocked you semi-conscious. Through hazy vision, you made out two men scuffling and two others arriving from under the buzzing streetlight. 

Shouting. And growling. 

Pulling yourself up to sitting, you attempted to stand but the pain and disorientation proved too much. Instead, you dragged yourself to the doorway behind the club and held your breath, trying to stay quiet. Hot liquid pooled in the dip above your collarbone which you instinctively pressed your hand over.

The shouting ceased with a sickening click followed immediately by two men dragging a limp body right past you down the alley in the direction of the dumpsters.

A massive form in an all black suit loomed large over your hiding spot and the proximity made you shudder in terror. Flicking on his phone flashlight, he crouched down and laid it beside you.

“You can call the police and I’ll wait here with you. But I’d prefer you let me help you inside.”

His deep voice felt warm, like an embrace to your senses. A dark curl fell against his tense, worry-lined forehead which he pushed back but fell right onto its original place.

“My ankle…” you redirected, anxious to get his steady gaze away from your face. You had yet to look him in the eye.

Shrugging off his suit jacket, he slipped it around your body while looking over your swollen appendage. “Hmm, we should get some ice on that.”

Pulling the smooth fabric up close against your cheeks, you burrowed down into his jacket that could have wrapped around you twice over. It was still warm and smelled like sandalwood and soap.

Awash with sympathy, his blue-eyed gaze returned to your pained face. His brows lifted in the center waiting for your decision.

“Maybe some ice,” you suggested, “for my shoulder, too?”

Fishing keys out of his suit pants’ pocket, he put one into the lock above your head and turned it.

“You work here?”

“Something like that,” he nodded, sliding a thick arm under your legs and another behind your back, lifting you up off the gravel like you weighed nothing at all.

Dumpster lids at the end of the alley slammed open. The jarring sound rattled your nerves and you instinctively buried your face in his dress shirt’s collar.

“You don’t need to look at that, darling,” he instructed gently, rubbing a thumb against the small of your back.

*

Once inside, he flicked on a series of small golden lights down a long hall and into a pristinely presented office. Just past the desk with leather chairs was an executive washroom similarity decorated to the rest: mostly black marble with gold trim around the huge mirror that filled almost an entire wall.

Setting you down gently next to the sink, he slipped from your grasp to wash his bloodied knuckles. Your wide eyed gaze peering out from under his over-sized suit jacket made him smile just slightly.

“What’s your name?” He took a folded towel from the sink and dried his hands.

“Y/N.”

“Henry.”

“I’m not sure I should be in here.”

He arched a curious brow, removing his cuff links. “Oh? Why do you say that?”

“Looks expensive and I might be sick.” You cringed inside but it was the truth. Your skin was clammy and you kept swallowing hard, trying not to think of your anxious stomach turning over.

His amused smirk faded. Rolling up his sleeves, he pushed them up his forearms and stepped up between your knees.

When he came that close, you stared straight ahead at his broad chest, particularly the third button down that strained to keep his shirt closed across his pecs. 

Black button on a black shirt with black thread going through two holes. Kind of a shiny button. Almost. Not quite matte. It’s a nice shirt. On a nice man. He smells nice.

“Darling?” he called gently, tugging at your not-so-conscious thought. You lifted your head up to meet his gaze. They were the most beautiful blue eyes you’d ever seen. Saying nothing, heat rose to your cheeks and the corner of your lips ticked slightly upwards.

“Before we get to that ankle, I’d like to have a look at that shoulder,” he pressed two fingers to the lapel of his jacket you wore.

The moment he applied even the slightest pressure, you recoiled to the back of the jacket and closed your eyes tightly.

“Easy now, I just want to get you bandaged up,” he rumbled in his deep baritone.

“No.” You appeared to withdraw further into his jacket. “Please… don’t… touch me.”

Sighing deeply, he disappeared a moment and returned with the first aid box and set it next to your thigh. Popping it open, he rifled through bandages and located a pair of scissors, offering them to you, handle first. “Go on, take them.”

You frowned but pried your hand from your grip on the fabric around yourself to hold the scissors. Pressing a palm on the counter next to your knee, he leaned down so you were both eye level.

He searched your gaze for a moment. “In case you were worried, now you have a weapon. You won’t need it, but I do need to have a look at you though.”

Biting your bloodied lip, you nodded and felt an odd sense of relief. He lifted his brows in the center and asked if he could peel back the blood slickened jacket from your chest and you agreed, but immediately regretted it. Hissing in sharply, you clutched the scissors and looked up at him for any indication as to how bad it really was.

He maintained the same expression, however: focused, concerned, but controlled. Once he had your shoulder fully exposed, he reached around and quickly collected one of the hand towels, applying such hard pressure to the gaping bite wound that it made you wail in pain.

“Fuck,” he grunted, checking under the towel edge, adding a second to it and pressing down with the same painful pressure. “I didn’t think he had it in him to bite you as seriously as this.”

“Serious?” you repeated, feeling quite detached from your body. You touched the tendon working along his forearm, over his wrist and hand forcing the towels into the bite so severely, any additional pressure and he could have snapped your clavicle with his bare hands.

“You’re bleeding. Badly.”

“Doesn’t hurt.”

Jaw clenched, he corrected, “I can get it to stop but you’ll need to trust me and you won’t like it.”

“Doesn’t matter.” An overwhelming sense of dread filled every corner in the darkest parts of your mind. It made you choke on tears. “Nothing matters.”

“Of course it does,” he nudged gently, lifting your head with his elbow. “What were you drinking tonight?”

“Um… a-appletini. Caramel.”

Flashing a brilliant smile, down at you, he applied both hands’ worth of pressure to your shoulder again, making you whine. “After we get this sorted, we’ll sit down together and you can drink all the appletinis you want. On me.”

“N-no, I… c-couldn’t- I…”

His warm chuckle resonated through your chest. “Of course you can. And will. I own this place and a dozen more like it, Y/N. We’ll sit down together at any one of them that you like, promise.”

“Like… a date?” The words tumbled out of your mouth but in fairness, you weren’t sure the perfectly gorgeous man before you was real or just a dream. It had to be a dream because what would someone who looked like him want anything to do with someone like you?

“Like a date,” he repeated, leaning over and nuzzling your head back up. He huffed a frustrated grunt. “Come on, stay awake.”

Touching foreheads, your eyes opened lazily and you stroked the stubble along his jawline. “S-sorry I... ruined y-your... jacket...”

Worry strained his features; you were fading quite literally in his hands. “Let me do this. Please.”

“Mm...” your hand slipped from his cheek and the sweet solitude of sleep consumed your consciousness, rendering your body limp.

In an instant, the towels were slapped onto a soaked pile on the floor and his massive hands wrapped firmly around your waist, lifting you up as his mouth descended to your neck. Your head dropped back, and he pushed tendrils of blood soaked hair over your shoulder so they swung against the mirror making a slippery mess of the glass. He tongued over every inch of your exposed flesh, coagulating the fresh blood rising to the surface with his saliva. The scissors you held clattered into the sink basin.

Dark liquid smeared all over his lips and cheeks, he lifted his head, panting. His bright ocean blue eyes were filled with the red rage and blood lust from the taste of warm, fresh blood. Pushing his fingers into your hair, he tenderly lifted your head and dropped his shoulder to cradle your forehead against the crook of his long neck.

His brow furrowed when he tugged his saturated jacket down the rest of the way, exposing your injured shoulder blades in the mirror. Licking his thumb pad, he stroked over each bloodied wing in the reflection.

He made his way with you still in his arms back to the couch in his office and laid down heavy with you positioned atop his chest. Who knew if you would remember any of what had happened - or if despite his best efforts - if you’d wake up at all?

[passivenovember]

The Skull on the Shelf that Bares My Name

This is my first time posting a fic on tumblr, so. Here goes nothing

__

Billy was like an oil painting that had been around for a thousand years. Pretty in the right lighting, hideous in the swell of nightfall. All rough edges and smeared color, full of broken things inside that cut through the air and rattled around like shattered glass whenever anyone got too close, bristling and blowing with the 75mph wind that tumbled through his soul.

Billy thought it was breathtaking.

Thought he was breathtaking with split knuckles and broken ribs. Matted hair tangled with dried blood. Busted lips painted red, color spilling down his chin when he smiled too wide at his reflection.

He liked it messy and hideous.

Did everything he could to destroy the precious image, the golden boy.

He had always been pretty. Like a girl; sparkly eyes and curly hair. Neil had always old him someone would come along and color outside the lines, scribble over the image his mother had left behind and Billy had always been so breakable in the face of adversity.

Flinching against hurt and agony until it became commonplace. Until he grew tired of gluing himself back together every night under the light of the moon.

His face was beautiful like a sculpture carved from stone, or a window into the face of his mother and her mother, but.

Billy himself was like a cardboard box full of glass.

The Billy on the inside was sharp.

And crude.

And violent, when the mood struck him. Ask anyone and they'd tell you; guy's like a train barreling through an apartment building.

And he was.

A glorious, terrible, beautiful, ravenous storm brewing in the open sea.

Billy hadn't known girls could be hazardous.

He knew they were soft. Pretty, delicate and sometimes tough when they had to be. His mother had been like that--brazen. Flighty and aggressive in a different way, like when the sun emerges from the clouds and shines too brightly.

She was warm and loving.

Perfect in her femininity. Billy looked nothing like his mother because she dressed like a wood nymph, all sheer fabric and dresses that defied gravity. Her hair was blonde and curly, always pinned back with clips and beautiful scarves and Billy wanted desperately to look like her.

Film star beauty.

Painted lips, soft hands. When she threw herself off the bridge he brushed his fingertips over the fabric in her closet and tried to imagine what it would feel like to have the world at your feet.

She was so beautiful it felt like swallowing tar.

Hot and boiling on a summer's day.

Billy pulled something from the rack, ran his fingers around the liquid soft fabric of his mother's favorite dress; the white one with the pearl neckline that felt like water settling around his shoulders. They said she was going to be buried in this one and Billy hated it.

Hated that something so beautiful, so delicate would rot away in the cool, damp earth.

He sat in front of her vanity and watched the light twinkle against the jewels that littered the countertop; rubies, emeralds, opal stone cut into neat shapes. When he was a child Billy's mother would let him play with her rings because they made good skipping stones in the pond out back.

We'll always find more, his mother would say, and it was true. Neil spared no expense in making her shine like a million stars as if she didn't already steal the air from every room.

Pocket it in her velvet handbags for safekeeping.

Billy put a ring on each finger and studied his reflection in the pristine vintage mirror.

He looked like a rat.

A rat in a pretty dress, playing pretend for a day.

The front door slammed open and Billy put the dress back on the hanger.

The girl on the T.V. wasn't like his mother at all.

Not soft or feminine, but smoldering. Alight with power and freedom as she strutted around the stage. She looked like her eyes were swimming in water; thick black makeup smudged around green orbs, hair messy and tangled, legs littered bruises that peaked through the holes in her stockings as the lights threw her into disarray.

Slut kiss girls won't you promise her smack

is she ugly on the inside

is she ugly from the back...

The woman was a disaster packaged in something almost pretty but not quite. Like a beauty queen moments after winning the crown fair and square, tear stained makeup and fleeting promises of eternal beauty. She flung herself around the stage, dress ripped to shreds as the hands of the audience tried to tear away pieces of her flesh.

Her fingers were bruised and bloody as she wailed away on the guitar. Nails cracked and worn with the weight of her vengeance. With each press of her lips against the microphone the color oozed outside the lines of her mouth until she looked like a living dead girl and Billy.

He had never seen someone so beautiful.

The first time he put on a dress for real it had been an homage to his silver screen queen.

Black shift dress. Baby doll sleeves. Torn stockings and barrettes in his hair.

Kinderwhore they called it.

Billy stood awkwardly in front of the mirror in the bathroom and tried to make sense of the princess seam that came to an unsteady rest just above the line of his ribs. The clinging fabric felt nothing like the one his mother had been buried in it felt.

Dirty.

Sinful. Instantly cloaked in assumptions; he does heroin. He's a a bum and a loser in search of something the music can't give him so he searches for it in the sting of a needle. Billy bit down on his lips until they bled.

The color ran thick like maple syrup over the skin of his face, bringing out the blue in his eyes as it ran down his chin. As it caught in the stubble-rough landing of his jawline.

Billy looked like a mess.

Instantly, he was addicted. The first time Billy saw her he knew; that was his own image reflected back at him from the fifteen inch screen.

He began looking for inspiration wherever he could find it.

Debbie Harry, Freddie Mercury, Joan Jett, David Bowie. Women and men. Gods. His heroes. Feminine and masculine and dirty.

Courtney Love was always his favorite.

Filthy. Absolutely gut wrenching. Every time he saw her perform it was like his spleen was being ripped out and Billy couldn't escape the way he saw so much of himself reflected in her. All his rage and discomfort, his fury amplified by a million.

So he tried to emulate it.

Billy shopped around local thrift stores to find leopard print jackets and peasant tops. Dresses that hung wide or snuggled against the swell of his hips, kitten heels that brought much needed length to his hamburger legs and when he brought them home, always through the backdoor and stuffed carefully into a trash bag, Neil would raise an eyebrow.

Playing dress up?

Billy would grimace. Max is lookin' to be a Debbie Harry for Halloween. 'M helpin' her find the prefect dress.

And Neil drank like the answers sawm in a bottle of gin, so.

He would raise a fist at that. Never fully convinced but satiated, content with Billy playing the perfect older brother. His nose would bleed on the nights when Neil couldn't shake the impression that his son was a faggot but that was as far as it went.

Max never asked questions and Billy never told her the truth; that he felt more like himself when Courtney Love stared back at him in the mirror.

She sat with him sometimes.

Watched him apply his mother's lipstick, carefully at first and then all at once when the music carried him down.

Black lung coat and your little crown That's the crown that you get for falling down Hey baby, let me look in your eyes I see you standing in a weird red light...

"Why do you listen to this shit?" Max wrinkled her nose. Like a freckled bunny rabbit, it was kind of ridiculous. "She screams so fuckin' loud, you can't even understand what she's--"

"Mascara."

"Why? I know girls who would kill for your eyelashes."

Billy snapped his fingers. Max handed over the little black tube with a trademark eye roll, resting her chin in her hands as Billy repeated the process of careful application and then careless destruction of his hard work.

"Look prettier when you keep it nice," She snapped.

And Billy just chuckled. "I don't wanna look nice."

Max stared at him, popping a jaw breaker into her mouth. "Why not? Isn't that the whole point of makeup, to look pretty?"

Billy scrubbed at his eyes, warmth flooding his stomach again at the way the blue stood out against the black ring around his eyes. Like carefully crafted bruises, nothing like the ones Neil gave him. He shrugged his shoulders.

"That's so fuckin' predictable." He sat on the bed, pushing the hem of his skirt to roll the nylon against his legs.

"Using makeup and clothes to look worse, fuckin' idiotic." Max grumbled, but she watched with glowing eyes as Billy began scraping his nails down the length, creating runs in the delicate fabric.

"You gonna sit there yapping or are you gonna help?" He bitched.

Max slid to her knees in front of him, getting to work tearing holes into the stockings the way she knew Billy liked.

It was therapeutic, almost, having the help.

"I like when you do Blondie." She said after a while. "Fuck ton less work and Courtney makes you aggressive. She's got the energy of a horny dude, it's fucked up."

Billy smirked.

It was always more fun to play pretend with Max and her bitchy voice tethering him to the ground. He feared that, without it, he'd get lost in the feeling of freedom. Fly too close to the sun or something, catch on fire when he inevitably missed the tell-tale creek of the floorboards that meant Neil was listening in.

Max annoyed the hell out of him, but.

She kept him safe. Why, he didn't know.

Maybe she really was interested in the whole thing, electing to believe that every boy wanted to be a girl because the alternative meant her brother was sick in a way that couldn't be cured.

Billy stood, slipping on the kitten heels while Max held his hand.

He admired his handiwork.

"Gotta hand it you," Max whistled, low like a wolf. "Gets shittier every time we do it."

"Shut up, brat." But Billy was grinning.

For Max, that was a compliment.

Don't blush when I rip you open Hey baby, let me look in your eyes As you go off into your weird red light...

He ran his hands down the soft fabric, relishing the way the hem tickled the sensitive skin of his thighs.

He was pretty.

Not like his mother, not like Courtney Love, but.

Uniquely himself.

Max cocked her head to the side. "Don't you get tired of getting all dressed up with nowhere to go?"

Billy bristled. "Oh yeah? And where could I go in San Fran that wouldn't skin me on the spot for dressing like a bitch?"

"Castro." The gay area.

Billy felt his cheeks darken. He thought about it for a second; the lights, the thralls of people just letting the light in. Being themselves.

He shook his head, turning back to the mirror with a glare. "Yeah, okay. I'll get right on that."

"Cool, I'll just fetch my coat." Max turned to leave, chucking when Billy trapped her with an iron grip. "Relax, spaz. Neil would kill us both if he saw you looking like that."

And.

She was right. Billy had thought about it countless times before, what would happen if he threw a jacket over his baby doll dress and slipped out the back door one night. How the cool air would feel on the bare skin of his thighs, but. That's all it ever was. Just speculation.

Only dreams.

Knowing his luck he'd catch Neil in the hallway after his midnight piss and that'd be it. They'd never get the blood out of the wallpaper.

"Looks like we're stuck playing pretend." Billy patted absently at his spring of messy curls, refusing to let the sadness seep through but Max noticed immediately. Perceptive little shit.

She held up a finger, disappearing through the crack in the door. A second later she was back with her polaroid camera.

"Smile."

"No fuckin' way," Billy snarled. He could already imagine it; Neil digging through his sock drawer to find the pot he was always accusing Billy of smoking, only to stumble across something else.

Something worse.

Billy's ribs began to ache with the phantom memory of those fists planting like flower bulbs in fresh soil. He bruised easily, like an overripe peach.

Not everyone knew that about him, but. He did.

Max frowned. "Come on, we could send them to Courtney's P.O. box, I'm sure she'd be flattered."

Billy shook his head, tears swamping his vision as Max lifted the camera. The flash was blinding. Billy lunged for it, swearing as Max slipped past his grip. She took another picture.

And another.

And then another, until polaroid's littered the floor like fallen leaves on the dirty ground. Billy had tears rolling down his cheeks, ruining his makeup by the time she finally stopped. He held out his hand. "Max, just. Give that fuckin' thing to me. Now, we gotta burn this shit, alright? We gotta--"

But she wasn't listening, she was staring at the first image she had taken, when Billy was caught off guard. Max was absorbed in it, eyes glittering with something Billy had never seen before.

He snatched the picture from her hands and lifted it up to his face, brow wrinkled in disgust until--

This wasn't anything like staring in the mirror.

It felt more immediate, more real as Billy examined the image of a flawless stranger. Of a woman.

Of Courtney Love.

"Pretty," Max said.

And.

Yeah. He was.

They started taking pictures every time Billy got dressed up.

Max would help him get ready and then they'd do little photoshoots in his bedroom. He was a reluctant subject at first, awkward in his own skin until she suggested they smoke a joint before each session.

"To loosen you up a little, dick wad."

"What kinda brother would I be if I let my kid sister smoke pot?" Billy shook his head. "Absolutely not, Max."

She shrugged. "Then you do it."

So, he did.

And it helped. They switched up the music, finding it easiest to shoot to The Smashing Pumpkins, played with lighting and mood until she was satisfied with the "vibe," made immortal on film.

The images Max captured were like moments in time, archived in the shoebox under his bed. Billy looked like a rock star in every one--Debbie Harry on some days, Courtney on others; hair messy, cigarette trapped between his fingers, stockings ripped to shreds.

Max admitted that Courtney was her favorite, after a while, so that's the one that stuck.

And Billy loved every picture she took. Loved her artistic eye, obvious in the way she moved his lamp around the room to capture his features just so. Every session was serious like she was the photographer at Rolling Stone and he was her subject for the week.

It was addictive.

They had been taking pictures every night for a month when Neil caught them in the act.

The first punch felt like a bomb had gone off in his head, and Billy hit the floor without so much as a fight.

He remembers blood on the carpet.

Blood in his hair. On the walls. A splitting pain in his ribs and between his legs.

Keep digging your own grave, William.

Max patched him up after Neil's car tore out of the driveway.

"I'm sorry Billy." He hadn't realised she was crying. He ran his fingers over her cheek. "It's all my fault, I didn't mean--"

"I felt pretty." He said.

They stopped taking pictures after that.

Moving to Hawkins, Indiana was like stepping off the Earth and floating through space.

Billy felt weightless.

Every mistake, every hidden secret cloaked in baby doll dresses and leopard print coats had been left in San Francisco where they belonged. Stuffed in the back of his closet with the polaroid's they were able to tape back together.

He tried to forget the way it made him feel.

"You're the prettiest boy I've ever seen."

It wasn't meant to be a compliment. Billy could tell that from the way Steve's lips curled into a snarl.

He pushed his way into Billy's space, clearly drunk and high off something that made his pupils swallow the milky brown of his eyes.

Steve looked like he was swimming.

There were track marks in his arm. "You're like a vision," He reached out to touch, to feel, flinching back when Billy slapped his hand away.

"I don't know what the fuck you think you're doing, Harrington--"

"I think I'm in love with you."

And Billy had thought the same thing, the first time they ran into each other at the gay bar in Indianapolis, but. People talked.

Hawkins talked, like the city itself was an entity with a pulse and conscience that had been shot to shit in the eighties. Billy did his best to glare. "You don't love me, pretty boy."

"No, I." Steve grinned. He was high as a fucking kite. "I do. You're my guardian angel." He laughed hysterically, in a way that made Billy's skin crawl.

"What, your dealer tell you that?" He huffed.

And it was mean.

So fucking mean. If Steve was a junkie his skin wouldn't be so clear, so smooth. Like black cherries in milk, goddammit. Billy wanted to lap at the skin on his neck, taste the salt of his skin.

He wondered distantly if he'd be able to get high from it.

Probably. Steve smiled anyway. "Let me take you home."

"Such a fuckin' line," Billy said.

But he was already tugging pretty boy through the crowd.

Billy kept his dresses in the back of his closet where he kept his mother's suicide letters.

She had written more than one, consumed by her sadness in a way Billy had never understood until he had taken the fairy light inside him and smothered it.

Every once in a while, when Neil was out of the house and Max was at school or something, He'd take one out just to feel the weightlessness of the fabric settle against his skin.

Like little paper angels.

Like the whisper of something like hope but not quite, just out of reach.

He never did the full look anymore. Never put his heart and soul into it the way he had before, when Max was there to keep him from floating away, but.

Gradually he felt himself catch fire.

They had been together for three months when Steve peeled back the layers.

Neil was away on business, so Steve was sleeping over. Needed a shirt or sweats or to sleep in, catching sight of something bright red and shiny as he shifted the leather jackets at Greatful Dead t-shirts to the side to expose a stash of beautiful gowns that shone like an open sore against the soft light in Billy's bedroom.

Billy came through the open door, words dying on his lips as the bong in his hand shattered on the floor.

Steve held the dress up against the light, tongue poking out of his mouth in consideration.

"Max wants to be Debbie Harry for Halloween," Billy fished for his old excuse, eyes welling up with tears when Steve's jaw set in a firm line. "I'm helping her find the perfect dress, I--"

"Bill's--"

"That's not mine, Steve, I swear." Billy dropped to the floor.

Got on his fucking knees, hands level with his face in a silent prayer as he tripped over himself to rebuild the walls that had kept him safe. He was talking, spewing bullshit as Steve stood motionless against the closet door. Billy flung his arms around Steve's legs. Buried his face in his thighs, because.

He couldn't go through it again.

Wouldn't survive it.

"I never even seen that before, Stevie, please."

"Get up." Pretty boy commanded.

And.

Billy blinked teary, soulful eyes at him. "Huh?"

Steve shook his head. "I said stand up, baby. Get off the fucking floor."

Billy did. Steve watched him for a moment, expression unreadable. Billy prepared himself for the gut punch, the harsh word, the look of disgust in those eyes that had never shown anything but reverence for Billy, but it never came. In a single, syrupy slow motion Steve held the dress to Billy's throat, scanning him up and down in a way that left Bill naked and squirming.

He couldn't breathe. Couldn't think, as Steve smiled softly.

"Wanna see you." He said.

And. "What?"

"Can you put it on for me?" Steve asked. "Bet you look gorgeous. Like an angel, or a model or something--"

Billy let out a thick, wet sound. "I look like a beast, I'm--"

"No." Billy jumped when Steve nuzzled against his neck, the dress trapped like a gossamer curtain between them. "Bet you look like a deity. A goddess of rock n' roll. Like Courtney Love, right?"

And Billy had done a lot of things in his life. He was a builder of fortresses, a hider, an adventurer when the mood struck him. Billy protected himself and Max and his mother for as long as he could remember, carrying things that were too heavy for those with weaker shoulders, but.

He had never shown himself to someone he loved. No sugar, no cream, just.

Completely himself.

Billy took the dress and opened the safe in the corner. Pulled out his mother's makeup and painted himself into a masterpiece as Steve watched, motionless on the bed.

When he was done Billy was afraid to look in the mirror.

Terrified of what he'd see but Steve took him in his arms, peppering gentle kisses all along his face until Billy had built up enough courage.

"Ready? Steve whispered.

Billy let himself be turned around. Situated under the heavy sling of Steve's arm, until--

"Pretty."

Steve nodded. "Beautiful."

[himikiyo]

waidmanns heil // himikiyo week day 7

Himikiyo Week Day 7: Free day

The screaming finally stopped.

In the Republic of Greater East Asia, Korekiyo and Himiko find themselves taking part in the Program. Battle Royale AU.

Read on AO3 or under the cut

The screaming finally stopped.

It was a relief to be freed from such awful sounds. Labeling them as mere screams seemed to undersell the whole thing, really. The gurgles, the thunks of weapon hitting flesh, the ragged, heavy breathing. It all came together to form a violent cacophony that seemed impossible to block out, even on the other side of the wall.

Himiko had been sitting there on the floor, knees drawn up to her chest. She could have made herself more comfortable, made use of the furniture, but she didn’t dare. Even with all the blinds drawn, she was afraid of being seen through the window. Better to stay low when she could help it. It was strange how in the space of just a few days, being seen had become one of her biggest fears.

The cottage door opened with a creak. There was a single exception to her desire not to be perceived.

“Are you alright?” she asked quietly, only once the door had closed again. There could still be others nearby.

“Yes,” they said. The cadence of their voice was as calming as ever. They barely even seemed out of breath. “You needn’t worry about me. A few minor scrapes and bruises perhaps, but nothing serious. I’ve endured far worse before.”

Korekiyo lifted a hand to tug their mask down and show her the warm, sweet smile that adorned their features. Expressions so soft were always for her eyes only. From her position in the corner, still hugging her knees to her chest, she couldn’t help but smile back in gratitude. Their lipstick was still flawless too, as was the nail polish on those fingers gripping the edge of their mask. Their other hand was down at their side, holding a sickle. Blood dripped sluggishly from the blade, spattering on the floor.

They were one step closer to winning the Program.

“Who?” she asked, using up all her effort just to say that one word. She didn’t know if she wanted to hear the answer, but maybe that blood belonged to a stranger, someone from one of the other classes in their year. And if it wasn’t, she wouldn’t be able to stay oblivious to the truth forever. The names of the dead were read off several times a day, along with the new forbidden zones. If it was someone she cared about, she’d know they were gone soon enough. Did it make a difference who killed them?

Kiyo must have thought it did, because they looked away from her. Their gaze dropped down to their combat boots, stained with dirt and blood.

“Chabashira.”

“Oh.” Himiko looked down at the floor too when they said that, her stomach twisting uncomfortably. She hadn’t recognized the screams. Somehow she felt as if she should have.

“I’m sorry,” Kiyo said hesitantly, wiping off the sickle on the window curtains. Nobody was very motivated to care about the property of whoever lived on this island, not when the bigger concern was staying alive. The homeowners would be reimbursed for their troubles. Who cared if they had to replace a few things?

“No, it’s fine. You did what you had to do.” She tried to make her heart hard and remind herself of the end goal of all this. The two of them out in the world together again, able to heal and move on from all this. To do that, everyone else had to die, whether by their hands or someone else’s. Himiko cared about all her classmates, but no one could come close to Korekiyo on her list of priorities. Her love, her Kiyo-chan, the one she was always beside.

She didn’t even like Tenko that much. She hated her pushiness, the way she never let her forget about her crush even after several rejections. For some reason, her eyes stung anyway.

“I’m still sorry.” Sickle tucked in their belt now, they moved closer, drawing her in to their chest in a warm embrace. “You don’t deserve to be caught up in all this.”

“Neither do you,” she said. They didn’t answer. Probably thinking about how they killed too easily to be innocent. They just cradled her awhile longer, pulling back only enough to press kisses all over her face. Even in that moment of affection, they were both listening for sounds outside. Things were quiet, but that could change in an instant. They couldn’t afford to be caught off guard.

“How about I make curry for dinner, hm? Then we can plan our next moves.” More forbidden zones would be announced at 6:00 PM, just an hour away. Hopefully their little shelter would remain safe, but it was good to plan anyway.

“Do you think it’s okay to cook?” They hadn’t so far, subsisting only on the meager rations in the backpacks they were given.

Kiyo shrugged, glancing around. “I don’t see how it would draw attention any more than being here and not cooking. And the food is here, so why not? We’ll barricade the door. Just stay close to me.”

Staying close to them was never a burden.

Cooking and eating dinner went smoothly, thankfully. She knew it couldn’t last though. Sipping the last of their tea, the two of them sat on the floor, maps spread out between them. When the announcement came on, they marked off the new forbidden zones together, silently checking each other’s work.

When Chabashira Tenko was included in the list of the dead, Himiko didn’t flinch, her palm sweaty against Kiyo’s thigh.

The numbers kept going down. Only about fifteen left alive now, by her count. Fewer and fewer competitors. Fewer people standing between them and going home. They would escape the Program. They’d go home, wash off the blood and grime in Kiyo’s luxurious bathroom, grateful to their wealthy, absent parents for once. They’d be forgotten, safe and anonymous.

When it was time to leave the cottage, they took her out the back door, so she wouldn’t see Tenko’s body out front. The kama was in their hand again, rust-colored flecks still marring the blade.

The boy slinking through the weeds towards them didn’t have a chance to reach for his gun. Kiyo’s aim was always true.

Fourteen remained.

[godisadonghyuck]

Can you make a Jaemin smut

- idk is it tHAT good but okay !!! here you are with your jaemin smut 💘

↬ ‘into it’. na jaemin smut

“my brother’s best friend is the one for me” you thought every time you were meeting eyes with jaemin.

the boys always hung out in your older brother’s room, either playing with cards or scrolling through magazines with half-naked women, or at least smoking hookah while your parents are not at home. and you’ve got to stay a little and cute sister, who studies hard, watches every episode of “rick and morty” and likes bright things. but that’s only in your brother’s opinion that ain’t got no clue about your secret crush.

pulling off school uniform and taking on some shorts, cute long socks and a shirt with thin straps you made a peculiar bun and put your textbooks on the tabletop, and then you cleared your throat and went down to the kitchen to drink some juice.

the boys were hanging out at your brother’s room as always, making loud screams and strange noises, which made you wrinkle. opening the fridge and taking a carton of juice, you took a glass and poured needed quantity of liquid.

a knock on the stairs was clearly heard which accompanied by lazy teenagers who have finally decided to went down just for fun.

you’re resting against kitchen sink with your loin, sipping juice and watching the boys with your eye gaze. in fact, if they needed something, they called you to bring what they want. but you were not allowed to come into brother’s bedroom, cause “there’s no place for little shitheads”.

“what?” chuckled b/n, noticing your intent control under their every move. jaemin stood back, so that’s why he didn’t bring any interest about your future dialogue.

“oh, it’s nothing. it’s just really suspicious you’ve crawled out of your wigwam by yourselves” you chucked in return. b/n just rolled his eyes and turned to na again.

you licked your lips and started to consider jaemin upside down, setting aside an empty glass on the left of sink. you jumped on the tabletop, but you missed a bit and turned up inside that sink with your butt, touching dishes with your shorts.

cause of some noise and strange chatter, jaemin and b/n turned around, but when they saw you in that kind of a position they laughed their heads off. you just got offended and tried to get up, but nothing happened.

“well, you’ve eaten too much to grow such a big ass” laughed your brother. you threw an angry eye gaze and he shrugged his hands and leaned out from kitchen. na bursted out and approached you, giving a hand.

“y/n, what a shame!” jaemin was giggling.

you’re giving him a wet hand which is harshly pulled to him, getting you from sink like that, but also getting between your legs, clasping your thighs.

your eyes are wide open, while jaemin’s hot breath is hitting straight in the face. his cute smile’s gone, but a brazen one has already made its way to his face.

you’re changing from a vegetable position into some soup minestrone worth only to get a touch from jaemin.

worth noting that you’re jaemin’s crush from his childhood. and as soon as your brother has left the kitchen, answering parents phone call, making his way upstairs, you and jaemin were in a real close zone.

“j-jaemin, what are you doing?” you whispered, but not even trying to push him away. jaemin just harshly bends down to your naked part of shoulder, biting it as if with all of his strength. you’re hissing, feeling acute pain. jaemin licks bitten place, excusing himself.

“call me oppa, y/n” he said, taking off your shirt. you liked jaemin, he liked ya. so much that you could make love with him on that freaking sink.

your skin gets paler while jaemin is kissing your bloody lips, as if getting dirty in a lipstick. he goes over your neck, where’s located bulging out dark blue veins, leaving your blood stained in an imprint of his lips. na squeezes your thigh, where’s gonna stay a big purple-green bruise on it.

your knee stays free, so you decided to move it along jaemin’s fly, making him so mad, but turning him on at the same time like engine candles. he scratches that thigh and makes his moves really fast into your panties, entering three fingers inside you.

you’re jumping cause of unexpectedness and hit your nape hinged sideboard.

“you’re okay?” whispers jaemin with dread, stopping.

“it’s gonna be okay if you keep on going”.

jaemin chuckles, skillfully moving his fingers inside you with a crazy speed, making dirty sounds.

in the distance you can see silhouette of your brother, emerging from the door opening. jaemin had to stop, previously getting out of you, licking his fingers.

“you’re still sitting in that sink, you, princess frog?” snorts your brother, rubbing the back of his head.

“whatever” you’re rolling your eyes, and, jumping from the tabletop and defiantly walking around jaemin, playfully touching his belt with your finger while your brother can’t see.

jaemim gulps nervously. you’re not done yet. he has to leave a company of his best friend about twenty minutes. maybe even more.

[satelliteinasupernova]

do number 13!!! :)))

13. “I thought you agreed I should wear this costume to the party tonight?” “Oh I agreed to you wearing it tonight, but I had no party in mind”

It was just a few minutes before nine when Jughead made it in front of Betty’s dorm room, dressed in a white shirt and dress pants with his suspenders over his shoulders. “I’ll dress up as a Lady Dracula, and you can be my consort,” Betty had said when he told her he didn’t have a costume for the college Halloween party.

“Are you going to supply the gory make-up?” he asked, already wondering if bleach would be able to get red stains off of his only dress shirt.

“Vampires aren’t slobs, Jug,” she said with a shrug, her immaculate ponytail bouncing in place.

They had only been dating for a little over a month, but Jughead had held a candle for her ever since they had shared a literature class together during the first semester of freshman year. By some luck, her best friend had taken an interest in his roommate, and soon Betty had become a part of his regular group without Jughead actually having to put himself out there.

He’d assumed the interest was one-sided, until Betty had asked for his number before summer break and promptly messaged him almost every day over the summer.  When he got back to school at the start of the new year, he had decided that the least he could do was ask if she was interested in him.

He ended up whispering his feelings to her when they were alone together, walking down an empty flight of stairs after class. I like you, Betty.

“Oh good,” she said with a sigh relief. “Me too. I like you too.”

Things had been steady since then. Even his birthday, always a tense time for him, had passed smoothly. Betty had taken him to a horror movie, bought him popcorn and several kinds of candy, and ended the night by kissing him thoroughly in the front seat of her parked car.

Jughead ran his hand through his hair as he knocked on Betty’s door. At the last minute, he had left his hat in his room, but he was starting to question that decision, a nervous energy building in his gut.

He felt better as soon as Betty opened the door, a bright smile on her face. “Juggie!” She was wearing a short black dress with a heart-shaped neckline that accentuated the swell of her breasts in a way that Jughead was already finding distracting. She had a black cape over her shoulders that gave a peek of a deep red underlining when she moved.

“You look cute,” he said, still awkwardly standing in the hallway.

She curtsied cutely, and motioned for him to come in. “Come sit down.”

“Won’t we be late?” Usually Betty was unerringly punctual. He had expected her to usher him out to the outside dorm party as soon as he got there.

“Oh, did you want to go?” She looked back at him over her shoulder. Her voice almost sounded disappointed.

Not really, he thought. Instead he said, “I was promised more candy than I could possibly eat. I was prepared to take that as a challenge.” 

“Right,” Betty said thoughtfully, circling around the room in a series of searching motions. “Here we go.” She pulled out a large plastic bowl decorated with little cartoon bats from under her desk. It was filled to the brim with chocolate candy. 

As Jughead took the bowl in his hands, Betty gave him a sudden shove, settling him promptly in the chair right behind him. A strange thrill jolted through him as collapsed into the chair.

“Eat,” she instructed, pointing at the bowl with a finger. “I have a few things to get ready.” She proceeded to rummage around in her desk drawer, pulling out a hand towel and a first aid kit.

“So…we’re not going to the party, then.” He unwrapped one of the larger chocolate bars and tossed the wrapper into the trashcan next to him.

“Only if you want to, Juggie. If you decide you want to go, tell me, okay?” At the end of her question, she looked up at him, studying his expression.

“Okay…” he answered, slowly coming to terms with the fact that this night was not going to go anything like he had expected.

He swallowed nervously. He and Betty hadn’t had sex yet, hadn’t even really approached the subject, but Jughead was starting to get the impression that that was something Betty was interested in changing.

Betty sauntered over to him and lifted the bowl from his hands, gently placing it on the floor beside them. She sat down, settling herself on his lap. “Jug,” she said, her voice sweet but probing. His heart was pounding painfully against his chest. He reached out to put his hands on her hips just for something to do.

Betty’s gaze was intense and unwavering. She was watching him like she was trying to read his thought behind every expression. “How do you feel about pain mixed with pleasure?”

It was not a question he was expecting. He fumbled through his words, “What exactly…” His tongue felt awkward and heavy in his mouth. “You mean like, scratching? Bruising?”

“More like…biting,” she wrinkled her nose, and her predatory demeanor flickering into a shy, nervous one. “Is that something you’d be interested in?”

“I guess, yeah.” His whole body was buzzing with nervous energy. “If it’s you,” he added truthfully.

For a moment, Betty didn’t say anything, she just watched him, her eyes fixed on him with an unrelenting gaze. Then she relaxed, and he could feel her body settling into his lap.

“Okay,” she said, with a smile. She reached up and put both of her hands on his cheeks, her thumb rubbing softly against the side of his chin. “And you’ll tell me if you want to stop, right?”

“Yeah,” he answered, running his tongue over his lips. “You-you too, right?” His attempt to give a smooth answer undercut by his current inability to put more than two words together.

She leaned toward him, bopping his nose with hers affectionately, before tilting her head and capturing his lips with hers. She ran her tongue along his mouth, pushing his lips open. Normally, they started slow and built up from there, but this time Betty kissed him aggressively, right from the start. He moved to match her pace, pulling her closer in his lap. The fabric of her cape settled over his arms, cold and smooth, a sharp contrast to the heat that was quickly building under his skin.

Over the top of the deep red lipstick she was wearing, he could taste the flavor of the sticky sweet lipgloss she wore almost every day. The taste, the smell of it, was starting to become a familiar friend. When she greeted him in the mornings, a new coat fresh on her lips, it took all of his willpower not to pull her to him and meet her greeting with a long series of kisses. 

Now that he had her all to himself, he felt almost giddy. Soon, he stopped thinking altogether. Feeling her with his lips, with his hands. Reaching for her hair, her thigh, cupping her breast. 

A shock of pain practically jolted him out of his seat. His mind was such a foggy mess, it took him a full second to realize that Betty had bitten his bottom lip. Her comfortable grip on his cheek steadied them as she immediately started to sooth the bite with her tongue. He could taste a pang of blood in his mouth, but the pain had all but faded.

Betty slowly pulled her head back and blinked at him slowly.

“Was that okay?” she asked.

“Yes,” he mumbled, running his own tongue across his lip, still tasting the hints of lipgloss there.

“Is more okay?”

“Yes,” he practically groaned.

“Okay,” she whispered with a smile, but instead of meeting his lips again, she started a trail of kisses down his cheek, under his chin, down his neck. Jughead was left gasping for air, putting a hand under her cape so that he could run his fingers over the smooth skin of her arm.

When her teeth sunk into his neck, his whole body was on fire. He leaned his head back against the headrest of the chair, his eyes rolling back. He could feel the quick caresses of her tongue, and the sound of her throat, as she fed on his blood.

She really was Lady Dracula, he thought.

Far too soon, she pulled away, picking up a folded hand towel on the desk beside her and placing it against his neck.

“You can keep going,” he said as he blinked up at her. She looked back over at him and smiled, an overwhelming affection in her eyes. His whole body was tingling down to the tips of his fingers and to the ends of his toes.

“That’s enough, baby,” she said in a hushed whisper. “Was that okay? How do you feel?”

He snorted softly, “I feel great. Is this just a Halloween thing or-”

“It’s a whenever you feel up to it kind of thing,” she answered, looking amused.

“You aren’t doing this with anyone else, right?” he added with fake petulance. 

This time she gave a short laugh, “I usually manage just fine, thank you, but you’ll be my first stop next time I get hungry.” She leaned forward one more time to kiss him sloppily on the lips, breaking away with an audible smack. “Now eat some more candy, I’ve got a packet of juice in the fridge.”

As Jughead reached for another chocolate bar, he licked his lips one more time, tasting blood.

[khhunniewriting]

Is That Blood Or Lipstick?

[ Mafia / Gang AU ] [ Suggestive Content ]

In the dead of night, you were awakened by loud banging on your door. Your vision was hazy as you reached to the other side of the bed. Cold. Your hand fell flat across the mattress, space your significant other usually occupied was empty. 

Panic set in when you realized you were alone and the banging continued to echo the confined space of your small apartment. Your hand went under his pillow but again found nothing. “Shit!” There was no gun. Jumping out of bed you made a beeline to the closet. Frantically you searched for anything to defend yourself with.

“What kind of safehouse is this?!” If you would have been home there would be guns and knives hidden everywhere. In the floorboards, archways, under mattresses...

The banging got louder.

You grabbed a tire iron that had been left in there for some odd reason and slipped on one of his jackets. Cautious of your step you approached the door silently. Your dominant hand gripped tightly around the tire iron raising it above your head ready to strike as the other turned the doorknob.

“Bab-by!” Nafla stumbled through the door slurring his words.

“Nicholas!” You angrily shoved him away when you caught the strong scent of alcohol and women’s perfume. 

He only laughed, too drunk to understand the situation. Loopy stepped out from the shadows to help Nafla into the home. “Hello Y/N.”

Your scowl momentarily subsided to greet him. He was the boss of the group so you had to behave in front of him. “Hello Boss,” you sighed knowing very well Nafla had been out with him on business. 

“Remember, you can call me Loopy now. After all, you’re marrying this guy right?” Loopy chuckled as he helped Nafla onto the couch.

You sighed, “I don’t know about that.” Catching a glimpse of your ring as you closed the door reminded you of your impending wedding. At first, you had been thrilled your longtime boyfriend had finally decided to keep you for good. With that commitment came the knowledge of what exactly your future husband meant when he was out on business.

Now that you were in it for the long run you found yourself in hiding ninety percent of the time. Your ring made you a target to those who wanted to do harm to Nafla or MKIT Rain. But that wasn’t your greatest concern.

“Are you worried about becoming a young widow?”

Not even that, you shook your head in response. What worried you most was far more selfish and common to every woman. “There are always women around in your line of business. Women who wish to enjoy the luxuries and power that come with your lifestyle.” They, of course, did not know of the consequences. How they would have to be ready to leave all those luxuries behind if the time came to run.

You still remembered the night it happened to you. Nafla came home in the middle of the night with a bullet in his shoulder. He scooped you out of bed and threw you over the uninjured shoulder, his arm securing you in place. Owen and Bloo accompanied him with guns in hand as he got you into one of the blackout SUVs. He yelled at you for the first time ever, made you stay silent until he got you here to the safehouse. 

All your belongings, material possessions, everything was gone. He had made an error and you were paying for it.

Loopy nodded understanding where you were going with this. He looked over at Nafla who had passed out on the couch. Perhaps making him drink to forget his worries wasn’t the best thing to do but he knew how worried he was of you leaving him. “It’s not easy being with us. They don’t know that but you do and he knows it too. I’ve never been in love so I don’t understand it but he is willing to do everything for you.”

Your heart fluttered- of course, you knew he loved you. The fact that he would talk about you to Loopy was a bit embarrassing.

“Shouldn’t you do the same?” he asked. 

Looking over at your passed out fiance you saw an angelic face. He was completely out, peacefully sleeping. You loved him more than anything or anyone in the world. Those luxuries could burn for all you care, all you needed was Nafla. 

When you nodded Loopy grew smug. “Good because no matter how many women strip their clothes or lap dance for him he just doesn’t-“

“WHAT!”

\\\

The next morning Nafla woke up to an icy reception. Literally, there was no blanket and the room was incredibly cold. Usually, when he came home late and passed out on the couch, he woke up with a blanket and breakfast waiting for him. 

“Baby,” Nafla called out. Almost immediately he regretted it as the volume of his own voice made the headache worse. Sure the drinking would have something to do with it but he was sure it had to do more with the hits he took.

You walked out of the kitchen with crossed arms trying your best to conceal the fight that was brewing within.

Nafla took in the sight of you wearing nothing but one of his shirts. “Babe how can you dress like that, it’s freezing in here.”

“I know but I’m not allowed to go out to do laundry.” Being in hiding was difficult. The few sets of clothes that had been waiting for you in the apartment had been worn well beyond their limit. You showered daily but still- the fabrics had accumulated the odors to a point where your coconut body wash and cherry blossom lotion could not hide them. “You were supposed to bring me clothes yesterday.” Even he was out of clothes which is why you didn’t even have a pair of sweats to go with his shirt. 

“Shit-” Nafla muttered to himself when he remembered. “Babe I’m sorry I-”

“I don’t want to hear it!” Your chest rose and fell in anger. He was wearing a new suit, evidence of him having gone shopping for himself. Even his hair had been freshly dyed a bright shade of red, evidence of him having gone to a salon. Worst of all was the fact he had gone out drinking to strip clubs with the gang. “While I’ve been on house arrest you have been out enjoying yourself.” 

“Baby-” Nafla followed you into the kitchen where you ran off to. “Y/N I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be gone so late.” He really did intend to go shopping for you. First thing was first, he had to change his appearance to throw off the enemy who was hunting him. “We got a tip, Youngwoo found out one of their money laundering establishments.was a strip club.”

“So go and kill the guy, don’t use it as an opportunity to enjoy yourself.”

“I didn’t!” Nafla was starting to get annoyed by your misplaced jealousy. Had he not proven you were the only woman he loved? Did you not trust him? “I was only there to do a job.”

You shook your head in disbelief. “Then why did you come home drunk?” Your eyes went to the collar of his shirt where red stains demanded your attention. “Is that blood or lipstick?” you asked eloquently pronouncing every word. 

But you didn’t wait for the answer.

There were no other stains on his suit. If it were blood it would be splattered across other places.

Nafla quickly looked for a mirror to check what you had seen. “Babe it’s not-” he fell silent after loosening the tie and pushing the collar down. There he saw a purple bruise, a hickey. 

He had no memory of it but there was a lot going on last night. Loopy insisting they play along as patrons and drink to loosen up. The more he thought about it the less he was sure about. “Y/N,” he chased you to the door where you were furiously putting on your shoes. 

“Stop!” You held out your hand to keep him at a distance. You loved Nafla but sometimes he was so careless. The desperate plea in his eyes for you to listen was dismissed. “Don’t follow me, I need to think.”

“About what?” He took a step forward holding onto your hand. “Baby I love you.” He tenderly kissed your palm but it did little to calm you now that the hickey was visible to you.

The hurt in his eyes when you reclaimed your hand matched your own. Heartbroken you opened the door warning him once more to not follow you.

“Babe you can’t go out.” The apartment building was the safest place for you at the moment. What he and the others had done last night had probably angered their rival more. Nafla lost his home but they lost their income. 

You offered no response. The loud slam of the door was it, you walked out of the apartment for the first time in weeks wearing his shirt and jacket. 

He was sure you wouldn’t go far like that. If anything you would walk outside and instantly regret it when the cold wind hit your exposed legs. Nafla still had to make sure you were safe. He got his phone and called AP who was keeping watch off the building from a car across the street.

“Keep an eye on my wife.” Even if you were yet to be married Nafla already referred to you as his wife and so did the others.

“What, why is she going outside?”

Nafla sighed not wanting to get into details. “Some shit happened.”

“Trouble in paradise?” Andy (AP) joked only to immediately regret it when Nafla hung up. Well, fuck you too then. He watched the exit closely waiting for you to appear but you never did.

Inside you walked down the many flights of stairs to the ground floor.  There was no way you would go outside the way you were. Instead, you walked around the lobby of the building, passing the mailboxes and empty building manager’s office. 

Pacing the small area did little to calm your woes. Nearing the windows you saw the familiar SUV that had been posted at the front for the entirety of your residence in the building. Walking to the back you saw another similar SUV but this one was not entirely blacked out. You could see the driver and he did not look familiar.

When your eyes met you backed away.

It was too late. 

The window broke as something pierced your neck. Almost immediately you fell to the ground- numb. Your legs did not respond to your mental commands. Your hand slowly went to your neck and pulled at the object lodged in your larynx. A dart. You dropped the object as your hands too fell asleep.

Nafla retracted his fist from the wall when he heard the sound of broken glass. It was subtle in the three-story apartment building but he heard it nonetheless. His mind immediately raced with the possibility of you being hurt.

Once again he called AP. “Did she go out?”

“No, she hasn’t. She looked out the window a while ago but turned around.”

Within seconds you saw a man climb through the broken window. 

When Nafla heard the loud thud of foreign footsteps he flew into action leaving AP to wonder what had happened.

You attempted to call for help but the words were caught in our throat quite literally. The dart had numbed your body and damaged your vocal cords.

“Silent, just the way the boss likes ‘em.” The man picked you up bridal style and passed you to another who was waiting outside the window. A shard of broken glass cut your immobile leg in the process causing you to flinch and close your eyes.

“Sorry princess but we can’t afford to be gentle with you.” They ran to their getaway SUV where they threw you in and patted you down looking for concealed weapons. 

Nafla came down the last few steps to see the broken window. When he saw the blood he knew it was yours. “Fuck!”

There were lewd remarks and definite cupping of your chest when they realized you were rather underdressed. “What a lovely surprise...” One of them stopped when they found your phone.

“Toss it!”

\\\

Your eyes opened and closed rapidly when the lights were turned on. For days you sat strapped to a chair, no food, no water, no sunlight. You were beginning to weaken substantially. Every time you passed out a little longer. This time you woke up to the feel of bandages around your throat. 

Now there were only metal shackles around your ankles allowing you to stand but only walk a few feet away from the chair. 

“Look who’s up.” The Boss had been watching you from outside the room. The one-way mirror allowing him to look inside but obstructing your view out. He entered with a smug grin knowing very well you could not speak thanks to your punctured larynx

Even in this situation, you managed to glare at him. 

“Still got some fight in you?” Depriving you of basic necessities was a strategic move on his part to disable you further. He wanted you weak. “You must be some high-quality girl. What club did you work at before seducing one of Loopy’s men?”

You shook your head with disgust. I’m not a stripper!

“Not a club, maybe a bar? Don’t tell me you were just some normal unassuming woman who got herself mixed up with the wrong crowd.” He walked around you as if checking you out. “I’ve never settled down myself but for you...” He got closer and closer.

Your hands splayed out on his chest to keep him away. That’s when you realized your ring was missing. Your eyes widened in shock only to narrow back into menacing slits when the Boss slipped it out of his pocket.

“Looking for this?”

Your hand quickly grabbed at it but he moved.

“You’re a fast one.” He examined the ring further. 

It was a simple band but the rock was breathtaking. A compromise made by Nafla who insisted the ring be huge and luxurious while you maintained a desire to keep from calling attention and making it simple. It wasn’t huge but it was of the highest quality available.

“I bet he would do anything to get you back.”

His tone sent chills down your spine. Right now you were nothing more than a pawn for him to use in the greater scheme of things. But, your greatest concern was Nafla. The way you stormed off after fighting... he would surely blame himself for this.

You shook your head denying his claims. Turning away to sit back down and pretend as if you were someone who didn’t matter.

“Do you want to find out?” he asked. 

\\\

���Boss we found this.” One of the men handed Loopy your cellphone. It was scratched and broken but the screen was still partially working. He could see the picture of you and Nafla was set as the background. 

After dismissing them Loopy went into the meeting room where Nafla and the others were already working on finding your captors. He approached Nafla placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. “They found this.”

Nafla held your phone as if it were a priceless artifact. His resolve to find you was strengthened, not that it had ever been anything less than his first priority.

“We’ll find her,” Loopy assured. “Everyone is out there keeping an eye out for-” He was interrupted by the ringing of his own phone. When he saw the screen there was a sense of amazement. 

He showed the screen with your name on it making everyone question. Nafla held your phone in his hands. That was surely not you but it was a good way to make him answer considering the number was a private line.

“It must be the person who got her.” Owen quickly hooked Loopy’s phone to the tracker. “Answer it.”

“So...” Loopy sighed into the phone. Even if they had the upper hand he wouldn’t allow them to act big. “Mind telling me why you’re not attacking directly?”

The Boss chuckled, “Isn’t it more fun this way?”

“She’s not essential to us.”

It hurt to hear but you knew Loopy had to say it. Just moments ago you had silently taken the same claim. 

“Maybe not to you but I’m sure you got someone there who misses her. She’s very beautiful- nice legs, soft skin, and I just love the way she glares at me. The more she fights, the more I want to keep her for myself.”

“I’ll kill you!” Nafla had to be held back so he wouldn’t snatch the phone from Loopy. “Don’t you fucking touch her!”

Tears pooled near the corner of your eyes. You looked away to hide how affected you were from hearing your beloved’s voice. He sounded so broken you could imagine what state he must be in. “Ah-ii-ah” you desperately tried to speak to tell him you were fine and end his torment. 

The Boss chuckled, “Who’s the lucky man?” The question was obviously directed at Loopy. “I want to talk to him.”

Loopy reluctantly gave the phone to Nafla.

“I want to talk to her!”

“Sorry,” the boss tried caressing your face but you slapped his hand away. “Even if I let her, she can’t. A shot to the larynx will do that to you.”

Nafla’s heart dropped at the thought of never hearing your voice again. 

“If you want to talk to her you’ll have to come and see her perform at my new place. I had to set up shop somewhere else after you so kindly closed the last one.” 

Your vision began to blur once more a warning of your impending unconsciousness. Soon you would be out like a light again, no telling for how long. 

\\\

“This is definitely a trap Nafla so be careful.” Loopy secured his bulletproof vest under his clothes. Everyone was more than ready to help Nafla but they had to be smart about it. “Stick to the plan.”

Right now Nafla was full of rage. He needed to get you back, that was the only thing on his mind.

“Let me take care of him.” Loopy knew Nafla’s emotions were getting the best of him. He reeled him in and kept him from jumping out of the SUV. “Get Y/N out as soon as possible.”

Nafla nodded.

Inside you wearily stared up at the woman who was doing your make-up. She had a huge chest, most likely fake like the smile on he face. “Come on darling, smile. You’re clothed aren’t ya. It could be way worse believe me.”

Hardly. You looked down at the ridiculously short black and white shorts. They might as well be underwear. The matching top was long sleeved, most likely to hide the brushing on your wrists and arms, but hardly covered the black bra you were wearing underneath. You looked like a sexy prisoner mannequin from an adult costume shop. 

The only positive of the whole experience was the fact that you got your hair washed and styled by the woman. She even put extensions in your hair to make longer curls that fell lower than your entire outfit. You truly were being made to look like her.

“There!” she exclaimed putting down the lipstick and turning you around to face the mirror. “Don’t you look beautiful?”

You silently stared on forcing a smile.

“Oops forgot you can’t talk, silly me.” She helped you up, still too weak from dehydration to do so on your own. “Let’s go show the boss.”

As you walked the long dark corridor in six-inch heels you heard the familiar sound of gunfire. The woman dropped to the ground with you in tow. She screamed loudly calling attention to you.

You slapped your hand onto her mouth to shut her up and pointed to an exit.

“We can’t-” she shook uncontrollably. This was her first time experiencing something like this. Instead, she dragged you back to the dressing rooms you had been in before. “Oh my god! What do we do.”

I told you what to do! You desperately wanted to yell at her.

“Come on we have to hide.” Her best idea was to duck under the vanity and hope someone didn’t shoot their way inside.

Crouched down under the table you began to form a plan. Nafla could be out there, that could be Mkit exchanging fire with the Boss and his people. You unstrapped the heels and threw them across the room. You could barely walk on your own, those things only made it worse.

“What are you doing?”

You pointed to the door deciding it was best to take your chances than become a pawn for the boss to use against Nafla. 

“Don’t leave me!” She held onto you prohibiting you from moving forward. 

When shots came through the door you pushed her back into hiding and crawled in behind her.

The door was kicked off its hinges and fell flat onto the ground. “Y/N!”

Your eyes widened as you heard the familiar voice. Instantly you came out of hiding relieved to see your fiance’s fading red hair. Nafla! You tightly wrapped your arms around him nearly crying off the makeup that had just been applied.

“Baby, are you alright?” he kissed the top of your head. Putting the gun down for a moment to examine you. There was a look of concern as he eyed the bruises and dullness of your eyes. You were visibly tired and in need of medical attention but nevertheless, you nodded with a smile.

“We have to go,” he wrapped an arm around your waist urging you out.

Tapping him to stop you pointed at the woman hidden behind you. She had no part in any of this. If anything you had a hunch she too had suffered thanks to the Boss. Now that she saw a way out she wanted to take it as well. We have to take her.

Nafla eyed her as she happily held onto your outstretched hand. “Alright but don’t try anything,” he warned her.

You were thankful for the fact that despite your lack of words Nafla knew what you were trying to say.

Just like Loopy planned, Nafla got you and exited the building as soon as possible. He brought you out to a waiting blackout SUV. The doors opened revealing the familiar faces of Bloo who helped you in and AP who was at the wheel.

“Take care of her, I’ll be back.” Nafla ran back into the building before you could stop him. 

Bloo held you back making sure not to lose you too

\\\

You fell asleep as Bloo and AP drove to a far unknown location. When you awoke you were warmly tucked in on a huge soft bed. Natural light flooded the room making you squint until it was bearable.

When your eyes fully opened you took in the sight of the large bedroom. The floor to ceiling windows were draped in sheer ivory linens making every detail stand out. This wasn’t a place you recognized. Looking down at your arm you looked like you were at a hospital. An IV drip stood close by which explained why you felt a lot better. No more headaches or dizzy spells. 

You felt like you had finally rested rather than succumbing to unconsciousness.

Your heart nearly jumped out of your chest when the door opened. “Nicholas-” your voice was weak but it was there. You were talking! 

Nafla rushed over to you not expecting to see you up. “Y/N!” he hugged you pulling you out of bed and onto the cold marble floor. 

You were in tears as you desperately clung to him. “I’m sorry,” you apologized for having caused him the trouble of a shoot out, for fighting, for ever doubting him.

“I should be the one apologizing.” He pulled away to meet your eyes. The pads of his thumbs wiped away your tears as he too began to get a bit watery-eyed. “Sorry I do stupid shit and put you in danger.”

You laughed unable to resist. You were just so happy to be back in his arms, you could hardly control the tears. The danger was a given. From the beginning, you knew what he did wasn’t legal. “I don’t care if I’m in danger as long as you save me.”

“Always,” he kissed you once more. This time it was a gentle kiss full of unspoken emotion. He feared he would never see you again, that you would curse the day he stepped into your life.

Your hands caressed his face, it was like you couldn’t believe he was really there.

“I love you more than anything.” The hickey was gone but he still recalled the pain in your eyes when you saw it. “I don’t want anyone else but you.”  

“I want you too,” you whispered indisputably sure of your decision.

-end-

A/N: This was really long already so I didn’t go into too much detail at the end or it would become a series. SO here are your unanswered questions: Nafla got her vocal cords fixed while she was out, the girl was released, and the house is the one he was preparing for after the wedding ^^

[zweiginator]

Good Company- Part Six

read the other parts here

Summary: Brian and you attempt to keep your relationship a secret from everybody you’re close to, but you’re both fed up with loving each other in the shadows, of sneaking touches.

Word Count: 6,831 

Warnings: Some smut at the VERY beginning, a bit of angst but also cute Brian :)

Brian’s knuckles were white, the grooves of his tendons traced by bluish-green veins that pulsed assuredly; he could feel his heartbeat through the junction of skin between his thumb and wrist. He gripped onto the grimy sides of the two porcelain sinks he was wedged between, the skin of his hips cold and pebbled with goosebumps as they grazed the side. And usually he would be more cautious about being so promiscuous in an unwashed bathroom in the back corner of a London pub where thousands of drunks had surely pissed and puked all over the floor which you were knelt on, but the promiscuity itself--the sight of you knelt in front of him on that dirty floor--was clouding his usually logical mind with the skewed and immature convictions of a horny fifteen-year-old boy. But fifteen-year-old Brian would never believe that he would ever be sucked off in public bathroom after the best gig of his life. He would never believe a girl as beautiful as you, as adeptly ethereal, would be looking up at him through lashes coated with the same mascara that his own were smeared with.

A tear, diluted a deep grey by the makeup caked on Brian’s honey-laden eyes streamed down his hot cheek as his knees buckled deftly. His eyebrows were furrowed halfway in pleasure and halfway in concentration. The boys--including Roger--weren’t too far around the corner, definitely tipsy off of bubbly champagne, their fingers perpetually gripping thick-lipped glasses of gins and whiskeys.

You looked up at Brian appreciatively, his hair completely stuck onto his forehead, dark chocolate waves sticky with beads of salty sweat. His arms were shaking as he gripped onto the edges of the sinks harder, the rustling of his velvet trousers against his exposed ankles a faint whisper in comparison to the booming, warm bass that seemed to shake the pub, vibrate in your knees, raw against the dirty tiled floor. You pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the head of his cock and watched the tell-tale signs of pleasure shoot through his body, his head falling back against the exposed brick, jagged cement sharp against his neck, but he couldn’t care less. A breathy moan escaped from between parted, lipstick-stained lips--your doing from a passion-fueled, secret makeout session before you found yourself on your knees, which were scathed with purple bruises, dotted along the jutting edges of your kneecaps.

“Fuck, I-” His elbows started to give out, the pleated silk of his sleeves brushing against the skin, tingly from a lack of good blood flow.

You continued your staring into his eyes, which were fluttering closed as his wrists quivered and shook from the sensation of your warm tongue licking up his shaft softly, your spit trailing up, where it gathered and mixed with the steady pulses of precum leaking from his tip. You took him further into your mouth, suckling on his tip before pushing further down, until he hit the back of your throat in a steady rhythm, in tune with the bobbing of your head and the tapping of Brian’s bluntly cut nails against the porcelain, a necessary distraction for him to keep his mouth shut that wasn’t working too well.

“Y/N you’re gonna make me cum.” Brian’s hips jerked forward just slightly, causing you to gag, black stained tears mirroring his own, which were rolling over his cupid’s bow, covered with thick stubble. His eyes rolled back at the feeling of his tip nudging against the ridged, wet and narrow channel of your throat. He was trying to contain himself. He was trying to keep his hands firmly on the sinks, his hips idle--even though each suck and pop of your pink lips around him coaxed an involuntary thrust of his pelvis. The sounds of your gagging were making him dizzy; he was melting, hot blood fizzing in his ears which had yet to pop from the noise at the concert. You cupped his balls in your hand, massaging the velvety skin gently. He groaned, a deep sound seeping with gratification as the beginning of his orgasm commenced, hot cum spurting down your throat as he began to guide your head, his inhibitions gone, as was his composure. He was moaning loudly now, pulling your hair which was frizzy from the rain.

“God, Y/N, I’m cumming,” He murmured, his hips thrusting forward as you batted your eyelashes from your position on the floor, your knees surely scraped and blackened. You hummed as you hollowed your cheeks, tempting one last pulse of his cock before you pulled your wet lips off of him completely. His eyes were hooded and glassy, his pupils blown huge by nothing but pure arousal for you. He stroked your hair as you wrapped your hand tightly around his shaft, pumping him, kissing his tip; you could tell he really liked that. He squeezed onto the sink firmly, as a strangled moan escaped his parched throat. “Can I--” He threw his head back as your tongue teased his slit. With your firm grip on him, you could feel his thick veins twitching while his hips bucked forward.

“Hmm, baby?” You continued your torturously gratifying movements, watching as his cheeks flushed a heated red. He nodded quickly when you swirled your tongue around the head. He never finished his sentence. Hot spurts of his cum spilled from his slit as you jerked him off, the salty seed leaking onto your tongue, oozing down your chin.

“Ohhh fuck.” He watched as the last drop was sucked into your mouth, his jaw tensing as you showed him your tongue, now devoid of his seed. “Jesus.” He ran a hand through his hair, cringing at the soaked strands coiling back into place as his rings caught onto the roots. You kissed his stomach softly, where a dark patch of hair led to his now-softening member. Pulling his pants and briefs up his trembling legs, he ripped a paper towel from a broken dispenser, the plastic covering hanging by the efforts of two rusted screws. He pulled you up by your wrists, wiping the excess cum from your face with the rough paper.

“I love you,” He pulled you into him, his hands against your lower back as your arms snaked around his neck, feeling the ridges at the top of his spine.

“Are you just saying that right now because I just went down on you?” You kissed the corner of his mouth, feathery and ticklish against his lips.

“No. I’m saying that because it’s the truth.” He murmured against your neck, a soft whimper tumbling from your mouth as he left open-mouthed kisses along your throat. “The blowjob was great though.” You felt him grin against your neck, and you coaxed him to continued with a soft pull of his hair, emitting a hum of appreciation from him. He sunk down on his own knees, his fingers hooked around the hem of your panties, peeling them down your legs, your knees sheathed in warm shades of purple, tender as Brian’s knuckles brushed against the skin.

“Anybody in there?” Brian rolled his eyes and kissed your upper thigh as he pulled your underwear back on, pushing himself from the grimy floor by gripping the same sink he was a few minutes before. The stranger at the door continued his banging, jiggling the doorknob that was threatening to unlock itself; the knob itself was almost unscrewed, loose against the heavy door.

“Just a minute!” Brian adjusted your skirt and you fixed his hair, pulling dust out of his nest of curls. He ghosted his hand over your lower back, whispering in your ear hotly as he tucked a strand of your hair behind your ears, hot from arousal stagnant in your body, seeping into your blood. “Thank you for coming to the concert,” He pulled you into him, his fingers squeezing the soft flesh of your hips, so his own were flush against yours as he unlocked the door. “I’m sorry it had to be in secret.” He linked his pinky with yours, and you rubbed the pad of your thumb against the smooth white varnish covering his nail.

“That makes it that much hotter.” You stood on your tiptoes and kissed his jaw, his scruff burning against the sensitive skin of your quite bitten lips. He blushed, looking behind him as he led you to the back entrance of the pub, a heavy tan door obscured by countless band posters and graffiti. Brian picked your coat up from a beaten leather couch by the exit, helping you put your arms in the sleeves, the ends of them still wet from the rain that hadn’t ceased for a week, seemingly. “I think I hear John and Roger around the corner.” You pressed your forehead to Brian’s your arms resting upon his shoulders, his collarbones touching the insides of your wrists.

“Shit, okay.” He kissed you firmly, your suspicions confirmed as he heard John’s unmistakable giggle echo through the corridor. He opened the door for you, his fingers still intertwined with your own as you began to hear the pattering of persistent rain against the striped awning outside. “Are you sure you’re okay to walk alone? I can go with you if you want.”

You shook your head, letting go of Brian’s hand to wrap your arms around yourself. “Don’t worry about me, Brian. Plus, you can’t take me home or my roommates will get suspicious.”

“I can be sneaky!” He glanced over his shoulder; Roger and John were leaning on the corner of a wall, making conversation with two young brunettes who both looked more interested in Deaky than the blond drummer, which made Brian smile appreciatively.

You pinched his cheek, his skin soft and warm against your touch, before giving him one last kiss. “I love you too, Brian.” He closed the door, blowing you a kiss as he watched you hail a cab, your shoes splashing with dense rain.

“Brian, there you are!” Deaky waved to him, ushering him over to the couch all four of them were squeezed into, John’s arms snaked around the waists of the same two girls, sporting a tooth grin that crinkled his cheeks which were scarlet from him teetering on the cusp of tipsy and drunk. Roger looked grumpy, neglected on the other side of the couch as Brian approached them, trying his best to not look overly guilty. The implication of sneaking around with Roger’s ex-girlfriend--his forbidden love--was taking a toll on him. He had snuck you into his own gig, had to take you far away for dates. You didn’t invite him over to your flat unless your roommates would be gone for hours; they knew you had supposedly broken all ties with Roger, and that would consequently mean with his friends too. It didn’t help that his love for you was pulsing and red-hot, a caldron filled with love and lust and friendship threatening to overflow every time he thought of you. He wanted nothing more than to show you off, to be free to love you instead of having to whisper it in your ears, his hand covering your mouth as he took you in a storage closet. Able to hold your hand blatantly and not link pinkies shyly in the back of a dark and crowded room.

“Yeah, I’m back. I was feeling a little--nauseous.” Brian touched the top of his chest and nodded, feeling his fib was convincible enough with how disheveled and sweaty he was looking.

One of the girls by Deaky touched Brian’s cheek with the back of her hand which was soft, but it didn’t send a current up his spine like your touch did. “You seem sick.” She looked at him worriedly as he sat himself on the arm of the couch, pushing his cuticles down until his nail beds stung.

“I think it was the prawns I ate earlier.” He scratched his chin lightly, sniffling.

Roger rose his eyebrows at Brian. His arms were straightened, resting horizontally against the top of the couch, his fingers fiddling with the collar of John’s silk shirt, occasionally pinching the skin of his neck.

“Stop it, Rog.” Deaky lifted his foot to nudge Roger’s foot, but he moved it away, out of his reach, although John’s legs were longer.

Roger bit his lip as the cooled air from the rusted vent directly above him blew his unbuttoned shirt open so his chest was exposed, his chest heaving from the aftermath of the show. “You didn’t eat prawns today, Bri.” Roger cocked his head, accusatory.  

“I didn’t know you kept track of all of my meals.” Brian tensed his jaw, running his pointer finger along his developing beard. He was annoyed; it seemed like Roger was always trying to catch him in a lie, no matter how arbitrary and miniscule.

“Just an observation,” He adjusted the chunky silver charm on his necklace, the thick black cord heavy on his neck. “You always get so worked up; what do you have to be so stressed about?”

“What haven’t I got to be stressed about?” Brian stood up; his legs were so long that his feet were already planted firmly on the shitty carpet beneath him. “I’m gonna go get a drink.”

He gave a tight-lipped smile to his bandmates and the tipsy girls who were now being touchy with both John and Roger; Roger finally looked content.

“Get us a fresh bottle of champagne, yeah?” Roger squeezed the thigh of the girl closest to him, her hands were playing with his necklace, running her thumb over the cold metal.

“You have two working legs, Rog.” Brian walked around the corner, his own legs still a bit wobbly from earlier. He sat at the bar which faced away from the stage, the toes of his shoes banging against the mahogany, resonating through his body as he motioned for the bartender to get him a drink.

Brian fished out his wallet from his back pocket, removing a couple of bills, but the bartender, a shorter, slim man just a bit older than Brian, shook his head as he wiped a champagne flute with a deep blue cloth. “It’s on the house.” The bartender smiled at Brian, his teeth overlapping a bit; he had a slight overbite. His hair was shaggy and blond, and it moved along with him, quickly but languidly, as he fetched a ridged tumbler glass which sat upside-down on the bar in front of him. “Lucky you; just washed it.”

“Are you sure?” Brian still held the bills between his fingers tentatively.

“Just wiped ‘em down a few minutes ago, I promise.” He turned the glass over.

“No, I mean, about me not having to pay.” He scooted the stool he was on forward, until the knobby ends of the metal legs halted against the edge of the floor.

“Don’t worry about it; you did fantastic on the guitar. I wish I could play something, but I guess I missed my critical period for learning that kinda stuff.” He slid a gin towards Brian, who sipped at it leisurely, his ring tinkling against the thick glass.

“If you try hard enough, you can get good at anything.” Brian downed his drink after just a few gulps, and the bartender--who he learned was named James--continued to fetch him drink after drink until his eyelids became droopy, his shoulders slumped as the crowd became sparse.

“Brian, mate, maybe call it a night? You’ve sampled everything we’ve got.” James pried tall glass from Brian’s grip. His head lolled back and he giggled softly, losing his balance on the stool; he almost fell backwards. But an older man with a greying beard caught him and helped him stabilize himself, chuckling as he leaned on the bar for support, wet from the cleaning solution coating the top.

“Should I call you a taxi?” The man slapped a hand on Brian’s shoulder and Brian rolled his ankle, tripping over his legs as the heel on his clog gave out momentarily. He braced himself on the edge of the bar as a group of girls his age walked by laughing at his struggle. Brian furrowed his eyebrows and sighed, straightening his shoulders.

“Wha-what are you laughing at?” He pointed to them and recognized a couple of them as some of Roger’s regular groupies. “Hey! Put your coats on girls it’s cold out-outside.” He scolded, pointing a finger at them as the man who helped him and James hoisted a bony arm of his on their shoulders to help him out of the bar. He was much too lanky and was almost dead weight against the two much shorter men.

“Brian, hold onto my shoulder. You’re making this so difficult.” James grasped Brian’s hand, clammy from the muggy bar air, and clamped it on his own shoulder, his nails digging into his once-crisp shirt. Brian’s head was leaning against his other shoulder, alcohol-infused drool threatening to spill from the corner of his mouth. Then, Brian grabbed onto their collars simultaneously, gasping as his head jerked up.

“My guitar!” He realized he had forgotten it in the bar.

James pulled Brian’s arm tighter around his shoulder, sitting down on the curb with him to wait for a taxi, warm rain running down the slopes of both of their noses. “Don’t worry, Brian. I saw Freddie load it into the van an hour ago.”

He breathed a sigh of relief, slapping the other man’s shoulder. He had learned his name was Richard by the small talk on the way to the narrow sidewalk they were sitting on, their pants soaked. Richard stood up and waved down a taxi that was speeding down the road, planing over the thick film of lukewarm rain spilling downwards towards rusty gutters. The cab stopped, screeching against the pavement and splashing the trio as the two men hoisted Brian up, opening the car door and sitting him inside. Brian fell immediately, so he was laying across the backseat, his cheek squished against the velvety cushion as the cab driver took some money from James.

“This should cover it, I doubt he’s going too far.” James handed him a wad of bills, and the driver looked at him appreciatively, his left hand gripping the wheel tightly as he attempted to pull out of his spot on the side of the street, bustling with people despite the rain.

The driver was stout, a balding man who looked to be approaching fifty. He held a dull toothpick between yellowing teeth as he adjusted the rearview window, looking back at Brian, raising his ungroomed, bushy eyebrows at the younger man. “Where to?” He turned the wheel sharply to the left swerving into the left lane as Brian sat up, wiping his mouth with his sleeve, the silk getting caught in his scruff. Maybe it was the alcohol itself that was clouding his logic, or maybe the alcohol just released the yearnings that were choked and shoved down his throat, because he told him your address as his eyes fluttered shut, his head bouncing against the window as the driver nodded, turning onto your block.

So Brian found himself leaning against the wall as he knocked on your door. It was nearing one in the morning, but he didn’t have the reasoning to understand that it being dark and quiet in your London apartment complex probably meant everybody was sleeping--or at least attempting to.

You were watching a movie with your roommates--Jenny and Alice--but really you were catching up with them; you had withdrawn yourself from them for the past couple of months, not wanting to talk about the gritty details about your and Roger’s breakup which would inevitably cause you to admit to your less than conventional relationship with his best friend. And while Jenny and Alice had had their fair share of scandals and drama in their lives, this was a new low--especially because you were always seen as the most innocent of the group; you always were the designated driver, always the one to watch out for the other two when they were too shitfaced to do it themselves.

“Who’s at the fucking door at this hour?” Alice stood up, setting her can of beer down on the side table by the couch. She threw her hair up in a loose ponytail and peaked through the peephole, squinting her eye to see through the glass that was partially scratched and positioned incorrectly from slamming the door so much. She turned around quickly, looking apprehensive, unsure of what to say.

“Well?” Jenny took a swig of beer before pointing the half-empty bottle to the door. “Who is it?”

Alice unlocked the door, pulling it open forcefully; it always shut too tightly. “It’s Brian.”

They both looked at you, confusion permeating their accusatory glares. You shrugged, feeling your face become impossibly hot as you ran over to the door, shutting it behind you, your grip on Brian’s bony arm restricting him into a vicinity so close to you, you could feel his breath meddling with your own, you could smell the alcohol. “Are you drunk?” You grabbed his hand, steadying him as he wobbled, his body falling against the wall next to the front door, the noise resonating through the hallway. He nodded, his eyes closed as he yawned into his sleeve. “What made you come here, Bri? We just talked about why you can’t come here!” Brian gave you a loopy smile, a breathy giggle escaping his mouth as he pulled you into his body, giving the top of your head a wet kiss.

“I miss-” He said, rather loudly. You shushed him, holding your finger to his mouth, which he promptly kissed. You rolled your eyes facetiously, unable to stay mad at him when he was being so sweet. His hair was soaked, droplets of rain slipped down his cheeks, making the high points of his angular, angelic face glow under the flickering light above Brian’s head that you never fixed. His lips were still a deep red from your and his biting of them and his smile lines were prominent as he looked down at you, his eyebrows lifted. “I missed you.” He whispered, cupping a hand around your ear. His voice was raspy, and deep as he bent down to speak to you, quietly as you looked at him sternly when his voice reached beyond a certain decibel.

“I missed you too, Bri.” You reached up and wiped some rain off of his cheek, and some eyeliner smeared onto your hoodie. He wrapped his arms and pulled you into him, resting his chin on the top of your head, making your scalp wet from the now-cold rain that fell from the coarse hair on his chin.

“Can I come in?” He tilted your chin up and watched your reaction, doe-eyed.

“What happened to keeping our relationship a secret?” You held his hand, playing with his fingers, adorned with a thick silver ring, loose from dehydration.

“I don’t want to keep it a secret.” Brian said. “I want us to be the opposite of secret!” He whisper-yelled, pulling his plump bottom lip between his teeth.

“You’re drunk, Brian.” You pulled his hood over his head and kissed his nose, the tip of it was red and cold against your lips.

“They know--They know I’m here.” He pleaded with you, giving you a pronounced pout, the inside of his lip bitten from earlier when he was attempting to be quiet in the bathroom with you. “Might as well come inside.” He nodded affirmatively, holding both of your hands tightly in his own.

“Jesus, Brian.” You turned the door knob, letting go of Brian to let him stumble inside. Annie and Jenny were sat on the couch, the tv had been muted and they shrugged their shoulders at you, obviously wanting a clear explanation as to why your ex-boyfriend’s best friend was drunk at your flat at 1:16 in the morning.

Brian struggled to take his coat off; his flared shirt sleeves got caught in the narrow sleeves of his coat and he groaned, shaking his arms in front of him. “Y/N? Help me, babe!” He looked at you helplessly and you yanked the suede sleeves down his arms.

“Don’t rip the silk! Freddie’ll kill me.” He grabbed his pleated sleeves, squinting and furrowing his eyebrows to assess the damage.

“I don’t think I ripped it, Bri.” You pushed his hair back from his face affectionately; a force of habit from being used to being with him alone, not having to hide glances and miniscule touches, your fingertips just barely grazing against one another.

Your roommates watched the interaction; how Brian’s eyes bore into you, his pupils blown in a deadly mixture of love and drunkenness. How you wiped his face clean of rain drops and ruffled his hair with your hand, pulling at his curls as he grinned down at you. Explanations weren’t needed to convince anybody that you two were in love--completely, wholly, truly in love. But they still wanted one; they felt betrayed, confused as to how this could have possibly happened without them having the slightest clue of it.

You pulled Brian by his arm and sat him at the “dining-room” table--really it was just full of bills and jackets and miscellaneous fliers that had accumulated into a heaping pile as a makeshift centerpiece. You got him a glass of water, setting it down in front of him because you didn’t trust him to hold it by himself in the state he was in. “Drink that.” Alice pulled your arm. “All of it, Bri. You’ll regret it if you don’t.” Brian obliged, clumsily picking the glass up and tilting it towards his lips, which were now fading back to their natural light peach color. A stream of water spilled past his mouth, soaking into his already dampened trousers.

“Damn it!” He slammed the glass down on the table, water cascading up the sides and splashing onto Brian’s hands, his skin blotchy, the effects of the alcohol in his slowing system. He stood up quickly. “‘M gonna go to your room to get some pants. I know you took some!” He slurred, striding over to you quite ungracefully, squeezing the tip of your nose with his thumb and forefinger before gripping the wall, almost climbing sideways to your bedroom.

Jenny turned towards you, her hair whipping against her face. “Explain.” She crossed her arms across her chest, so you couldn’t pretend to read the fading logo on her t-shirt anymore.

Alice sat on the other side of you, the sides of her hips flush against your own to keep you there. “You need to tell us what’s going on.”

You leaned your head back, against the couch, staring up at the ceiling which was pebbled with ivory paint that reminded you of Brian’s nails for some reason, although the colors were nothing alike; Brian’s nails were a clean, bright, almost cold white.

“Well?” Jenny nudged your shoulder as you heard the springs of your bed creak under Brian’s dead weight. You could see it in your mind--his cheek squished against the pillow, his nose pointing out from underneath shaggy curls, his lanky arms hugging at your pillows. His mouth would be wide open, drool pooling onto the pillow case like it always did when he was extra exhausted. Your heart started to beat erratically, and you felt your pulse thumping in your jugular vein as you realized your love for Brian was a love different  than one you ever had for Roger. You would never care enough to sneak around with Roger, to trust him completely with your body, with your mind. And it was never anything Roger did explicitly--until he cheated, he was the model boyfriend despite his on-stage persona that oozed sex and unfaithfulness and uncaringness. There was just something within Brian’s heart, within his innocence and naivety, his vulnerability that contrasted so perfectly with his utter logic of every situation, his knowledge of everything, that made you take the deepest breaths possible because it felt like no amount of air would ever be enough. It was how he acted when his inhibitions should be dissipated, vanished, that showed his true character. And that person was the same as sober Brian: sweet, smart, respectful--every positively connoted word in the book. The only difference was that he was a little more open with his affections, a little more red in the face. You sighed.

“I’m in love with Brian.” You confessed, and you didn’t feel the cliche of your shoulders feeling lifted. Instead, you felt worse. Guilty.

“How did that happen? What the fuck?” Alice pushed a dampened strand of hair away from your cheek; you smiled, knowing Brian would do the same thing if he were sitting where she was.

So you told them everything; how Roger cheated, how Brian was there. The confession, the fighting between Roger and Brian, the depression Brian and you felt. How he took you to that barn and kissed you until you felt separated from the world, like the stars that hung above you that night. How he wanted you, only you. And then the sneaking around, the secrets.

Jenny rubbed her eyes, looking concerned. “So Roger doesn’t know you’re with his best friend. Even though he lives in the same flat as him?”

“No.” You curled up, hugging your knees to your chest. You could faintly hear Brian’s drunk snoring, the rustling of your sheets beneath his body.

“Why are we just now finding out about this?” Alice stood up, pouring Brian’s half-drunk, half-spilled glass of water down the sink, holding her head in her hands as she leaned against the counter.

“We wanted it to just be us. I told you how Roger reacted; you know how tempramental he gets.”

Jenny scoffed. “Ok, but I don’t appreciate my best friend keeping secrets like this from me. Are you guys just gonna love each other in secret? That’s not a relationship. You’re living like you’re in a scandal, not like you’re in love.”

You opened your mouth to retort, but you realized she was right. Your boyfriend--your secret boyfriend--had come over to your flat because he missed you, and it had caused this much drama and tension. You wanted to be with him freely, as he obviously wanted to be with you. It was unfair, and selfish and stupid, but why did Roger and Brian have to be tied together, roped onto one another so closely? Why couldn’t you have fallen in love with anybody else? “I’m going to bed. Good night.” You gave them both a tight-lipped smile, trudging to your room. Brian was laying as you imagined him, one of his socks piled on the floor where his trousers were, a puddle of black velvet. His other sock was halfway on, and he laid on top of the covers, his eyes darting beneath his eyelids, glossy from his natural glow. He was only wearing his briefs and his bell-sleeved angel-like stage costume, which was gathered around his upper back; he probably gave up on taking it all of the way off. He was laying in the middle of the bed, so you shook his shoulder gently.

“Brian? Get up for a second.” He wasn’t moving. You could tell he was dreaming as his eyes continued their rapid, erratic movement, and you wondered what it was he was dreaming about. You didn’t have the heart to attempt to wake him anymore; he looked too peaceful, content. You reached over the side of your bed and grabbed a folded fleece blanket. It was cold from being near the window, but you unfolded it and covered Brian’s body with it, pushing his hair back to admire him one last time before you went to bed. A barely perceptible smile shaped upon his lips as you kissed the tip of his nose, now warm from the soft pillow he was laying on. You snuggled into the blanket with him, burying your face in his shoulder, his snoring lulling you to sleep, somehow.

__

Deaky woke up the next morning, his head throbbing incessantly as he padded into the kitchen in the dark, solely from his memory of their flat. He turned right out of his room and kept walking, his hand braced against the wall because he was still incredibly dizzy and even more nauseous than that. Usually Brian left water by his, Freddie, and Roger’s beds when he knew they had gotten blackout drunk, but Deaky’s palm only hit the raw wood of his bedside table, instead of the lip of a stained glass, half-full with stale water. Roger was asleep on the couch; Deaky saw his mop of dirty blond waves sprawled against the arm, his hands folded on his chest like a corpse. But Roger was very much alive, groaning, his eyes screwed shut as John turned the light on.

“John, turn that off.” Roger turned over on the couch, reaching over to the coffee table to find his own glass of water, plus three complimentary aspirins that Brian always knew to leave him; he was susceptible to headaches since he never wore his glasses.

“Do you want your water or not, Rog?”  Deaky pulled three glasses from the cupboard before searching the cluttered counter in front of him for a bottle of painkillers. He picked up two or three of the small white bottles before he found one half-empty, knocked over at the back of the stash. “Is it that fucking hard to throw the empty ones away?” Deaky mumbled as he gathered the vacant bottles, tossing them in the trash.

“He didn’t get you water either? What an arse.” Roger sat up, rubbing his eye with the heel of his hand, noticing John holding three glasses. “I thought he just didn’t get me one, you know, since he fucking hates me.”

John turned the sink on, wincing at the whoosh of the steady stream of water, piercing in his ears. “I thought the feeling was mutual?” He removed the first cup and set the second one under the faucet. “You know, since you accuse him of shit every time you see him.” He finished filling the third cup, walking over to Roger, handing him his share of water. He rattled his palm and dropped two and a half pills into Roger’s. He nodded his head in appreciation, downing the water and the pills in one swallow.

“I don’t hate him. I’m just pissed at him for the whole taking my girlfriend drama.” Roger scooted over, making room for John next to him.

“You--”

“I don’t wanna hear it. I know I fucked up. It was still shitty of him.” Roger took the last glass of water sitting on the counter and took it to Freddie’s room, being as silent as possible to ensure he didn’t wake him up--he wouldn’t hear the end of it if he did. As he walked out of Freddie’s room, which was the last in their hallway of bedrooms, he passed Brian’s door, which was slightly ajar. It was messier than usual; pants were spotted among the floor, mismatched socks strewn about haphazardly. His bed wasn’t made, and a laundry basket was tipped over at the foot of his bed, spilling with clothes. Deaky was now behind Roger, peering into Brian’s room as well.

“What’s the deal?” John rose his eyebrows, scratching his scalp.

“Brian’s not home. Is his guitar here?” Roger opened the door all of the way, Deaky jumping over a button-up shirt of Brian’s to stop the door from squeaking too much; Brian’s was the loudest in the flat.

“I mean,” John kicked a pair of boxers into a corner. “I thought I saw Freddie pack it up after the gig.” He then looked at Roger, pinching his cheek. “Roger! You’re worried about him!” He teased, sitting down on Brian’s bed, where some hardcover books about astronomy and cosmology consumed the light blue comforter with sharp corners and the ripped edges of printed pages.

“So? I’m still a human.” Roger snooped around the room, scoffing as he traced his fingers along the spines of countless books Roger would never stop to take a second glance at.

“Where is he?” Freddie said from behind them. His voice was raw, and he held the glass of water in his right hand, yawning as he took a much-needed sip.

“Not sure,” John watched Roger intently as he opened Brian’s bureau drawer.

“We can leave, if you want to look at Brian’s undergarments.” Freddie pointed a thumb at the door, sitting on the bed by Deaky. “Jesus, why are there so many bloody books on his bed?” Freddie pushed a thick physics book away from his leg.

As they looked up at Roger, they saw him holding three pairs of your underwear, hooked over his thumb, from the depths of Brian’s drawer.

Freddie sighed dramatically. “You knew he shagged her.”

“Now I know he’s still fucking shagging her. He’s probably with her now.” Roger threw the underwear on the ground, sliding down the wall, holding his head in his hands. “Fuck! I feel so stupid!”

The room fell silent; the other two men didn’t really know how to resolve things with Roger, Brian was always the one to rationalize with him. But now that Brian was the reason he needed to be subdued, the two men stared at each other, confused.

__

Brian woke up, completely unaware of where he was.  His feet felt cold, they were hanging, limp, off of the end of a bed that surely wasn’t his own. A body was curled into his own, warm breaths fanning over his neck, arms slung around his neck. His upper body was fiery hot and he was beginning to feel the effects of his hangover, unavoidable from how much he drank the night before. You groaned as he sat up, but he held onto you, pulling you onto his lap as you yawned into his shoulder.

“Y/N.” He kissed your neck and you hummed, tilting your head back to allow him more space. “‘M sorry I was stupid last night. I don’t remember what happened, exactly, but I know it was dumb since I’m here.” He yawned as you did, leaning against the headboard.

“It’s fine, it needed to come out eventually.”

“So they know?” He straightened his posture, his thumbs rubbing at your thighs.

“You came to my flat at one in the morning while my roommates were here. How wouldn’t they?”

“Shit. You’re right.” He sighed. “Dammit.” But he was smiling, his lips cracked from his mouth being open all night.

“About the whole secretive thing.” You yanked at the hem of his angel shirt, as they called it, signaling for him to lift his arms. You helped him pull it off, and he sighed in relief as the cold air seeping through your cracked window hit his back, where his ribs were visible, ridged under his barely-tanned skin. “Should we tell Roger?”

Brian tensed. “Why would we tell him?”

“Why not?” You placed your hands on his chest, looking at him intently. “My roommates already know.”

“Your roommates aren’t your ex-boyfriend-slash-my-best-friend.” He shook the hair away from his eyes, gripping onto your thighs harder.

“I just don’t want to live in secret for the entirety of our relationship.” You pulled away from him but your fingers still played with his necklace, resting upon his collarbones. “There’s no point in having a relationship if it’s in the shadows.”

“Don’t say that, Y/N. It’s just not the right time.” He said, sternly.

“When will it be?” You broke the building tension between you two with a kiss to his jaw. His beard was growing in thick, and you liked how it felt when you pressed kisses to the coarse hair-covered skin.

“Do you really want to see the aftermath of Roger finding out?” He held your head, guiding it to his sweet spot on the side of his throat. He whimpered a bit, digging his thumbs into the soft flesh of your thighs.

“He already knows, basically.” You whispered against his neck, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to his adam’s apple. You pulled away quickly, covering your mouth with your hand as your head began to spin. You gripped onto Brian’s shoulder with your free hand.

“Angel? Are you okay?” He looked at you worriedly.

“Just,” You swallowed. “Just very nauseous all of a sudden.” You climbed off of his lap and heaved into the small trash can near your bed, full of random receipts and tissues you remembered soaking through many nights before, alone in your room. You were confused as you held on tightly to the sides of the tan-colored bin; you never got sick. Not like this.

__

taglist:  @mercurys-bike @alexfayer @ledger-kaos @ma-ntequilla @discodeakky @richiethotzierz @thisloveisreal1 @heartsarecompatible @thelondondreamer5 @brian-may-brian-may @okqueenie @gailymlee @trickster-may @bubblypenguin123 @queensdarlingg @soloosunflower @dvndermifflinassociate @fredthelegend @miez-lakatz @arrowswithwifi @mouse507 @mespetitestortues @yourstateofdreaming @pamoreno @helenathe3rd @allie-of-asgard @deacytits @hystericallyqueen @missqueeniewrites @paper-queer-plane @xiilan @silvver-rose @crazylittlethingcalleddub-step @blushy-monkey @ladycataztrophe @rprprprprprprprp @myfairybrian 

[cupidmarwani-archive]

But Ava (Mafia!AU)

Summary: Sarah contemplates her relationship with Ava

WC: 1641

Warnings: Suggestive throughout, implied sex in one paragraph

When Sarah walks into a room, everyone knows exactly who she is. They are too aware of the blood staining her hands and her Italian leather shoes, of the way she paid for the diamond ring on her middle finger, of the damage a single word from her lips can cause. She is everything their mothers warn them about when the horizon overtakes the setting sun. As far as they're concerned, in a moment’s notice she can and will crush them beneath the sole of her shoe, then order their grieving loved ones to lick the floor clean. Everyone knows that about her.

Except for Ava.

Ava looks at her, and she sees something no one else does. Before Sarah’s mother died, the woman never really gave her a second glance, but the moment she rises to power, she finds herself with her hand on a mini skirt, too skittish at the time to do more than just rest there in a comforting weight. Her mother hadn’t approved of the sort of pastimes Sarah gets up to. But the thing about being the head of the Reese mafia is that no one else matters anymore. She’s in control. Anyone who dares to speak against her is dead before their body hits the ground, thanks to Connor.

The first time they kiss is on their fourth unofficial date. Sarah can afford the best of the best, which she doesn’t hesitate to bestow on someone who smiles as brightly, laughs as melodically as Ava. What’s the point of money if she has no one to spend it on? She spoils, she lavishes, and as their champagne glasses are refilled by a stiff waiter, Ava leans over the table to say something and Sarah kisses her. 

When they kiss, Ava tastes like champagne and the crème brûlée they just finished. She’s soft, unlike so many things involved in this life, and she smiles against Sarah’s lips when she strokes soft blonde hair, so well manicured like the acrylics on her fingers and the red lipstick that must be smeared all over Sarah now too. It feels like letting go for the first time in a long time, and when Sarah asks her to spend the night, Ava isn’t scared to say no. Nor is she afraid to kick off her heels in the middle of the floor, or strip in the bedroom and climb into bed with nothing between her and sheets with too many threads to count. She looks like she belongs there. Cherub, angel, cupid, Apphrodite herself with pink cheeks and Sarah wants nothing more than to kiss her until the world ends, but instead she slides into bed in nothing but her boxers- a whole layer more than Ava has kept- and wraps an arm around her waist.

Morning arrives slowly, but with teeth in Sarah’s bottom lip and blue eyes on hers and she decides, in that moment, this is the only thing she could ever want for the rest of time. Someone here, someone who doesn’t hate her or fear her. No one else would dare be rough with her, let alone before she’s fully awake, and it’s that spark that has her rolling them over and teaching herself every inch of Ava’s skin, leaving her mark where she must and complimenting herself over the purple bruises after.

But in the shower together, Ava washes Sarah’s hair like she’s done it a thousand times. She’s gentle, works her fingers through every curl and massages her scalp and it reminds her, strangely enough, of being bathed as a little girl because it was the only time anyone ever cared for her.  Until Ava, that is. Ava washes her hair, and her body, and kisses her in spite of the heavy spray between them that only makes it harder to breathe. Again, she decides it must be bliss, even with the hard tile of the shower floor digging into her knees and the weight of Ava’s legs over her shoulders, voice echoing louder and louder.

Things go fast, so fast, and Sarah realizes some eight months into this thing they have that Ava isn’t involved in the life anymore, not really. She’s given her responsibilities to those she’s deemed capable, and Sarah gets used to Ava’s weight in her lap, to the point where she feels light as a balloon, liable to drift into the sky until the atmosphere forces her to burst without someone solid to hold her down. And that’s another thing Ava is for her; she’s an anchor to reality. She’s the one who washes the blood out of Sarah’s hair and braids it carefully after a long day. She’s the one who turns down the sheets and lays out clean boxers post shower. She’s the one who reminds Sarah to eat dinner and sometimes hand-delivers it to her office with a kiss exchanged. She’s the one who matters, the only one who matters, and that’s the reason why Sarah feels so goddamn guilty about all of this.

Her face buried in the crook of April’s neck, her mind is on Ava. Ava, who’s currently ten days sober by force in rehab because she’s been drinking. So much, so much and Sarah didn’t know because she hasn’t looked at the charges to her American Express in ages, not since she told Ava that she can have anything she wants. Anything and everything for the goddess who lives in the penthouse apartment in downtown Chicago, always waiting for Sarah on the couch or between the sheets when she comes home.

Sarah tries not to think about that now, when she’s with April, who keeps her alive but in a different way. As much as she loves Ava- and Sarah does love her, with everything she has left in her heart after all the times being the boss has attempted to crush it- it isn’t enough anymore. She knows they’re unhappy like this. Sarah’s hours get longer and longer, and more bottles of expensive wine are charged to the account, and when they do see each other, it’s mostly Sarah laying on her mattress, exhausted, kissing her wife and with her hands slipped into Ava’s harness to protect her from the friction burn. Then they sleep. And Ava kisses her when she leaves, but she already tastes like mimosas and how Sarah didn’t see this earlier, she doesn’t know.

April is something else. She brings back the spark that Sarah felt the first time Ava looked at her like she was more than a murderer, because April is like that too. She says that there’s a good heart in her chest, good head on her shoulders. She kisses her and sits on her hardwood desk and she smells like vanilla all the time, no matter what. Even when Sarah’s angry and her shirt is stained crimson, April opens her mouth, parts her legs, provides an escape.

It’s hard not to wonder with her, though. April has someone else, in much the same way Sarah does, and she gets this fear that April doesn’t want her, is afraid of her, and simply won’t risk saying no. Every time the thought pops into her mind- often in Ava’s voice- she tries to chase it away by begging April to talk, to tell her this is good, and Sarah isn’t the sort of woman who begs.

But she’s still thinking about Ava, even with April moaning into her ear, and she should stop doing this. It isn’t fair to either of them. Yet, here she is, and she does it every time, because she just wants someone to look at her like she isn’t a monster, whatever the cost. And April, she does that, but it’s more than what Ava does because even before rehab, she was always drunk. She looks accusing and angry, her cheeks red, even before the first time Sarah peeled off April’s tights and stuffed them in her desk drawer.

So many people drink. Sarah drinks too, when she’s in a meeting and it’s expected, but she’s never loved it the way her mother loved it more than her child, or the way Ava treats it like a surrogate wife even when Sarah is right there, reaching for her, tugging petulantly at the hem of a silk slip she knows cost way too much because everything is on her tab.

She wants to fix things, if she’s honest. She wants to go back to the first days, months, years of loving her and knowing that she had something real, but it’s hard to tell if it’s too late. Sarah does love Ava, does want to protect her- it’s why Connor’s out of commission for three weeks. But she doesn’t know if Ava still loves her. A doubt creeps into her mind on if Ava ever loved her. She may have lied to get something, the way everyone does, and has merely gotten bored of the charade.

Sarah pulls April’s hips closer to the edge of her desk, pushes in deeper and pretends that this isn’t the same toy Ava uses on her when sunlight barely streams through their open windows. The last time they shared a morning like that was too long ago. Maybe that’s worse than the fact that this is what she’s using even though she could easily buy another, or even just use another from the collection. 

No matter how hard she tries, she can’t forget the way Ava looked at her when she dropped her off at rehab. In the past, in the beginning, Ava was the only one who looked at her like a human being. Now, she looks at Sarah like she’s the bloodthirsty monster everyone else thinks she is. And, not for the first time, she wonders if everyone else is right. 

[spooder-moon]

That Was Fun.  Dick Grayson x Hitman!reader

Summary: It was just another night and another job, easy enough to do. That is until a certain Nightwing comes to interrupt your plans.

A/N: First imagine I’ve ever written so I hope you like it! Not smut but open to doing that later. Please comment and let me know what you think, any advice or criticism is welcome!! xx

There was nothing quite like running chaos in the streets of Gotham. Most call your work unorthodox, but you need the money and the job pays well. 

You call yourself Striker, Gotham’s greatest Hitman… or Hitwoman to be more precise. 

And tonight held no out of the ordinary job. Most the work you do is commissioned by Gotham’s underground kings and queens, wanted the people dead who threaten to take away their power or money. Or sometimes you get a fun job when someone knows just a tad too much information about their secret identities (those jobs always involve a little interrogation and a lot more pay - its a win win). 

Tonight was pretty boring, a stake out more than anything. Follow the subject, observe where he goes, what he does, who he talks to - don’t let him out of your sight - and when you’re done, shoot to kill. You’d been stalking this guy for over a week now and this was it, your client was finally satisfied with all the information you had gathered and so commence the execution. 

You were currently on a rooftop a block away from his apartment with a perfect view into the window. Nice place, you thought to yourself, shame there will be blood on the walls in a few minutes. 

Taking the parts of your sniper out of your bag you started to set up on the roof, stopping when you felt a disturbance in the air around you. Being cautious you drew you knife from your side and looked around. Nothing. 

As you finished putting together your sniper you started to line up the perfect shot, waiting for your target to enter the kitchen so you could shoot. 

It was a patient game. You never shot anywhere but the head, things were too uncertain otherwise, the head was a sure way to make sure they were dead without having to check. 

Your target enters the kitchen a few minutes later, going to take a beer out of the fridge. You tense up, breathe out, relax your heartbeat and gently squeeze the trig-

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you”

Startled you knocked the sniper and missed the shot, the bullet bouncing off the wall of his building. AS fast as you could you grabbed your knife, turned around and hurled it at the person who dared to interrupt your work. 

Unfortunately he was fast and the knife lodged itself into the wall behind his head. 

When he stepped into the moonlight you knew exactly who he was.

Nightwing. Crime fighting vigilante, previous boy wonder, Batman’s protege. There was no denying that this boy would put up a fight when it came to it, but there was no denying you would too. 

You couldn’t help that you breathe hitched, and he noticed it too. 

“So you know who I am then?”

“I’ve been waiting for you to show up, although, I’m disappointed the big man isn’t with you. Haven’t seen Batsy in a while, starting to miss our little …talks. The real question is, do you know who I am?”, you teased with a pout. 

“Striker, Gotham so-called ‘greatest hitman’”, Nightwing quoted to you. 

“Then you know you really shouldn’t have messed up my shot, I’m not fond of time wasters”, dangerously you lurked closer to him, discreetly drawing a blade from the back of your suit. 

“And I’m not fond of murderers, especially ones about to attack me with the blade behind their back”, he cocked his head at you.

“It seems we have a problem then, don’t we?” 

You growled before you leapt and swung at him, fast enough to knick his cheekbone but not fast enough to do any serious damage. He ducked out of your way jabbing you in the side as he did. Winded you stepped backed and ducked to avoid his right hook. Turning, you roundhouse kicked him in the chest making him stumble back against the wall where you were quick to pin a knife against his neck. 

“Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve got a job to finish or else I don’t get paid in the morning and this whole weeks work would have been for nothing. Run along now, before things get nasty”, you whispered into her ear slowly but harshly. 

“I can’t let you do you that,” Nightwing coughed out. 

Huffing with and annoyed groan you pulled back to look him in the, well, mask. “And why not exactly?”

“Cause then I wouldn’t be finishing my job.”

Nightwing hooked his leg behind yours, buckling you knee before knocking the knife from your hand and switching your positions so you back was now against the wall and his body was pressed firmly against yours. One arm pinning your wrists above your head and the other on your hip holding you still. 

Face to face with Nightwing you took in as many features as you could. He was good looking, you couldn’t deny, with his jaw line strong, his nose straight his cheekbones high, and his lips …soft. You wouldn’t mind having some of that to yourself. Never-the-less, to get out of his hold you decided to play a little game. 

You smirk, “If you wanted it rough baby, you should have just asked.”

Flustered by your comment you felt his grip on you loser just slightly, barely noticeable, but enough to know your little game was working. His eyes widened and his cheeks flushed as he started to splutter out a response. “What?! N-no, I-I didn’t say tha- What?”

“It’s ok, I like it that way too,” you whispered before you surged forward and captured his lips with your own. Nightwing froze at first but as soon as you licked his bottom lip he kissed back feverishly, drawing out a moan from the back of your throat that surprised you both. 

You got so lost in the kiss you almost forgot why you initiated it in the first place. His grip had only loosened slightly again, not enough for you to escape his grasp. You needed to do more.

You wiggled your hips lightly to test new waters before slowly raising you left leg to wrap around his waist to which he responded perfectly. Moving his hand that was on your hip he gripped your thigh tightly and drew you closer to him. 

With tongues tangling and your lips drawing low groans from Nightwing you began to lightly grind against him. Only it backfired as his grip seemed to become even tighter than before. His hand was beginning to bruise your wrists and you hip was once again digging harshly into the wall. Huh, you thought, I guess he really does like it rough. 

Before you had a chance to come up with a new plan he broke the kiss. Both of you were panting heavily as he grinned at you.

“Did you really think that was going to work on me?” He questioned with a smirk. 

You shrugged your shoulders, “guess not but worth a try, besides, it wasn’t all bad now was it?” You hummed smugly thinking about the little groans of pleasure you pulled from him. 

“I’m going to arrest you now,” he whispered.

“Yeah look, I don’t really have time for that right now. This was fun though, really.” Before he could respond you used all your strength to bring your elbows down onto his head, shocking him and giving you room to bring you knee up and into his side before bending to kick his feet from underneath him. He landed on his back with a thud as you bend down next to him taking your revolver out of its hoister. 

Leaning down you whispered in his ear, “Until next time Nightwing.” Before bringing the butt of your gun down to the side of his head, knocking him out cold. Noticing your red lipstick smudged slightly against his mouth you couldn’t help but lean down to print a lip stain of his cheek before leaving him there to wake in the morning. 

Grabbing your sniper you quickly finished what you came here for, a swift shot through the open window as the bullet lodged itself into your targets brain. Dead. And you were certainly ready for that pay check. 

Packing up your equipment you looked at Nightwing’s unconscious form once more before you disappeared into the night.

You really did hope there’d be a next time. 

[multifandom-damnation]

Torment and horror and the forceful drugging that was the night before has left Roy bedridden, filled with shattered ribs and puss-filled stab wounds, covered in old itching bandages and a pressure in his chest that made it burn and his breath leave his lungs with every shift.

But his loves take away his breath and break his chest, his heart in a whole nother way, and he'd prefer their method to the Hatters, thank you very much.

Hey all! Just a little warning before we got in here: if you either didn't read or couldn't make sense of my tags, there is a mention of rape/non-con/ underage/ child abuse in this story. It's just a line, a sentence, but those who are uncomfortable with it be weary. There is also a large mention of children being kidnapped and "hypnotized" (for lack of better term) and they are in very provocative clothing because Jervis Tetch is a delusion and terrible man. That's just backstory, however, and this fic mostly focuses on Joyfire and the love they all share. Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy it x

(Also Femdom and Kori being amazing towards the end, few crude references and lots kissing but considering you're here, you'll be fine)

Roy huffed, fiddling with the old metal lighter on his bedside table. He flicked the latch, a flame igniting at the tip and flickering around his fingers. He closed the lid, and the flame died.

He could hear Jason banging around in the kitchen, pots and pans clanging together and Spanish music wafting in through the speakers, the ticking of the burner lighting as Jason turned it on. Kori was singing, loud out of tune singing from the other room, soft thumps from her dancing feet pattering across the wooden floor and Roy strained to hear if she was singing along to Jason’s music or singing a song of her own.

Scratching his chest, he placed his hand by his side and went to heft himself up, only for the stitches on his side to tug, making him grunt and slowly lower himself back down on the cushions. He made a face and swatted one away, watching the mini baby blue beanbag fling across the room. One out of many, the suffocating amount of cushions piled up around his head and behind his back, convincing him that Kori had replaced the matrices in the spare bedroom in favour of a pile of pillows.

It wasn’t really a spare bedroom. It was his old room, before they decided to screw being proper and just buy one king-sized bed and sleep in Jason’s room, the largest room in the house. Roy’s stuff was still on the wall, some clothes that didn’t all fit in their shared wardrobe piled in the corner of his own, spare caps in a uniform tower by the window, pictures and posters and postcards and memories all tacked to the walls with too-sticky glue tack, leaving ugly grey stains in the place where it had peeled off the already chipped white paint.

Kori thought that moving in here would be safer, the solidarity comforting and the stillness a better alternative to Jason’s snoring and their sleep-induced fights with the darkness, Kori’s unsettling nature to levitate whoever she was holding up with her and drop them when she let go, the constantly moving mass of tangled limbs like a spider in a web and the night-terrors that seemed to grip their hearts and rip it through their already broken rib cages.

Yes, Kori thought Roy would be safer in his old room, away from the hurricane that was his sleeping loves.

Roy looked down at his chest, the bruises hidden by white bandages, speckled with blood and green oozing puss from the wounds and stitches that had torn and needed to be replaced, winding along his chest and his sides down to his belly-button, his cracked ribs making it hard to breathe, to move, to lie. He lifted his hand and peaked under the bandages, lifting the highest ones to check if the slice was still there, still dripping and oozing and with all stitches attached.

Slowly lowering it back down, he cursed himself for being so careless. He reached across to his bedside table, grabbing the glass of water and taking a swig, before swishing it around in his mouth and spitting it out into the bin by his side. The taste of last night was still in his mouth, and Roy felt like throwing up at the memory. He wouldn’t though, he probably wouldn’t ever throw up again for as long as he lived if he could help it, needing to vomit up whatever glowing green toxin the Mad Hatter had shoved down his throat the night before had turned him off puking for the rest of his life.

He rubbed his wrists, the red rashes and bruises still pressed into his skin from where he had tried to pull at his bonds, his wrists bound by rope behind the chair seated at the tea-party. Hatter had tried to make him drink from the little porcelain cups, but he obviously didn’t think that far ahead, and when Roy wouldn’t- couldn’t- drink, the Hatter tipped his head back, grabbed his neck and poured it down his throat. It burned when it touched his skin, making him woozy and dizzy and all kinds of messed up, and Kori had told him later his eyes were like a neon sign, glowing the same colour as the tea, half-lidded and absent.

He had shoved two fingers down his throat the moment they brought him home and he stumbled into the bathroom, head right over the bowl and heaving the liquid up, someone was holding his hair back, but he wasn’t sure who, didn’t care- he found out later that it was Jason, who’d sent Kori out to make coffee and get the first aid kit, which is when she had smothered his room in every pillow she could find- he just wanted to get it out.

He’d insisted he was alright, said he could help out and take care of his wounds, but he’d run into the table and the fridge and tripped over his own feet on his way to the couch leaving blood-stained handprints on the walls so many times that Kori ended up carrying him to his old room, and he hasn’t moved since.

He could hear Kori giggling from the lounge, the music turned down low enough to hear their voices through the walls. He couldn’t make out the words they were saying, but it was definitely something to do with Kori convincing Jason to teach her how to dance, and Jason laughing and spinning her around by the hand.

Roy sighed, adjusted his position on the bed scratched his chest again. The bandages were old, rough and itchy, irritating his skin over the already healing scars from earlier missions. He made a mental note to get more once Kori and Jason would let him leave his bed.

They’d had a deal a long time ago, a proposition for when one of them got hurt, to carry on with their lives and not worry about the other unless it was to bring them food or water or company and Kori and Jason were great at that, could distance themselves enough so that they could still be concerned by their injured other but not let it hinder them into an uncontrollable mess of worry and fear.

Roy had never been good at that. He got too attached to people and their problems too quickly, losing sleep over the wellbeing of the people he cared about. Often times, someone had to drag him away from the bedside, forcing him to eat and holding him down in the bed so he couldn’t escape and give in to his closing eyes and let exhaustion overtake him. It was usually Kori, being nearly invincible and extremely hard to hurt, she usually was the one to drag Roy away from Jason’s bedside and make him take care of himself.

The music outside turned off completely, Jason’s soft chuckles floating through the air. Roy tried to get up again, but a flare of pain from his rips had him falling back down, rolling his eyes and groaning in pure annoyance.

He closed his eyes and rubbed his temples, the rabid cackling of the Hatter ringing in his ears and the circling strobe lights of the casino burned behind his eyelids. The memories were burned into his brain almost like the green toxin that had made a permanent home in his gums.

“Where’s my Alice?” on repeat, again and again, “Oh, there she is! Come meet my Alice.” He was directed to stare at one of the many women in blond wigs, blue dresses, smeared red lipstick and glazed over eyes, black and white striped garters and bruises up and down their skin. Roy had eyed them as they sat down, silently and with droopy eyes, a drowsy smile plastered on their porcelain painted faces.

A pair of purple cat ears had been placed on Roy’s head, his hat discarded and his arrows gone. Closing his eyes, he tried to resist the lull of the lights and the too-sweet smelling tea and treats littered around the table like a spoiled kid’s birthday party.  “Now now!” Tetch chided, slapping Roy’s face until he opened his eyes. “You haven’t even had any tea yet! No point falling asleep before it’s even begun, aye? Children!” He turned, called down a corridor, wide opaque glass doors hiding the dark hallway. “Bring the Cheshire Cat some tea before he disappears, would you?” Clanging, giggling, heavy breathing, footsteps and then silence down the hall.

Roy snorted, “If you think I’m the Cheshire Cat, you’ve obviously never met the real Cheshire.” You’ve obviously never met Jade because you’re still alive. He wanted to say, wanted to laugh in his face that the mother of his daughter would die before she let him near Lian, let him near any child and any girl in need of a hand to hold and a warm place to stay.

The Hatter turned to him with wide angry eyes, a cattle rod raised high in his right arm, but the door opened and a row of children in sequined mini dresses and dress shirts walked out, some in blue butterfly wings and hookah pipes on their belts, others with bunny ears and gloves, but all with the same identical bruises and glazed-eyes as the Alice’s, fake smiles plastered on their too-cheery faces.

A little girl with a black eye and newly-crooked nose brought him the green gunk in the tiny tea-cup, and Roy could see bruises up and down her legs in the rounded shape of fingertips showing from underneath her sequined dress and she walked away with a shuffling limp. Roy had grit his teeth and clenched his bound fists from behind him, but the Hatter laughed in his face and was pouring the green liquid down his throat, and Roy was suddenly feeling groggy and sluggish and unsteady, eyes blurring and mouth going dry, fingers and toes going numb, mind going cloudy and then stopping altogether.

He was aware that there were explosions and gunshots from somewhere else in the casino, but all that mattered to the Cheshire Cat was the tea he wanted to drink to please his dear friend and the tales he had heard of the Jabbowoki, the cookies and the crumpets and the tarts he promised he would eat and many gifts he had to give his darling lost Alice-

A knock on his door brought Roy from his thoughts, and he quickly swished his mouth out with more water and spat it out before he told them to come in.

A golden-brown hand opened the door, accompanied by purple manicured nails and the waft of chilli, and Roy smiled to greet her. She walked through the doorway with a smile on her face and his breathing stopped.

Her hair was braided into two-semi circles like suns on the side of her head, her fringe swept to the other side like an ocean wave and the longest parts of her hair tied up into a high ponytail with her own hair as the band holding it all together. Her lips were painted a perfect shade of deep purple, eyelids the same colour, a tinge of gold to them. Grey leggings with a light blue racing stripe were clad on her legs, a baby pink crop top and a short turquoise jacket on her shoulders. She had on lace up sandals, the same purple as her lipstick. The breath was taken from his lungs in a burst as if his Princess had ripped it out as payment for being in his presence. She smiled, and Roy felt himself going lightheaded, had to lean his head back against the cushions.

Jason came next, grey hoodie over white patterned t-shirt, hair as if he walked through a cyclone, tussled and messy. He had a tired and welcoming smile on his face, his eyes slightly lidded, his lips red and puffy, tints of purple ringed the edges, a dark bruise on his neck, also ringed in purple like a border. Roy had to remind himself to breathe as Jason licked his lips and sauntered into the room, threading a hand through his already messy hair, staring holes into Roy’s very soul.

“How are you feeling?” Kori asked, sitting down gently on the edge of the bed, placing the bowl of chilli on the bedside table. Jason leaned against the doorframe as Kori rearranged the pillows around his head.

Roy shifted, trying to sit upright again, but he hissed as he felt his cracked rib shift. Kori tutted at him, gently resting a hand on his back and lifting him up so he could shuffle backwards and lower himself back down. “I’m alright,” He grunted as his stitches pulled. “I’m feeling a bit better. I’ll be out of bed in no time. I can’t get the taste of the stupid green stuff out of my mouth though and these bandages are itchy as hell, but I can deal.”

Jason chuckled, pushed himself off the door frame and moved around Kori to the other end of the bed and sat down, leaning against the backboard. “We got them out Roy,” He answered the question in Roy’s eyes. “The kids. We got them out. Jarvis is in prison, we called the GCPD and they took them home. They’ll all be needing some sort of therapy, maybe even rehab, but we got them all out.”

Sighing and closing his eyes, he leaned back heavily against the pillows. Kori put a hand on his shoulder. “There was a little girl.” He said quietly, thinking back to the moment. “She gave me the green stuff. She had a broken nose and a black eye- “

“And bruises on her legs and a limp?” Jason finished and Roy’s eyes shot open, he nodded frantically. “We got her. She was a daughter of one of the GCPD officers, he was the first in there. She’s safe.”

Roy raised his hands and pressed the palms hard into his eye sockets. “Thank God.” He muttered.

“What do you remember?” Kori asked, gently dragging the tips of her fingers down his cheek, sliding down to his bare shoulder and trailing along his arm, the skin tingling and sending a shiver down his spine.

I thought I was in wonderland. He thought, blinking a few times to get rid of the psychedelic swirls. “Nothing,” he lied, biting his lip as Jason looked him up and down, a hunger in his eyes Roy only saw in rare moments of pure desperation in the secret of their bedroom. He lost his train of thought as he thought about it, struggling to get back on track. “I don’t remember anything after the tea.”

Kori looked at Roy as though she knew he was lying, but she let it slide, instead leaning back on one hand and running the other through her hair, closing her eyes for a moment. Roy smirked at a fading yellow bruise he had kissed into her hip not too long ago, the skin peeking out from below her riding up crop-top.

Leaning forward and pressing his lips to Roy’s pulse point, Jason mouthed over his neck, kissing purple stains into the pale skin. “Get better soon, Roytoy,” He purred, deep and husky, making Roy’s eyes flutter and his breathing hitch in his chest. “You’re no good to us bedridden, and nobody can work their tongue better than you.”

Chocking on the breath that finally, suddenly forced its way out his lungs, Roy felt a heat crawling up his chest. He licked his lips and made contact with Jason’s lust clouded eyes and he smirked again, in control of the situation for once in his life. “Yes, Boss.” He sneered, watching in satisfaction as Jason’s pupils grew, his cheeks turned as red as the hood he adorns and his breathing grew uneven and jaunty. It wasn’t often Roy got to have authority, and he was savouring every moment of it, savoured the power he had over Jason right at this moment and loved to watch him, make him, squirm-

Purple nails gripped his chin and yanked it quickly to the side, nails digging into the flesh of his cheek, and Kori narrowed her eyes at him. “He’s not the boss around here,” she whispered, colliding her lips against his and turning her face this way and that until it was almost painful- but Roy didn’t tell her to stop. Didn’t tell her that he couldn’t breathe and that his chest was burning because he had already given her his heart and his air and his soul, he belonged to her and Jason, belonged to her in every possible way, and he lived for it, lived for loving her, lived for loving them, and when Kori pulled away and traced Roy’s lipstick covered lips with her nail and half closed her eyes with the smirk of a devil, he didn’t take in another breath.

Not until she leant forward and mouthed breathe on his skin, the opposite side of Jason’s as she liked and sucked and bit and pulled the veins on his neck until he was sure she was drawing blood, that he opened his mouth and gasped a shuddering breath as she pulled back. “I am.”

When she shoved his chin away, he fell hard against the headboard with the breath knocked out of him, purple smeared across his face and bruises on either side of his neck. Jason and Kori were both staring at him with the eyes of hungry wolves. “You look like you want to eat me alive.” He panted, not making any move to clean his face.

Kori’s grin turned demonic, her teeth showing as she tilted her head back so she was looking at him through half-lidded eyes and full lashes. “That might not be a bad idea.”

Roy spluttered as Jason dug his nails into the meat of Roy’s leg making him gasp. “Don’t get too cocky,” he snickered, paying Roy back for the fleeting moment of victory he had before. “I’m her second in command.”

“Whoa,” Roy muttered, head spinning and eyes flickering closed, breaths coming in fits and starts. “You two are going to be the death of me.”

Kori laughed, loud and melodic like a wind chime outside during a storm, the in charge persona entirely dissipated until all Roy had of it was the memory. “I hope not,” she pushed herself upright and kicked off her shoes, floated a foot off the bed so she could flip around in the air and land gently so she was on her stomach, her chin in her hands. “Our lives would be rather uneventful without you.”

Snorting, Jason pushed himself backwards until his back was leaning against the wooden board at the foot of the bed, his legs crossed. “It would also be less stressful too.” Roy reached behind his head and threw a pillow at him, but Jason reached up and caught it with a chuckle, putting it behind him so he could lean on it. “But really, it would be so boring.”

Roy smiled, felt a warmness in his chest, but not the blushing sort, the sort that made you feel all warm and fuzzy when you felt love and love back and Roy stared at the works of art in front of him, the beauty that was the view he got to look at every single day of his life.

“Hand me the chilli then.” He sighed, hand outstretched and Kori sat up a bit to reach over and hand it to him. “Let’s hope you didn’t make it as hot as Ollie does. If you did, I swear I’m breaking up with you.”

Kori giggled, floated eye level with Roy and kissed him again, softly this time. When she pulled away, Jason came forward and did the same. It was strange, how even the smallest kind of affection from the loves of his life could take his breath away. It made the broken ribs and the stabs and the bleeding worth it.

“No you won’t,” Jason yawned, leaning back. “You love us too much.”

“Yeah,” Roy admitted, “I really really do.”

Kori raised her hand, palm towards Roy. “I love you, Roy Harper.”

Jason did the same, hand touching Kori’s and lacing his thumb with hers. “So do I, no matter how annoying you can be.”

Roy forgot about his chilli, placing it on the bed so he could join his hand with theirs, tangling their fingers together. Their matching tattoo stark on their wrists, the gun, the arrow and the sun warming Roy up from the inside out at the depth of their love. He had many tattoos, didn’t think that one more would matter, the tattoo on his side testimony enough to his deep and evolving love. Jason says it’s a phoenix to better cope, but Roy made sure he asked for a Robin, a degrading Robin on purple flames as a tribute to his loves. Jason hates it until Roy tells him that without the death of the Robin, Jaybird would never have been born, and Jason shuts up with tears welling in his eyes.

“I better get well soon, then.” Roy squeezed their hands and they both squeezed back. “God knows you need me.”

Kori laughed. “Eat up, or I’ll feed you.”

Jason cackled as Roy feigned mock fear, shoveling mild chilli into his mouth as though his life depended on it. Yes, Roy could deal with the aching in his chest from puncture wounds and broken bones, but the everyday breathtaking sight of his loves are what he really lives for.

[southernsquad]

@jvstkids

It had been a secret Oskar had harboured for a long time, longer than he could remember. It was an unusual thing to have your whole life centre around a secret that only a select few could know. When Oskar turned five years old, his parents held a birthday party for him, with blue decorations, spaceships, or where they racing cars? That part, Oskar couldn’t remember. He remembered blowing out the candles, though, four of them. His mother, or Mor as she was affectionately known to him, had been sure that he should blow them out one by one, as though the extinguished flames were a count down. Young Oskar, though, hadn’t known the importance of countdowns and of superstitions back then, all he wanted to do was to eat as much of his spaceship or racing car- shaped cake as soon as he could. He had blown three out simultaneous, with a huge breath he’d been saving up in side his now-five-old lungs. His father had cheered rubbed his shoulder, his mor looked disappointed as she frown and told him to blow the rest out separately. “Let the boy do what he wants!”. His father’s words were the kind that resonated through his mind almost every minute of every day, whenever something went wrong, whenever he cracked open another beer can or bought a packet of cigarettes from the cheap off-license on the corner, when he felt the vibrations of his bike’s engine rumble through his entire body, when he didn’t text a girl back, when he kissed his best friend. Let the boy do what he wants.

Oskar wished, if wished was the right word, that sometimes, just sometimes, someone out there would stop him from doing what he wanted. Wishes were another thing that stuck in Oskar’s mind. One is supposed to make a wish before they blow out the candles and on Oskar’s first massive blow of air, he used that wish up. Again, Oskar couldn’t remember what on. Probably something meaningless, like becoming an astronaut, or getting a puppy or a new pair of trainers. If Oskar could have gone back to that birthday party, he would have done things differently, he would have blown out the candles, one by one, all five and on each he would have wished that in 17 years’ time, his mother wouldn’t be dying. Just after the light of the fourth candle had gone out, his mor had fallen to the floor. He could remember the thump on the floor as her head hit the ground, he could remember the gasps from all the guests as the rushed to her side, he remembered the blood that trickled down her nose and onto her lips. No-one had known it then, but it was a sign that maybe she hadn’t got as long left in the world.

Oskar didn’t like to remember a whole lot of his life by some of his memories and his thoughts were stubborn, they were etched into the very fabric of his existence and the fact that his mother was going to die was one of them. Few people had known, when his parents came back from hospital the next day, his father’s arm wrapped protectively around his mother, even he didn’t know the truth. The decline was slow, barely noticeable to such an energetic, rough and tumble boy like Oskar was.  It wasn’t until he was eleven and she had been moved of the house and into permanent care that he’d glimpsed the truth. After a while, all Oskar had known of his mor was that she was sickly and weak, with brittle bones and bruises on her arms and face. He hadn’t really known the difference in origin of her injuries and ailments. Looking back now, that day they took her away was probably a good thing, she’d been granted solace from the tyranny of his father’s rage. After that, Oskar had been the next in the firing line, raised on anger and resentment and soon he didn’t know the origin of his own bruises either. Another secret to be kept.

Oskar’s life’s story was one secret layered and layered upon another until their combined strength was thick enough to act as armour. When he had that armour on, Oskar became Storm, composed of secrets and bad memories that only he would have to bare the burden of.

One day, though, everything he had known to be the truth about the world had changed. Ingrid was years below him in school, she drove a little blue beetle, had cropped blonde hair and she was, though Oskar could never tell her, his saving grace. Oskar knew a warped version of love for most of his life, only two people in his life has ever made love feel good, like its described in poems or in films; something that’s warm and forgiving and understanding and unconditional. His mor always gave him that, even on her worst days and now Ingrid. They’d had it to each other, admitted that love was what was going on between them. It hadn’t been easy for Oskar to let down as many walls as Ingrid wanted him to but she, like his mor, was understanding and patient and it seemed that however badly he messed up, however much he ‘did what he wanted’, Ingrid refused to give up on him. For so long, Oskar had kept who he was at school separate to who he was at home, he never had friends over, never spoke about his home life or his parents. At home he was Oskar and at school he was Storm. For a period of time, from 16 until now, Oskar didn’t have a home. He had a flat that was untidy and a place when the things he owned collected. He would sleep and eat there, fuck there, laugh and cry there, but it wasn’t home. His new home was Ingrid and with Ingrid Oskar was just… Oskar. It was getting harder and harder to separate the two, when Ingrid would ask him where he’d been, and it was always easier to say he was with another girl than where he actually was.

The love that they had needed to take a new step, a sign of his commitment and devotion to her that was worth more than any ring or wedding vow. Oskar walked in one night (he’d taken to staying at Ingrid’s place more and more frequently), later than usually, his hair tousled by the friction of his bike helmet. He was unusually quiet, a stoic look on his face as he walked into Ingrid’s room after splashing his face with water in the bathroom, droplets falling from his hair, his eyes hollowed and dark.

He began to remove his clothes. His actions almost methodical, Oskar slipped his shirt over his head, grabbing the collar from behind his neck, the muscles of his torso rippling in the candlelight. Tugging off his jeans, he slipped right into bed beside Ingrid, body curling up to her warmth, watching the shadows of their silhouettes on the wall. With his ear pressed to her chest, Oskar could feel her heartbeat, it was soft and steady, and he found huge comfort in the familiarity of it all. He slowly lifted his gaze to look up at her face, the face he had grown to know so well, with her rounded cheeks and soft skin, her usually painted lips, still a little stained from the way she wiped the lipstick off. She was so beautiful, bathed in a golden light and he had to remind himself that she was truly his, they loved each other, against all odds.

 No-one really understood their attraction, they never had, for a while Oskar was sure Ingrid hadn’t either, he’d had to work hard to earn her trust and respect. But now they were together, and it didn’t matter to him what anyone thought of their love but Ingrid herself. They shared a bed, now a heartbeat, surely the next step would be a secret, especially as the secret would soon expire. Oskar kept quiet, closing his eyes, just waiting for a sign from Ingrid that she was willing to hear it.