#cascade consequences anniversary!! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

arans-princess · 4 years ago

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Bad kitten

Tendou is a kinky mutha fucka ISTG I KNOW he is a sadist. So i tried to keep this as gender neutral as possible so the reader has a vagina but no gender specific pronouns.

⚠️⚠️pain kink (reader is a masochist) bondage, choking, mirror sex, mention of blood, spit play, cummies, degradation and, overstim, hard dom Tendou, sub reader.⚠️⚠️

So, you know better than to tease Tendou in public, but damn if he had just fucked you this morning like you had wanted, maybe you wouldn't have; made him cum in his pants twice… at dinner… with his parents… ok yes you crossed a line but shit! you want that long cock in your pussy again so fucking bad it hurts. So now you're in the car headed home and he is far too quiet for comfort but you are too excited to give a shit. Instead of thinking about how brutal your punishment is going to be you decide to reminisce on how you got to this point.

Six hours earlier

Now normally getting ready to go to a fancy dinner would be lots of fun, if you weren't ridiculously and extremely horny. Tendou thought it would be funny to wake you up this morning by eating you out, which would have been great if he had let you cum, but he didn't; instead he just got you riled up, gave you a smirk and said get out of bed.

Thinking back to how delicious his tongue felt against your folds, massaging, licking and suckling on every drop of juice you produce, letting nothing go to waste. the way he suckled on your clit made your toes curl. long fingers joined the assault to your nether regions. he pushed two fingers inside will you slowly long thin, curled them to find that perfect spongy spot inside of you making the pleasure even more intense, pumping them in and out of you faster in faster sucking on your clit even harsher than before now his teeth slightly graze it, nibbling just a little, the sensation only adds to your pleasure, before you know it your body is contracting on the cusp of cumming but then he stops. Just like that the intense pleasure you felt dissipates.

Three hours earlier

It's 4 p.m. and you have started getting ready to go with your loving husband to his parents anniversary dinner. in the shower the warm water cascading down your back as you wash yourself then you hear the shower curtain pull back tendou joins you helping you wash your back and you wash his. this is not the first time you two have showered together, he almost always accompanies you claiming it saves water. showering together almost always leads to some soft sex but today there is no time for that. You two finish washing and now it is time to rinse. she removes the shower head from its mount on the wall in an effort so he claims to not mess up your hair, He turns the nozzle on the massage setting claiming it's to help relax your muscles, like a fool you believe him, it starts innocently enough, he rinses your shoulders and your back then turns you around to rinse the front half nice warm water washes away with soap and then he gets lower, and lower, and lower, on the way down he pays special attention to your nipples, now at your cunt, before you can protest he has your back pressed against the cold tile one leg hiked up and thrown over his shoulder, the warm water That was massaging your body is attacking your clit with ferocity, the pressure and heat build up your orgasm quickly. Sensing your close he pushes the nozzle harder into your clit. As your orgasm approaches you begin clawing at his back in hopes to gain some stability, moans getting higher in pitch, drawing out into a whine of your approaching release. Every nerve on your body is on fire and then just like this morning he pulls away. The fire is snuffed and you were left high and dry yet again. He snickers and tells you to hurry up and get ready.

30 minutes before dinner

After getting ready, dressed in your most seductive outfit, you had decided that Tendou is going to pay for the torturous teasing he forced you to endure all day. But it seems Tendou also had the same idea. as the two of you walked to your car you see him standing in all his glory, the moon light illuminating his handsome face; a sleeveless mock neck fitted shirt tucked into black shiny leather pants, a spiky belt, long cross earrings. Since high School his appearance has changed drastically; he pierced his left eyebrow and his tongue, which you have thoroughly enjoyed, and now his once pale skin is adorned in brightly colored tattoos splaying across his chest up his neck and down his arms you have also enjoyed licking, his once slender arms are now much more defined but, the change hasn’t just been physical, no no no, his persona has transformed into something much more dominating, his aura saturated in his new found confidence, everything he says is laced with liquid sex, his new apperance has only applifed this. Essentially, Satiori Tendou is sex on legs, his constant teasing has made the ache damn near unbearable.

The way you two complement each other is unmatched by any other couple going. Turning the heads and dropping the jaws of everyone around you, both stunned by your beauty but alarmed by your aura they part like the Red Sea.

Arriving 20 minutes before the reservation time has its perks, grabbing his hand as you two exit the car, Making a b-line for the restroom pulling Tendou along with you. now it's your time to turn the tables, pay back’s a bitch so you thought. Once the door is closed luckily it is a single person restroom, you force him against the wall hands immediately trying to undo his belt, fumbling miserably in your desperation.

“eager much are we?” his mocking only makes you more desperate. you fumble for a few more seconds before he undoes it himself. you remove the articles of clothing on your lower half to provide easier access as fast as possible; now it is time to execute your revenge or so you hoped, somehow you had forgotten how much of a dom your boyfriend truly is. seeing as you had been worked up all day long the need for prep was minut, deciding to forgo it as eagerness bled with arousal, the need to fuel your desire had consumed you. With one swift thrust he entered your stopping cunt.for whatever reason you believed you were in charge so you began to fuck yourself on his cock, throwing it back on him as hard as you possibly could, effectively pinning him against the door, thinking you still have the upper hand you decide now would be a great time give him a taste of his own medicine.

“What’s work baby? Can’t handle me fucking myself on your cock? I’ll slow down if you want me too, There is that better?” You begin a slow grind on him but he responds with grabbing your hips with on large hand and the other snakes to your hair. The control you thought you had dissipates faster than it arrived. He Meets your thrusts harder than you were able to handle, turning your tuants into moans arms flailing about trying to gain purchase on any available surface coming up short, you ultimately allow him to use your body.

“Oh but I much rather enjoyed the faster pace. That’s OK I’ll do it myself.” His whisper husky in your ear. The hand on your hip joints the other in your hair yanking it back with such force your arch deepens.

After being together for years Tendou knows your body almost better than you do, so the fact that you are not nearing your release as rapidly as you hoped is baffling, unless this is intentional… but surely after denying you twice today he will grant you this one wish...right?

“Tendou baby please I need to cum, please I want it so bad, so so bad- ugh! PLEASE!” You pleas fall on deaf ears. The drag of his long cock against your velvety walls is almost intoxicating, his thrusts are relentless as he is chasing his own release slamming into you harder and harder than his cock twitch is the telltale sign he is about to cum. You plead for him to take you with him, but he falls over the edge alone. His cum Hot and sticky inside you coats your walls, the thick translucent spurts, make you involuntarily clinch trying to hold it in consequently you clamp down and milk his cock for every last drop.

“Aww doll your clamping down on me it’s like you don’t wanna let me go” he purrs in your ear giving you two more thrusts for good measure then pulling out. “Since you want to keep my cum so bad how about this” he pulls your underwear off of your legs. He bends you over even further so your nose is touching your knees, pussy fully exposed to him. He balls up your panties and shove them inside your quivering cunt. “ I know i’ve been riling you up all day long, but just think about the pay off. Be a good little princess during dinner and you will get anything you ask for. OK how does that sound?” He murmurs placing gentle kisses behind your ear. His cool and slightly chapped lips help ground you, bringing you back down.

Its now five minutes before his parents are to arrive, you two take this time to fix your tousled clothing. After making yourselves presentable you exit the bathroom and in hand and are immediately greeted by his parents who are accompanied by the hoastest. She escorts you all to your table for four and you all take your seats, Tendou’s mother sits next to you while his father and him sit across from you. You and his mother make small talk. The two of you catch up on your endeavors for the past few weeks as your schedules have been very busy leaving you unable to talk. After a few minutes the server comes to take you orders and brings out your drinks, your husband and his father are engrossed in some conversation you weren’t listening to as his mother was Inquiring about your plans for the future; whether or not that entailed grandchildren, moving, or new potential job opportunities, great full this was not a plead for grands as you weren’t ready for that yet, you joyfully answer her questions.

“So Y/N you and my baby boy are students at the local UN, what the next step? I remember you told me your major is blank.” She inquires, turning her head to look at you. Looking at her in return you are reminded of where Tenie his gets looks from.

“Well after I complete my major in blank, I’m going to be looking for a job in the blank field. Right now I currently have an internship in my field of choice and hopefully if everything goes according to plan a job will be lined up after.” Your reply is cool and calculated a stark contrast to what’s going on under the table. You stretched your leg out under the table lifting it to brush against Tendou’s knees, to your surprise he doesn’t spare you a glance. Keeping up the conversation with his mother you who’s your foot along the inside of his thigh all the way up to his crotch. You then begin to stroke him from outside his leather pants. You can feel his erection growing underneath your foot, still not bothering to look at you the conversation with his mother dies off and his father strikes up a conversation with you has tendou talks with his mother. Stroking his cock harder and faster suddenly the Waiter comes out with food. However the arrival of food does not stop you. You do a good job of keeping up the act then your foot is abruptly stopped, your husband’s hand gripping your ankle tightly at last, he finally looks at you and his gaze is predatory, daring you to continue. Being the brat you are you continue with your other foot prodding him closer and closer to climax. He can’t help the groans that leave his lips so he attempts to cover them by commenting on how delicious the food is. Satisfied with yourself you put your legs back down and continue eating your appetizers.

Your husband has been shooting daggers at you throughout the first course, with the arrival of your entrées you thought to give him a break however The dull ache between your legs reminds you of how he left you high and dry not once not twice but three times today, paybacks a bitch. You begin your ministrations again, this time he looks at you, almost begging you to stop but he remains silent. His cock is still sensitive in his pants after cumming twice in such a short time span, you increase your pace and pressure and in no time he is on the brink of cumming. He’s pale skin slightly flushed a wonderful pink, his eyes slightly glossed over, just a hint of a blissed out expression dances across his face.

“Son, are you feeling alright? You look a little pink?” His mother’s concerned voice rings.

“Yeah you do look a little hot baby, you feeling alright?” You coo stretching a hand out to hold his, your thumb caressing the back of his hand giving him a dazzling yet teasing smile as he somehow glares harder at you, if looks could kill you’d be dead 10 times over.

“I’m fine, it’s just spicy, very spicy” he manages to choke out.

“ well, if you say so” his father replies skeptically.

Tendou shoves more food in his mouth to muffle the cry aching to be released signaling his third climax of the night. You left a satisfied smirk dance across your face as you put your foot back down.

You all make small talk as dessert gets brought out chocolate lava cake with a side of vanilla ice cream, Tendou has been waiting for this all night so you figure why not make his dessert a little sweeter, now in hindsight you should’ve stopped long ago but you seem to be drunk on the little bit of control that you have accumulated as the night progressed so you try your luck one last time, you start slower this time much much slower. First you start at his calf trailing your foot up and down; gradually lifting it higher and higher until you’re reaching his inner thigh. You take a brief pause to allow everyone to dig into their desserts. Then you go in for the kill. You look across the table at your father-in-law a notice he’s giving his wife a strange look, weird but you think nothing of it and, continue prodding and caressing the growing bulge beneath your foot, staring at your husband with intensity as his parents are engrossed in a surely riveting conversation. Yet your husband seems Completely unresponsive. Prodding harder in hopes of getting some sort of reaction yet you come up short. You figure he’s just gotten better at hiding his expressions and continue until you hear it. A barely audible yet high-pitched whine, but it’s not coming from your husband. You look at his father and then it clicks as his eyes have slightly glazed over and his grip on the spoon has tightened to the point where his knuckles are grossly white. Mortified, you excuse yourself to the restroom.

There you pull out your phone and send a text to Tendou asking him to make up an excuse so the two of you can go home and you’ll explain what happened later. He does and soon he knocks on the bathroom door, you step out and on your way to the car you begin explaining why you needed to leave so abruptly.

“Baby I’m so sorry but i kinda… made your dad cum in his pants…. I thought he was you and I didn’t take off my shoe… IM SO SORRY” you explain as quick as possible praying he won’t be too upset.

“I figured as much, I’m not too upset. I think it’s kind of funny, good luck facing him later on.” He jokes, pulling you close to his so he can whisper how much trouble you are truly in “ but I hope you don’t think your ass is off the hook, I told you to be good kitten”

The present

Once you get home your orders were to strip and go to the play room immediately, not wanting to get in any more trouble than you already were and you can apply as quickly as possible. Once stripped you sick to your knees waiting for him to come in and give you your next orders. The door opens and incomes Tendou, the presence that surrounds him does not belong to your husband it belongs to your master, this forces you to immediately submit to his every whim not an ounce of defiance is left in your body.

“So you can follow orders, good slut. Now since you were so hungry for my cum here, clean my cock now!” He pulls down his pants and boxers together unleashing the monster. His thick long cock is coated in a thick layer of his cum, cum you cannot wait to taste, quickly you slurp all of the cum off his cock and then bob your head up and down taking as much of it in your mouth as you can. Then he grabs your head by your hair and begins fucking your face, his pace is brutal as he thrusts into the back of your throat triggering your gag reflex which only makes him thrust harder. Your eyes are watering tears streaming down your face your nose is runny you look like an absolute fucking wreck, but to Tendou you look just as beautiful as the day he married you. “look at you my pretty slut such a desperate whore for my dick!” Each word is accented with an additional thrust. He lets your hair go allowing you to set your own pace, bracing yourself by putting your hands on his thighs and you continue bobbing up and down as quickly as possible eager for more of his cum. Looking up his face is contorted pleasure ice crossed mouth hanging open knowing he’s close you hollow your cheeks this his cock to twitch down your throat followed by thick spurts of his delicious cum. You don’t have a chance to swallow as he pulls you just standing on your feet and kisses you deeply prompting you to push his release into his own mouth. He holds your jaw open and spits his cum back into your mouth you swallow without hesitation.

He guides you over the bed and prompts you get on all fours, you do so quickly as not to anger him further. “Good bitch, now wait I have a special punishment in mind for you.” He walks to the wall on the opposite side of the bed and unveils a full length wall to wall mirror. “ I got this earlier in the week; I was planning for today to be your reward for being such a good little Doll, I had planned have you watch me pleasure you till your heart’s content but now the plans have changed, i’m going to use you anyway I see fit. the only way to get it to stop is if you SafeWord, what’s the SafeWord?” One hand is tucked under your chin tilting your head up to look him in the eyes. “Mocha” your reply is meek “yes that’s right baby mocha” he alway seems so tender in these moments, showering you with love reassuring you that this can stop at any time. But with the next sentence any trace of softness is vaporized “say stop when the pain is too much”

The heavy paddle collides with your ass cheeks three quick and hard times in succession first your right then your left. The sting sends waves of pleasure up your spine intensifying the dull ache in your cunt. The strikes keep coming each harder than the last, your pussy is sopping wet dripping onto the sheets below.

“Look at you, getting off on me hitting you, how filthy!” He shouts as he lays more strikes. You look up at yourself in the mirror, your face is scrunched up, One would think you’re in pain if you weren’t arching your back even further to try and make more contact. After a few more strikes he drops the paddle and lifts up your left leg so your cunt is exposed to the mirror as well. He slaps your clit harshly before applying a clothespin on the nub. The sudden pinch sends you flying over the edge, after being worked up all day your sweet release is the most powerful one you have had in awhile, toes curling arms no longer strong enough to support yourself your front half collapses onto the bed below you. Tendou turns your head to the side so you can watch yourself come undone and you realize you squirted. He quickly thrusts his cock into your cunt and begins fucking you ruthlessly. “Such a beautiful cum slut,” he coos in your ear, one hand moves from your hips to your throat forcing you back down onto his cock meeting him thrust for thrust. Due to his new grip you have nowhere to run. “Be a good whore and take every last inch!” His command is punctuated with a harsh slap to your raw ass cheek then his vacant hand trails to your clit flicking the clothes pen attached to it, sending another jolt throughout your body. You clamp down even harder on his cock screeching like a banshee when you come undone again your nerves are on fire you’re not hypersensitive to every touch. You can practically feel every piercing on his cock as he continues fucking you through your orgasm. The reverse Prince Albert, the frenum, and the deep shaft, all work in tandem amplifying your orgasm. He spits on your ass cheeks not stopping his pace for a moment.

“Filthy slut, you liked making my dad cum in his pants didn’t you? Look at you clamping down on me, you fucking whore!” He spits harshly flicking your clit again. “Answer me bitch!” The hand around your throat tightens choking you. The lack of oxygen makes your mind fuzzy as you croak out a strangled ”no”

“That’s fucking right you’re my little whore! Don’t you ever fucking forget it! Now cum cum on my cock so I can fuck you in to the mattress!” He spits on your back now the cooled off drool cools you off slightly. Your body is on fire and yet another orgasm is forced out of you.

“Fuck sir, I- I don’t think I can cum any more!” You plead.

“You can and you will what the fuck makes you think I care? You're my doll and I will play with you until you break!” He fucks you through three more orgasms before he pulls out. On the last orgasm you’re sure you blacked out for a second. Now you have been reduced to a heap on the bed unable to move a limb on your own accord. He gives you a few minutes to collect yourself, once your breathing finally steadies and you regain feeling in most of your limbs, He rolls over to your back and begins sucking dark marks onto your thighs leaving a trail up to your abused Cunt. Once there he removes the clothes pin in place is a gentle kiss on your heat. You roll your head to the side to watch him eat you out. Your sex is glistening and puffy form the abuse, your legs or adorned with dark blotches leading up from your knees, then his hands begin to caress your thighs when you feel something cold, it’s not his rings so what could it be you wonder. You lift your head slightly to get a better angle and you see it, a small switchblade in his hand trailing up and down your thighs. You gasp in shock.

“Don’t worry doll, I’ll be careful.” His voice is reassuring so you relax, lay your head back down and watch him in the mirror. “Make sure you’re watching kitten, wouldn’t want you to miss out on the view, his words are slightly muffled because he is speaking into your thigh but you understand him clear as day. Then his assault begins, he sucks harshly on your clipped while prodding your G spot with two fingers. The Metal ball feels delightful against your sensitive knob as he keeps a vacuum seal around it. The hand fingering you moves rapidly causing your hips to back wildly as you quickly build tension, your walls flutter against his fingers signifying your close; the knife starts moving along your thighs pressing firmly but not breaking the skin. The thrill of potentially being cut makes the pleasure more intense. This causes a snowball effect and you come undone for the last time, your hips give one last yet powerful buck causing the knife to be pressed into your skin deeper, nicking you.

“Fuck baby I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to cut you I-“ his apology is cut short.

“Baby it’s ok accidents happen let’s just try not to do it again OK?” You reassure him calmly.

“Of course sweetheart I know you’re tired let’s get you cleaned up.”

You two shower together again this time no funny business, helping each other wash and rinse then get dressed in the most comfy clothes you own you flop down on the bed. You feel the plush blankets atop the cozy mattress, crattleing your back as you and tendou lay together. His heartbeat steady in your ear; the heat from his body combines with the pressure of his fingers trailing up and down your body, lulling you into a place hovering between sleep and consciousness.

“Baby?”

“Yes my love” You reply sleepily, snuggling deeper into his chest.

“Why are you here with me?”

“Well for starters we just had some of the best sex I have ever had in my life.”

“No silly. A better question would’ve been why did you choose me? In high school you had people throwing themselves at you and you still chose me. Even now people off the street admire you. What makes me so special?”

“Oh baby where is this coming from?” You have perked up a bit more and are now fully conscious. The skin on his chest is warm under your lips as you press gentle but firm kisses from his sternum up to the column of his throat. He can feel him swallowing quickly waiting for your response with baited breath. “baby I’m with you because I am in love with you. I love everything about you, except when you leave the toilet seat up.”

The last part makes both of you snort. His chest is warm under your palm feeling his heartbeat steadily as you gaze up at him, you search his eyes for any more uncertainty finding his features have washed over with relief somewhat, however you know something is still wrong. He’s been too quiet for far too long. He looks back at you, lips pulled into his mouth between his teeth as he chooses his next sentence carefully.

“baby, honey, whatever you have to say just say it. I don’t get upset. You know I love you very much so where is all of this coming from?” You prod gently rubbing soothing circles onto his chest and torso.

“Well I just- I just feel like I’m forcing you…” he chokes on his words. “I just don’t understand how someone like you, gosh you’re so perfect, how do you love me? I’m a monster y/n! I like hurting you! And you still stay? I don’t understand! I love you so damn much but I love to see you in pain especially at my hands, they say you don’t hurt people you love but I hurt you, and you LET ME! WHY DO YOU LET ME? I cut you! I wasn’t paying attention and could’ve seriously hurt you! He sobs out, even with tears running down his face. He is just as handsome as the day you too met six years ago.

You haven’t seen him this worked up Since the day he told you about His years as an Elementary school kid when he was bullied. From that stemmed insecurities over his appearance, hell even the nickname in high school ’guess monster’, made him feel As if he were some thing inhumane. Soon you realize you’ve been quiet for far too long, sitting up to straddle his waist you lean and pressing your foreheads together. His skin is soft. So soft, and warm under you, losing yourself in the closeness between you too, sighing trying to find the right words to express what’s in your head, but what watery red eyes of your lover staring back at you in pain fog your brain and dry your mouth. You move your hands to cup the supple skin of his cheeks thumbs under his eyes wiping away the flowing tears. Moving down you kiss a trail from his forehead to his lips kissing away tears as you go. As if he cannot bare the weight of your glaze he looks at the ceiling. Your heart clenches at the sight of your beloved so emotionally tormented.

“Tendou, my love, I cannot express my love for you, but know this, you are not a monster, you're my Satori Tendou who I would love to spend the rest of my life with, you are kind and thoughtful. Some days I think you're psychic.” You move to sit up right in his lap bringing him up with you.

“You know every little detail about me, like when we stop to get food and I claim I’m not hungry, your order for me and it’s exactly what I want each time, or when we go to parties, you can pinpoint the exact second when my social battery has died and you have no problem leaving then and there. You mean so much to me goddamnit.” you take a pause, throat burning and constricting as you attempt to choke back tears. “Yes you are a sadist but it works just fine with my masochist ass, baby. Not once have I ever had to safe word. So what you drew a little blood? It didn’t kill me. I told you I don’t like it, and I know we won’t have that problem again.” Hands cupping his cheeks pulling his forehead to yours to look deeply into his sad eyes, “honey I love you, I love every part of you!” Startled by the cold wet drops hitting your bare thighs, when did you start crying you wonder. Then a full body sob hits you, starting in your shoulders, to your burning chest, to your quaking thighs. Your body convulses as you attempt to spit out these words. “Nothing you can do will change my love for you! “ suddenly his long arms incase your body, pulling flesh against him as if you could possibly get any closer.

Strong, so damn strong, his arms his soul his spirit, yet man sobbing in your arms seems so weak, fragile, vulnerable; as if every ounce of strength has been drained from his body leaving a hollow shell. Tendou has always been your anchor now it's your turn to do the same for him.

#haikyuu smut #Aran's bby writes #fics #tendou smut #tendou x reader #tendou x reader smut #tw:blood #tw: knives

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jimlingss · 5 years ago

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Worshipers of the Spring

Part of the Worshipers Series

➜ Words: 9.5k

➜ Genres: 55% Angst, 40% Fluff, 5% Smut, God!AU

➜ Summary: The God of Wine is carefree and indulgent. Unlike many others who depend on pride and dignity, he does not care that he is not a powerful god. But when he stumbles upon a forest in the mortal realm, he discovers what desperation and anguish means.

The flowers bloom on command. With one simple flick of the wrist, they bud and blossom, spilling over in an abundance of petals and flourishing in the living forest. The trees breathe, dancing together to the melody of the chickadee birds perched in their branches. It’s a hidden place that not many but brave souls or wandering children come across — a place where fields are verdant, hills grow and water bends. And in this serene meadow, you are screaming. If not from anger then out of sheer boredom.

The God of Wine waltzes into the grand hall. As he stands with his feet rooted in the ground, chin high in the air and back straight, he runs his hand through his honey hair and then catches sight of a nymph dressed in loose robes barely hanging off of her shoulders. He smirks, the corner of his plump lips tugging with a sense of superiority and her eyes widen. He winks and she nearly swoons to her knees. “Jimin.” The interaction is unfortunately cut short by a playfully stern voice, one where he can already envision the pout on the god’s face. It is only confirmed when he turns to find the God of Sun quickly skedaddling towards him, white and gold clothing swaying with him, and his glorious presence is enough to make the nymph scatter away with her cheeks blushing. “You take all the fun away.” “No, I am merely making sure that no one copulates on my floor.” “Do you take me for some wild animal?” Jimin feigns offence and then bursts out laughing when Seokjin gives him an extended stare. “I can promise you that it would be extra fun to indulge in our lustful pleasures together, Seokjin. You, your concubines, and I.” “You’ll know I’ll agree to that proposition the day the sun rises in the west instead of east, Jimin.” Seokjin fishes a red envelope out of his sleeve and hands it to him, the emblem of Heaven sealing it from being opened. “I need you to give this to Hansol.” The God of Wine takes it with curiosity, wondering what Seokjin desires from the God of Mountains. “Isn’t he residing in the mortal realm?” “He is.” “I’m not your messenger boy, you know,” Jimin whines, realizing that he was called for yet another lousy task. “I’m supposed to be supplying wine to the gods, answering prayers of fertility, and throwing extravagant parties! Not reduced to delivering your letters like some measly servant.” “I know, but you’re the only one I can trust, or at least the only one who I know won’t pry into my matters and try to open that and spread unnecessary gossip.” There is a held silence, and then the god of all gods relents. “The anniversary of the war is coming. It’ll mark one century of peace kept, I’ll let you host a celebration, alright?” The corner of Jimin’s mouth pulls, the taste of victory sweet on his tongue. “That sounds more like it.” // There are many gods that despise mortals — it’s no secret when all they seem to do is beg, destroy, get greedy and beg some more. But the hatred has lessened greatly after the war, even when it was caused by a mortal. It’s true that the anger and resentment of the mortals forged the destruction, but it followed centuries of the gods being unforgiving and punishing. It was the consequences of them abandoning the humans for pride and contempt. So while customs and habits have changed to ensure peace, the better part of Heaven still had their distaste for humans and the mortal realm. There were the strange ones who sympathized and adored mortals, but for Jimin, he was quite neutral. At best, he found them amusing. Thus, he takes his time to enjoy the realm he seldom arrives at. Or at least those are his intentions until he descends and finds himself in an unfamiliar forest. The God of Wine wanders for a moment, trying to find an exit, but it is strange. Even when the place is seemingly friendly, the sunlight cascading through the canopy of the trees and illuminating the shades of green into brighter hues, he cannot leave no matter what direction he takes. The trees seem to trap him inside. Jimin is about to vanish away to free himself, but then as a breeze brushes through his hair, he halts. The god catches sight of something. Or rather, someone. Through the warm wind, peace blossoms flutter down from the tree like rain. It entwines with your hair, seemingly wrapping your entire frame with the soft colour. The petals decorate your crown, getting caught in your light pink silks adorned on your body, hugging you. The aroma of the flowers surround him, not pungent but rather faint, like a whiff of fresh perfume passing by. “Stop that,” you scold while the loveliest of giggles befalls your lips and your nose scrunches as a petal falls onto your cheek until you brush it away. “It’s getting all over my dress and it tickles!” You are the most beautiful person Jimin has ever had the privilege of laying his eyes on. The God of Win’s breath hitches. He struggles to find the power of speech and then it uncharacteristically stutters out of him. “W-Who are you?” Your neck snaps around at the sound of his sweet and soft voice. His honey hair is swept back, body adorned with luxurious black robes that are embroidered with gold swirls. Your gaze meets one anothers and it instantly goes quiet, the sound of the wind whistling between you two. Jimin doesn’t notice the way the flowers around him bloom. “Who are you?” The question is given back to him. “I don’t give my name to strangers.” The corner of the god’s mouth quirks. “Well I’m not a stranger anymore.” “You are until you give me your name,” you presumptuously state with your soft-spoken voice and the God of Wine grins, giving into your stubbornness. “Jimin. My name is Jimin.” “My name is Y/N.” A smile itches onto your face. “It’s nice to make your acquaintance.” You catch a blossom within your hand, one that hasn’t bloomed into its full potential and he watches as you flourish it within your palm. The petals open up, pale pink that matches the shade of the sky during the first blush of dawn. Jimin is frozen in his spot as you close the distance, stepping across the forest floor to approach. “I haven’t had someone stumble here for quite some time.” You extend your arm and he takes the flower you’re offering him, not sure what to do with it. But then you smile, quirking your head to one side. “Would you like to accompany me for a little while? I’ll make it worthwhile.” Jimin smirks. “And if it isn’t worthwhile, then what shall you compensate me with?” There seems to be a long moment where you genuinely contemplate, but after a beat, you huff out and have the audacity to grab his hand abruptly, tugging him along. “Just come see.” Jimin nearly bursts out laughing. If you knew that he was the God of Wine who resided in Heaven, you’d probably get on your knees and bow — but your ignorance is endearing. For once, it’s enjoyable to be treated without caution or fear. He follows you into a small meadow clearing where the tall trees surround and protect the area. The grass is a vivid hue of verdant, the lights soft with flower beds around. It’s clear that this is your home and that you’ve naively invited him into it. You have no sense of caution at all, unaware that he’s known for lust, that he embodies the entire idea of it. You’re merely humming underneath your breath, an infectious smile placed on your features. Jimin wonders who exactly you are. “I haven’t had a guest in so long,” you sing-song. “Come sit!” You show him to a measly tree stump and he stares at you in indignation while you look at him blankly and then he’s giving in yet again. Jimin swishes his robes behind him and sits, thighs spread as he claims the spot like it’s a throne. He eyes you as you waltz to several baskets under a nearby tree, tearing objects out. “It must’ve been a very long stroll to come to my forest. You must be hungry, right? Do you like nuts and berries?” “I’m actually not hungry.” Yet, you still come over with two wooden bowls that are filled with nuts, fruit and berries. You place it on the pathetic stump in front of him, a small table of sorts, and you plop down across from him, smiling wide. Your elbows are propped on your knees, cheeks rested on your fists and you intently stare at him like he’s a new toy. “I insist.” Jimin holds his sigh in his nose and takes a berry into his mouth. He nods at the taste. If possible, you become even more enthused. “Like it?” “It’s nice.” “Yay!” You cheer and Jimin scoffs lightly with a smile. The things he does for fair maidens… If Seokjin knew this was what he was doing in the mortal realm instead of running his errands, he might smite him. But in your presence, it might just be worth it. “I’m sorry there’s nothing to drink. I need to go to the stream again to collect freshwater…” Jimin cocks a brow. It’s an opportunity to impress and he steals it while he still has the chance. “Well that’s not a problem,” he declares with a smirk and flicks his wrist. At once your bowl fills with deep ruby wine. You’re visibly taken aback, perplexed, and your expression quickly turns into a pout. You eye him. “You’re….not a human, are you?” “Nope.” He playfully smiles, shaking his head. “I am the God of Wine. God of Fertility and Celebration, Jimin. Pleasure and drunkenness are in my domain, lust and bliss are bound to my will. Heaven knows no name but mine.” Jimin leans in, eyes connected with yours. You’re still surprised and a wolfish grin spreads across his face. “You aren’t a forest nymph, are you?” “No.” Your head quirks and the corner of your own lip curls. In spite of knowing he is a god, you don’t appear to be anxious or reverential — and that fact is entertaining. “What are you, girl?” You hum as if contemplating to tell him. Jimin sits on the edge of the seat. But then— “It’s a secret.” The God of Wine scoffs. Though he must say, he likes the game you’re playing. Of all of his lifetimes, the females that have wanted him have given themselves to him easily. If he was not slapped by goddesses, then he had them in his lap. It’s not that he minds that it’s effortless, but you make him intrigued. He wonders how he can shed your coyness. “You seem like a creature of many secrets.” “I am, Jimin.” Suddenly, the collar of his robes grabbed in both your fists and he’s pulled forward. Soft lips meet his. The god’s sound of surprise is muffled but he welcomes it. His eyes droop to become half-lidded and he tilts his head to deepen the kiss, dominating your tender point of contact. It’s a velvet texture and Jimin can’t resist slipping his tongue into your mouth, drawing out those delicious whimpers of yours. It’s sweet, almost like what he imagines roses and tulips to taste like. The bowls are soon knocked over, the wine dripping off the wooden stump and you push yourselves forward until the two of you are colliding onto the grass. Jimin rolls on top of you, pinning you to the soft meadow floor. And when you both break apart to gasp for air between your swollen lips, Jimin realizes he was wrong. You’re beautiful, but even more beautiful like this. “Are you not fearful that I am a god?” “Should I be?” you ask, shamelessly staring at his mouth and still grabbing onto his clothing with a tightening grip. Your hair pools around you, eyes glistening in the sunlight, your smile warm. Jimin considers that the best painting and sculpture in Heaven doesn’t even contend with you. “You should.” He smirks. “I would hate to break someone as fragile as you.” “Hmm, I’m afraid you’ve sorely underestimated me.” “Oh?” Jimin’s shit eating grin expands. “I’ve had many servants, nymphs and goddesses cry for me before, Y/N.” “And you assume I’ll be one of them too?” Your lashes flutter and he smiles, brushing a strand of your hair away from your face. “If this is a competition, then I’ve made plenty of mortals cry before too. Who knows, you might be the next one.” The God of Wine laughs candidly and seals your lips once more in a searing kiss. Your arms wrap around his neck and you pull him closer until he can feel your chest against his. His hand snakes up your leg, silk robes rolling up with it. Jimin knows it now — you’re a temptress. All you’ve done is play with him and tempt him, and he doesn’t know anything other than your name. One moment he’s speaking to you and the next, he has you underneath him in this empty meadow. You are talented, he has to admit. To get a god like him crumbling so easily… He is a master of lust but also one of self-control, though he was quickly losing it. The thought has him pulling away before his desires overcomes his dignity. “Where are you going?” It’s difficult when you look at him that way, rounded eyes and pouting as he comes to stand. You sound urgent too and it’s sweet. “Are you leaving?!” “I’m glad you enjoyed my company, but trust me, pet.” Jimin leans down to tap your nose. “It’s better to miss me than to be bored.” You scramble upwards, eyes glossy. “Won’t you stay a while longer?” The god has an urge to kiss you, to hold you and bury himself inside while having you crying his name, but he shakes his head. “I’ll come back.” Jimin’s too smitten with you after all. “I promise.” // The envelope still sits in Jimin’s pocket, but before he goes to deliver it, he lingers in the nearby town. The God of Wine approaches a cluster of people at the marketplace and doesn’t hesitate to intrude into their conversation to ask about the girl in the forest. No one knows what he’s talking about, confused at who he is and what he’s inquiring about. But before the god turns away without answers, a lady enamoured with his looks stops him. “There are children myths. No one grown believes them, but they say there is a girl of flowers in the forest who makes the green grass grow. And a lot of young men who wander there don’t often return.” The rumour has him perplexed and befuddled, coming up with more questions than answers. And before the woman can ask where he has come from, she looks back and he has vanished. // Jimin returns within three days' time, unable to break his promise or refuse his desires. He descends to the forest, finding the familiar peach blossom tree and taking refuge beneath it while he waits for you. The God of Wine stays patient — surprisingly finding that he wouldn’t mind waiting years if he needed to see you. It all just adds to the anticipation after all. Luckily for Jimin, he doesn’t need to wait more than a few minutes. He finds you wandering the forest while humming, a basket of flowers swinging from your wrist. And the moment your eyes connect with his, a smile plasters on your features, the basket drops to the ground and you’re running over. The god laughs, worried that you’ll trip but you manage and even throw yourself around him. “You’re back!” He returns your embrace, arms wrapped around your shoulders. “I said I would be. You missed me, huh?” “It’s not like I have anyone else to miss,” you say, pulling away from him and while he doesn’t know exactly what you mean, he’s distracted when you point to the bottle in his left hand. “What’s this?” “It’s a gift for you.” Jimin smirks at your surprised delight and when you take it, he pompously crosses his arms across his chest. “The best wine in the entire universe created by yours truly. You should treasure it! It’s not often that others can receive gifts from the gods.” “I...love it.” You’re ecstatic, studying the bottle intently as a grin expanding into your cheeks like you’ve never received a present from anyone before. And your genuine reaction only makes Jimin’s heart soften even more. You’re too naive, too innocent for him. It’s dangerous. Jimin’s endearment for you makes him want to treasure you. He knows he won’t be able to throw you away so easily — and he doesn’t want to. “It’s only fair if I give you a gift too, right?” You smile tenderly, handing the bottle back to him for a moment. Before he can protest and tell you that it’s unnecessary, you approach the tree and press your palms against the truck. As if you’re calling onto the universe or speaking to nature itself, suddenly the peach blossoms begin to bloom and fall. A warm breeze sweeps over the meadow, entwining into your hair and your dress. His breath becomes caught in his throat, head tilting towards the sky and he watches the way the pink petals dance in the air, enveloping him in a ticklish embrace. Soon the God of Wine is being consumed by a whirlwind of blossoms. A storm of flowers raining down from the sky. It’s beautiful — especially with the way you cheekily grin at him, obviously enjoying how impressed he is by your powers. And it’s at this moment, as Jimin is encompassed by flower petals bursting forth, caught in the middle of this rain, that he finds himself unequivocally captivated by you. “What do you think?” you ask of him when you’re done, arms behind your back as you tilt your head, lashes fluttering. There are still flowers drifting in the air, sweeping in the horizon downwards. Jimin gazes at you and then he tugs you in by your waist. He presses his mouth against the delicate petals of your lips. He can feel you smile against him and that only serves for him to deepen the kiss. His half lidded eyes soak in your sheepish expression and the God of Wine’s palm lifts to cradle your cheek. You’re letting him have his way with you and he’s unable to resist temptation any longer. Jimin’s fingers gently trail down to the collar of your robes and he slips them off your shoulder. The silks cascade down. You’re a sorceress that has trapped him — who has completely enchanted him. The two of you collapse back onto the forest floor, on top of the bed of fallen flowers. You pull him in, arms encircling his neck while murmuring his name through swollen lips that gasp for air. Your hands interlace together and Jimin eagerly parts your thighs with your timid permission, allowing him to slot himself where your heat is. He kisses you again, plush lips against your neck, between your breasts and down to where you’re wet. As Jimin’s mouth wraps around your bud, broken sobs of his name are drawn out of your heaving chest. He relishes in the noises and the way your fingers sink into the hair at the nape of his neck to pull. The God of Wine feeds off of the lust swelling between the pair of you and soon, you’re both trapped in his thick haze, intoxicated off of one another’s bodies. Jimin is drunk when he lifts himself to kiss you again. He is giddy when you urgently pull at his own clothes until he’s bare like you are. And he’s dizzy when he nudges the head of his cock to the pink lips of your heat. Your legs wrap around his waist when he finally pushes in, groaning your name while you cry out, writhing beneath him. He brushes a strand of hair away from your sweaty forehead, finding you utterly captivating. You’re beautiful when you’re beneath him, surrounded by a bed of flowers, calling out his name like it’s the only thing you know. It makes the God of Wine selfish — holding a desire to keep you here forever. To keep you by his side for eternity. “Feel good?” “Y-yeah.” You nod shyly, teeth sinking into your pink lips. Jimin looks down to where you’re connected, where he continuously thrusts in and out of your weeping center. It’s mindless, where he succumbs to his own self-created atmosphere of pleasure, but when he looks up at you again, your eyes are fluttering at him. You have the sweetest smile spread into your face, hands grabbing at his arms. He’s corrupting you in the middle of the forest floor and you don’t even seem to mind. It makes his hips stutter and your breath catches in your throat. “J-Jimin.” “I love you.” The confession spills out of him unintentionally. They are words of affection that were always too great for the dignity and pride that he carried on his shoulders. Yet now it tumbles out without thought, without any consideration for the consequences or your inevitable rejection. But even when it's an accident, even when he fears the emotions swelling in the pit of his stomach, the God of Wine doesn’t mean it any less. “Ji-min.” You’re gazing into his eyes before you’re cumming around him. He picks up pace and leans down to kiss you quiet, allowing the smallest of muffled whimpers to spill over. And then soon after, his pelvis hits against yours and he’s cumming deep into you, ropes painting your walls white, leaving himself inside your core until you’re dripping past. When the pair of you are done and spent, Jimin holds you close. His lips lay against your forehead, arms wrapped around your torso as he dreams. “Let me bring you to Heaven.” He doesn’t care who you are anymore. He just wants you by his side. “I can show you my home. You can have whatever you want. I’ll take care of you.” Suddenly, his side becomes cold. You’ve pulled away from him, body looming over his as you sorrowfully stare into his eyes. “I can’t, Jimin. I can’t leave this place,” you murmur with the scrunch of your brows. He sits up with you. “Why not?” “An….an angry god has trapped here.” Your forehead leans in to press against his. “I have to stay in this forest.” The God of Wine pulls away, hands wrapping around your shoulders. His eyes darken and his tone lowers to resonate all around the meadow. “Who? What god?” You shake your head. “I don’t know.” Your anguish only serves as his own heartbreak. // The God of Wine has never been so bewildered and distressed. He is used to easing other gods, allowing them to become tranquil under the cloak of pleasure and drunkenness. In the realm of the gods, Jimin is fun-loving, carefree, irresponsible as opposed to many of their disciplined and imperious personalities. He enjoys throwing extravagant parties and celebrations, making wine to get divine beings under his intoxication, even when he is aware they are all trivial affairs that don’t affect the universe. Jimin knows he is not a powerful god, but it has never bothered him. Until now. Now, he yearns for you. Now, he has been overcome with such a strong emotion that his incapabilities bring forth frustration. Now, he is troubled instead of jovial. It doesn’t make sense. There is no reason a god should ever punish you. You are genuine, demure, kind hearted. You wouldn’t even hurt a flower or butterfly, much less anything else. He does not know the reason as to why you have been trapped. He does not know who has punished you so. And he does not know who you are. “Jimin.” His name booms from an individual with the scent of the sea wafting off his dark blue robes. His arms are placed behind his back as he walks with his lips tight in a line. And he approaches him in front of the palace of the Sun, below the hundred steps and on the cobblestone path “I was looking for you.” The God of Wine brings his attention away from his thoughts and grins at the God of the Sea in all his glory. “The Great Jungkook looking for me? That doesn’t happen every decade! I am honoured.” Jungkook is unamused. “I heard you were throwing a celebration to mark a century of peace.” Jimin hums, stroking his chin thoughtfully. “Perhaps.” “I can assume then that you will not extend an invitation to anyone unnecessary.” Jimin smirks, aware of the ongoing conflict between him and the Goddess of Sky. “Perhaps,” he playfully answers. Jungkook’s eyes narrow. “It would be wise of you to tread carefully.” He hums. “Perhaps.” “Jimin.” The God of Wine laughs. “Last I checked, Seokjin has given me full permission to do as I please, so I will. I don’t get to throw celebrations like this every century and you have to come whether you like it or not. But fear not, there will be plenty of opportunity for you to indulge yourself, so if you want to release some of your tension….” Jungkook huffs, slapping Jimin’s hands away when he comes to squeeze at his shoulder and wrinkles his luxurious clothing. “I don’t know why I even bother.” The God of Sea turns away, stomping and while Jimin smiles, it falls after a moment. “Jungkook.” “What?” All traces of his mischief and lightheartedness have dissipated. What remains is a state of solemnness and urgency. “Do you know of anyone who lives in the mortal realm’s forests?” The two of them look at one another after Jungkook turns. “Someone who can make flowers bloom.” The Great God of Water furrows his brows. “I don’t. Why?” “No reason,” he murmurs. It is difficult to find the answers to the numerous questions he has. Jimin doesn’t want to ask Seokjin himself, certain that the god would never respond seriously and might just give him riddles that would make his mind want to melt. And inquiring from the Goddess of Wisdom, Yena, herself would simply arouse her curiosity. Rumours would spread and he doesn’t want to risk putting you in danger if you were indeed a mortal. After all, relations between gods and mortals are looked down upon. It’s disgraceful. And the last thing that Jimin wants is for you to have to suffer the consequences, of having to face the council and have other gods meddle with your affairs. He would never be able to keep you right by his side as he desires… The God of Wine finds himself seeking refuge to one of the most ancient gods — one that he knows would never chatter about his predicaments to others. Jimin slams down the door of the cold palace, causing the God of the Moon to jolt where he’s asleep on his grand bed, blindfold on and blanket tucked to his chin. It’s too easy to disrupt him or to come and go as he pleases, especially when there’s not a single servant around to stop him from making such a rude entrance. “You must be asking for death,” Yoongi mutters out of the corner of his mouth, voice husky and thick with slumber. He raises to slip off his blindfold and glares. One of the most composed gods in the universe is glowering at him with the intensity of death itself. “It is midday, Jimin.” “Was just checking to see if you were lonely.” Jimin grins, waltzing in casually. “I was asleep.” The God of Moon is nocturnal, sleeping during the day to lift the moon during the night. But in spite of his rest being disrupted, he sighs and loses tension in his form. The wise god knows it must be of importance to be suddenly awakened. “What do you want from me?” “I want to give you an invitation to a party. I don’t have it on me now, but I just wanted to tell you that you’re invited.” It goes quiet. Yoongi stares, cat-like eyes in the colour of obsidian and he repeats himself. “What do you want from me?” “Well, now that you say it like that, I feel kind of guilty for coming at such an inconvenient time…” Jimin lingers and then clears his throat. “I was wondering if you knew of someone who lives in a forest in the mortal realm.” “There are many forest nymphs like that—” The God of Wine shakes his head. “Someone who can make flowers bloom. Someone who can turn buds into full flowers and make it rain petals.” His fists clench in his lap as he remembers you and your heartbroken expression. “I keep thinking about it and...I can’t come up with a proper name for them.” It is silent once more. “Why?” Jimin shrugs, feigning a smile. “Curious, that’s all.” “I don’t know of such a person. I’ve never heard such tales.” Yoongi falls back down onto his bed and rolls over so his expression isn’t seen. He tugs his covers up over his shoulders and the God of Wine scoffs. But before he can leave, his calm voice calls out to him— “Spare yourself. Don’t wander where you shouldn’t, Jimin.” “You know who she is?” Jimin halts at the darkened doorway. “Yoongi.” There aren’t any answers. Jimin leaves a bottle of wine on the God of Moon’s table anyhow as compensation for waking him so rudely. He knows full well that Yoongi won’t say any more than what he already has. But that doesn’t stop Jimin’s frustration from swelling, feeling powerless when he is trying to find the answers to what he so desperately wants to know but having nowhere to turn. Once outside, he turns to search the sky that’s painted over in a shade of bright azure without a cloud in sight. The rays are almost blinding, and with the reminder of Jungkook’s apprehension, Jimin goes to find a friend he has known well — a lonely goddess who lives on a lower part of Heaven. It’s a peaceful place without prying eyes, but with two servants who constantly fret over her. The Goddess of the Sky greets him with her customary hug, eccentric as she is energetic. And the pair of them sit together on the patio of the garden house with a small table in between. They share drinks like they’ve done occasionally through the decades while silently sharing their sorrows. Today, Jimin enjoys how the goddess has decorated the place with flowers blooming from their boxes as a slight breeze brushing through the leaves of the trees. The atmosphere reminds him of you and suddenly, the wine tastes bitter on his lips. He calls the Goddess of Sky’s name. “Hmm?” “Do you know of anyone who has been trapped in the mortal realm’s forest?” He thinks of you and his heart aches. “Someone who lives in the meadow. Someone beautiful and kind who collects flowers in baskets, who makes petals rain from the sky, who makes flowers bloom.” Jimin speaks your name in a soft whisper like it is a prayer. “Do you know anyone like that?” The Goddess of Sky’s head quirks and she doesn’t wonder why he asks. “There is only one goddess who can make flowers bloom.” // Jimin doesn’t care for keeping his promises. Perhaps it is because he is fickle like many gods, or tricky. He has always liked to find loopholes after all and twist things the way he wanted them to be. Promises, after all, are merely words that hold little consequences. But with you, Jimin has always kept his word. He has no desire to lose your trust, for you to wait for him and be disappointed. Everything he has said to you has been his vow. It has been the oath of a god. So he visits you again, descending down to the forest, patiently awaiting underneath the peach blossom tree as he studies the trees that breathe and whisper his name, allowing you to know that he is here. And soon enough, you are humming and hopping down the path. When his gaze meets yours, the biggest smile spreads into your cheeks, one infectious enough to make him laugh too. Then you’re running and he opens his arms, stumbling back as you leap into his embrace. “I missed you so much! “I said I would return, didn’t I?” He is a fool, no less than a mortal man himself. He’s fallen in love with you without even knowing who you are. Your arms wrap around his neck and you lean up to press a kiss against his smile. It makes Jimin’s grin widen while he tries to kiss you back and after a moment, as the flowers dance through the warm breeze, you take his hand. “Come on.” Just for this second, he savours your warmth and softness of your hand. But like all moments, they never last as long as one would like. The two of you make it to the clearing, to your home. “Are you hungry? Thirsty? Would you like anything?” “No.” Jimin pulls you back before you can run towards your baskets and he gazes at your features with softened eyes. “Actually, there’s something that I want to talk to you about, Y/N.” “Oh?” You loll your head to your shoulder, pout at your lips. “What is it?” The God of Wine braces himself. He squeezes your fingers that are laced together with his own. He inhales a breath, filling his lungs with the fresh air and his senses with the scent of the fertile soil around him. He listens to the rustle of the leaves, watching the way the wind tangles through your hair and silk clothing. Jimin wants to bottle this moment to keep by his side, but he can’t. He can’t plead ignorance to what he knows now, can’t turn a blind eye like he wants. “I know who you are.” The words befall his lips in a murmur. His gaze locks with yours. Jimin calls your true name— “Goddess of the Spring.” The wind whistles around him. But the trees remain still. The verdant grass does not move. The flowers no longer sway. The forest is at a standstill, frozen in time. You are the Goddess of Birth, the Goddess of Flowers. You are the controller of the vernal equinox, of fertility of vegetation and of budding florals. You are the Goddess of Spring. And you were in the council of fifteen before being exiled and banished from Heaven for your participation in the Great War — for fighting against Seokjin and the other gods. You’ve been forgotten and now trapped here as a punishment, forced to live amongst the mortals that you despise the most and forced to watch your beautiful creations die when the seasons end into the cold and frost. Jimin knows how much you hate humans; how much you detest them for tricking you, taking advantage of Spring and killing everything that you love. He knows how you often lure humans here to kill them — that underneath this forest floor is a layer of blood and bones — that you were probably going to kill him too until he revealed that he was a god. And he knows how you haven’t been reborn since that time, since over a hundred years ago and you’re still holding onto your resentments of the past. “I’m right, aren’t I?” Like a faint spot on his mind, Jimin can faintly recall you. He remembers seeing you over a century ago, walking down the paths of Heaven, giggling with the other goddesses, always with flowers in your hair. He can barely remember the way his eyes used to stray towards you, not thinking much but merely how beautiful you are��. Your hand lets go of his. You stumble back. “It wasn’t my fault.” Jimin remains still, staring into your eyes. The wind whistles around him as if calling his name. “I was tricked,” you murmur and shake your head wildly. “I don’t deserve to be here. I...I’ve been by myself for so long.” Tears fill your eyes, droplets hanging off your lashes and you gaze at him. “Don’t leave me...don’t leave me….you...can’t leave…” He doesn’t notice the way the branches grow, twisting towards him until they’ve wrapped around his wrists and ankles. Jimin sharply inhales, fighting against the pulling binds and trying to break them apart. But the thorny vines from the rose bushes grow, capturing his limbs. “Y/N! I won’t leave!” “You lie to me!” You shriek and the tornado of petals surrounds him in a storm. “Everyone lies to me!” “I haven’t,” the God of Wine spits while struggling against the shackles that hold him up. Jimin knows — you were manipulating him, trying to use him for escape, using him to find a way to leave. And even though it hurts, he didn’t care for a second when he found out. “I’ve given you everything you wanted!” you scream and the forests darken, creeping towards him. “I let you abandon me twice! Leave me here waiting for you to return! And now that you know….you’re going to leave me here forever!” The thorns sink into his skin, branches tightening around his flesh. Jimin gives up. He stops fighting. Instead, he chooses to gaze into your eyes tenderly. “I love you.” “Liar!” you cry out, sobbing as a great tremor breaks through you, tears rushing down your cheeks and the flowers around you begin to wither away. “I don’t care who you are. I don’t care what you’ve done,” he says, heart aching as he watches you succumb to your derangement, having been trapped in this one place for a hundred years by your lonesome. “I want to be with you, I want you by my side.” “All the gods have ever done was lie to me.” You shake your head and crumble to the ground. Your hands lift to cover your ears as if you don’t want to hear his sweet words any longer for fear of being deceived. “All they’ve done is taken advantage of me, trapping me from one place to the next!” Jimin’s unable to escape and you’ve broken down in front of him. He stares at you while he becomes enveloped in branches and vines, much like how you’ve killed other young men. But he is not a mere mortal. A haze erupts from the God of Wine. It’s a smothering spell that sweeps across the meadow, making it hard to think. And it creates an intoxicating atmosphere of pleasure as if you had bathed in wine. It steals your sobriety, making you drunk and incapable of thought. Through the gaps between the branches, Jimin can see tension leave you. He can see the way your form softens, your hands dropping from cupping your ears and the forest lights again. The grass and leaves become verdant, flowers standing upright, the animals peeking out from their hiding places. He’s impaired your wrath, made you inebriate from your anguish of isolation and imprisonment. And he frees himself from the vines and branches. “J-Jimin…?” you call out to him gently, words slurring and eyes narrowed as if you cannot see. He thickens the haze, keeping you in place — into yet another prison — cloaking you away from reality. “I will come back. I’ll figure out a way to free you, I promise.” With the God of Wine’s oath made, he vanishes. // The palace of the Sun has always been the grandest of all of Heaven. It faces west so that when the sun rises, it lifts behind the towers and illuminates the hundred marble steps leading up to it. It is deserving that the place Seokjin resides in is the most impressive — after all, he is the ruler of all rulers, the god of all gods, and somehow manages to keep the peace between the most prideful and self-interested deities. It is a task that most would be unable to do. But on this occasion, Jimin cannot muster forth his respect or come quietly into the palace as he often does. “Your Highness!” There is a sea of servants chasing after him, the God of Sun’s advisors floundering at his feet as he marches through the corridor, ripping open every door. “Please!” “Where is he?!” “Who dares make such a ruckus in my home?!” There is a booming voice that resonates across the sky and when Jimin whirls over, he finds Seokjin staring down at the yellow room from his place on the upper terrace. His many servants jolt and lower their heads immediately, moving aside as he walks down the stairs, glorious robes brushing against the tiled floor. Seokjin sighs, anger quickly fading at discovering the God of Wine. “Is there something wrong, Jimin?” “You trapped her there, didn’t you?” he asks, brows furrowed and expression crumpled in sorrow. The God of Sun inhales a deep breath and turns to where his servants are. He waves them off with his hand and they deepen their bow before scattering away. Once alone, Seokjin returns his attention onto the god. “You’re going to have to be more specific than that if you want me to know what you’re talking about.” “The Goddess of Spring.” Jimin speaks your name, looking up at Seokjin for an explanation. It goes silent and Seokjin places his arms behind his back, slowly walking towards the open arch window of the room where the silhouettes of temples and homes in Heaven can be seen. Jimin follows him, eyes pinned on his profile. “How long have you been seeing her?” “So it’s true.” Jimin doesn’t answer, knowing that Seokjin's question is the confirmation he needed. “You trapped her in that forest.” “She is intelligent, Jimin. More than what she seems. She knows how to influence others,” the God of Sun murmurs and twists to look at him. The two gods’ eyes connect to one another’s. “But yes, it’s true. She fought against us in the Great War, caused chaos and devastation of Heaven and the mortal realm. But she showed me sincere remorse and because I pitied her, I gave her what she wanted. She wanted to be in her forest and in the mortal realm.” “You trapped her,” Jimin argues. Your biggest desire was granted to the greatest extreme. You were brought to the human realm and forced to watch everything you love constantly live and die when the seasons end. Never to return to Heaven — never to leave the forest. “It is her punishment,” Seokjin clarifies. “And she was treated with the most leniency.” Jimin shakes his head, throat becoming clogged with grief for you. “How long do you intend to keep her there?” “More than a century.” The bright sunlight casts on his face, causing his skin to glow. “Perhaps indefinitely.” “Let her go,” he whispers, pleading. “Jimin.” “Free her.” The God of Wine pushes all dignity aside to beg. “Her isolation is driving her to madness and because she hasn’t been reborn, she is still holding onto resentments of the past. Her anger can’t fade.” “Good,” Seokjin says, turning away from him. “She is our enemy, Jimin. This is supposed to be her punishment.” “For more than a hundred years?” “You do not remember what destruction she has caused.” The God of the Sun sighs. “Many gods wanted worse for her. And she has been exiled from Heaven. I cannot risk conflict when peace is still fragile.” Seokjin snaps his neck around when Jimin suddenly drops. He looks down, finding the God of Wine on his knees. “She won’t hurt anyone anymore. I will swear to it.” “How can you assure that?” Jimin lifts his chin, gaze unwavering. “Allow her to be reborn with me. I will watch over her. We will start anew together.” “You love her,” Seokjin mutters and exhales steadily. He shakes his head in disapproval. “Get up, Jimin. No god should get on their knees, not for another and not for me. She has manipulated your emotions into feeling this way. Your mind will clear with time.” “It won’t,” he says with such certainty. And for a God like him to have such conviction, the God of the Sun is surprised. “Please, Seokjin. Give her a chance. If not for her, then for me.” “I never took you for such a fool, Jimin. Get up before someone sees you.” On his command, Jimin wobbles upwards. “You must trust that my judgment is not wrong. I will free her someday but not now. Collect yourself and if you know what is good for you, then you will not see her anymore.” Before the God of Wine can part his lips and make counters, beg and plead on his knees once again, the God of Sun has already strode away with his arms behind his back and his shoulders square, unwilling. Jimin is left staring at the god’s backside until it fades away from his sight. And against Seokjin’s advice, he goes to see you again. He can’t leave you behind. He won’t. No matter what anyone says, no matter if you are using him and tricking his emotions to your advantage, he won’t abandon you. As foolish as it may be, his affections for you are unconditional. Jimin steps through the thick haze, coughing at the atmosphere he had created and put in place. It is smoldering and suffocating, making it difficult to think. But because it is his own power, he is able to tread through it, past the trees of the forest and into the familiar clearing. There he finds you, slumped on the ground where he had left you, muttering to yourself. “Y/N?” “J-Jimin?” Your eyes narrow, unable to see him and your words slur as if intoxicated. The force of pleasure has rendered you incapable of much thought or movement. “You’re back?” He lowers himself down, tears threatened at his lashes as his gaze sets upon you. Jimin reaches out and embraces your body, your head against his chest. “I’m here.” “I...I can’t feel...my hands,” you blubber, panic leaking into your voice with the shreds of your sanity fleeting. “Help...he..lp.” He has imprisoned you — to keep you from your anger, to keep you from hurting him and yourself. The God of Wine has done the one thing he swore to liberate you from. “I’m sorry. I...I’m sorry.” Jimin is powerless. He cannot free you from this forest. He can’t free you from your isolation and madness. “I’m sorry.” He holds you against him as you drunkenly sob into his shoulder. The meadow is serene, but when you begin to scream, he wraps his arms around you tighter.

The celebration marking a hundred years of peace is planned and thrown successfully with all the gods invited to commemorate. Jimin is diligent, more so than usual, having personally handed out each invitation and ensuring that Seokjin would be satisfied — he is, but never brings up the Goddess of Spring again in spite of how hard Jimin earnestly tries. Time passes as Jimin continues to throw parties and celebrations, drinking wine with the gods above, expediting the pleasure that they can indulge in. But it’s not the same. And the God of Wine never stops seeing you. Each time he has a moment to spare, each time Spring begins and ends, he comes to be with you, cradling you in his arms and soothing your maddening worries. “’m cold.” You’re shivering against him, placed lifelessly in his lap with your forehead pressed to his cheek while his arms are secure around your shoulders. Winter has come and claimed all you have known and love. The branches of the trees are enveloped in frost, icicles hanging where petals once were. The meadow is blanketed in white, frigid snow making all that was living hiding away. Your forest has turned into a frozen void, an eerie silence lingering where the violent blizzard was — it took all that you had created and nurtured over the year. “I know.” Jimin pulls you closer. “Everything’s dying…” you murmur, surrounded in the grave of once was. The flowers have withered and tears slip down your cheeks. The droplets aren’t of sorrow but anger and the God of Wine thicken the intoxicating haze to try to ease your mind. “It’s okay…” He does what he can to console you over the loss, but he knows it does little. Jimin is helpless and incapable. But if he were stronger, if only his powers meant more… You’re lulled to sleep in his embrace, breathing steadying. Jimin sighs, breath creating a cold cloud from his parted lips. And after a quiet moment, he hears the crunch of snow — it’s not made by an animal, but footsteps of another. Jimin turns to discover the God of Sun walking through the field of snow, slow and cautious with his arms behind his back as his golden and white robes sweep against the ground. “You never listened well, did you, Jimin.” Seokjin offers a soft smile and his fond eyes stray to you for a moment. It’s been a long time since he’s seen you. “Don’t let her wake up. If she sees me, she might just die in a fit of rage and make it worse for the both of us...” “How did you know I was here?” “I was looking for you and heard you didn’t return to Heaven. I knew there was no other place that you could be. I knew you ignored my warnings and continued to see her.” “Are you going to take her away from me?” Jimin asks, fear and wariness rising in his voice. But Seokjin calmly shakes his head. “I’m going to stay with her, whether that means in Heaven or here,” Jimin declares while his arms around you become rigid, in case he’s torn apart from you. “I know.” He nods. “I’ve never considered you so loyal and devoted, but it suits you well, Jimin. I am glad there are gods like you.” Jimin sets you down on the blanket and you stir for a second before falling back into your slumber, chest rising and falling in a state of ignorant bliss. He gazes at you for a moment and then comes to face the God of Sun, trusting him enough that he won’t rip the two of you apart. “You can’t protect her forever, even in this haze you’ve created,” he sighs and waves his hand around as if dispelling away a cloud. Seokjin is the only god unaffected by Jimin’s abilities. Yet he has never belittled his tricks and even now smiles. Jimin doesn’t need to ask why he’s here. Seokjin tells him, “You can say I’ve had a change of heart. I’ve been thinking of what you’ve told me. I wouldn’t be a good ruler if I didn’t have mercy and compassion, right?” The implication of his words sinks into Jimin and his breath catches into his throat. “You’re….going to free her?” “Justice has been served,” Seokjin says, looking around the forest, able to see how well it’s been taken care of even in the middle of the coldest season. “It’s not good to live in the past either. But I have conditions—” The God of Wine is eager. “What conditions?” “I will release her from her imprisonment and you both will be reborn as children for a fresh start.” Seokjin’s voice booms across the forest, resonating all around them as if he was making an oath. “A new lifetime if she can agree to put the past behind her. But you must watch over her, Jimin. It won’t be easy. Most of the gods won’t be happy about this arrangement. It will be an uphill battle to gain acceptance. So, you must guide and protect her. If the Goddess of Spring ever steps out of line or causes bloodshed or strife in Heaven, the fault will be both of yours to bear.” He pauses and the corner of his plush lips quirk, eyes lit with mirth. “Do you agree to this deal?” Jimin answers through an embrace. The God of Wine leaps up to hug the God of the Sun, causing the latter to stumble back and burst out into laughter, patting the former’s back awkwardly. “Alright, alright. Don’t forget who we are.” “Thank you, Seokjin. Thank you…” “I know.” He pulls him apart and grins. “But if it were not because I trust you, I would not so easily agree.” The God of Sun’s hand falls on his shoulder, touch feather-light but squeezing comfortingly. He has an approving expression, mind put at ease knowing that you have someone like Jimin by your side. And it’s at this moment that Jimin knows his efforts were not futile. What he could not achieve with his powers, he countervailed with sincerity and truth. No longer are you the trapped goddess punished for past wrongdoings. You are the Goddess of Spring, companion of the God of Wine.

“Jimin!” A squeaky giggle streams from your chest and he whirls around sulking. You pout at him, getting impatient with how long he’s taking. The sun wasn’t going to be up forever and you still wanted to play. “C’mon, slowpoke. What are you waiting for?” “I’m coming, I’m coming,” he whines and runs to you, leaving the third jug of wine unfinished from brewing. He’s still not very fast at making it, but he knows he’ll learn. There’s still plenty of time. Your hand opens, catching his and you laugh as your fingers interlace. Heaven is noisier than it used to be. The grandiose paradise of temples and homes of gods, etched with precious marble and gold, now has two rascals making mischief together. As headache-inducing as the pair of you are to the many gods that reside here, you’re still endearing as you are troublemakers. And with how you’ve filled every crevice of Heaven with beautiful flowers and Jimin supplies them wine, no god is ever angry for long— Except that time you transformed Jungkook’s head of hair into a bed of moss; Jimin couldn’t help you much there. But he won’t ever let anyone bully you...unless it’s himself, of course. “Are you sure this is okay?” you ask, quirking your head to one side as you watch him climb the fence into Seokjin’s garden. “It’s okay.” Jimin gives a cheesy grin. “I know a secret hideout!” Jimin still knows his way around Heaven, recalling vaguely from his past life where everything is. But for you, everything seems new and unfamiliar. It’s been a long time since you’ve been back to Heaven, Jimin knows, although he really enjoys the way you gander around with wide eyes as if you can’t believe this is your home now. “Come on!” Without hesitation, you take your best friend’s hand and he helps pull you to the other side. The garden is wide and vast, verdant grass tall and luscious. The bushes and ground are full of buds placed perfectly in rows, petals nervously peeking out, still yet to fully open. Jimin’s been thinking about it for some time now, but he’s sure this is a place you would really love. He looks around with a proud smile. “What do you think?” When there’s no answer, Jimin twirls around. At the same time, a breeze brushes through his hair and he halts. Your palms are pressed flush against the truck of the tree in the center of the garden. And as if you are calling onto the very soul of the tree, through the warm wind, peace blossoms begin to flutter down the tree like rain. It entwines with your hair, seemingly wrapping your entire frame with the soft colour. The petals decorate your crown, getting caught in your light pink silks adorned on your body, hugging you. The aroma of the flowers surround him, not pungent but rather faint, like a whiff of fresh perfume passing by. Giggles befall your lips, nose scrunching as the petals fall onto your cheeks, tickling you. And Jimin smiles. His previous lifetime wasn’t wrong — you are indeed the most beautiful being he has ever seen or laid witness to. “Like it?” you ask with a grin. The flower rain was a gift and one he will always cherish. Jimin smiles as he gazes at you. “I love it.” And the flowers around him bloom.

#bts fanfic #bts scenario #jimin fanfic #jimin fluff #jimin scenario #jimin angst #bts fluff #bts angst

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dustedmagazine · 4 years ago

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IST — A More Attractive Way (Confront Recordings)

A More Attractive Way by IST

For whatever reason, we are still, and absolutely, unequipped to discuss timbre. Our homogenized Western European-based vocabulary seems relatively complete where all the rest of what we sloppily label “the musical elements” are concerned, so why the non-attention to what really differentiates one sound from another? In the most fruitful and inclusive senses, the trio IST is both precedent to and consequent of this lapse and the worlds it refuses to acknowledge. The group dances along the trajectories of timbre with the fluency of those still suffering tone tyranny, held prisoner by the note as accepted convention. From the first performances in 1996 to their last two decades later, it would be more than over general, but with a toe in truth and accuracy, to speak of distillation and concentration amidst an increase of space. These Protean characteristics are true but not the totality of what this five-disc set adds to the collaborative discography of the late bassist Simon H. Fell, cellist Mark Wastel and harpist Rhodhri Davies.

For an overview of IST’s history and importance to the overlapping scenes the trio represents, there is Michael Rosenstein’s superb article on Confront’s site:

Rosenstein’s expert ability to encapsulate historical and musical developments is as comprehensive as his descriptions are rich. Given such context, it seems prudent only to examine moments in time, and through them to come to terms with the varying approaches, densities and totalities achieved by this unique string trio that embodied “chamber music” in its most inclusive guise. It is true, as Rosenstein observes, that the pivotal first performance involved much of the back and forth associated with what might be called Euro-Free improvisation of the atomistic variety. Just as important, however, are the sonic highways and byways, the trails blazed and pastoral paths trod by these intrepid explorers. One of the most fascinating and exciting elements is the way timbre impacts the rest of what we stodgily call musical parameters. In the first of the two miniatures from that formative 1996 concert, rhythm, timbre and pitch transcend their respective narrative boundaries. Like the characters in Joyce’s Nighttown episode from Ulysses, there is a blending of structure, form and purpose that enters the realms of magic, even of phantasmagoria. Melody is inextricably linked with the rhythmic sounds of the three string instruments, but, as with the Diamond Sutra, even to speak of melody, harmony and rhythm is both true and false, tearing away at the illusions on which those binaries are constructed. Be all that as it may, nearly two and a half minutes into the same piece, there is a lengthening of sounds, a decrease in density and an increase in relative space. There’s even some exquisite executed vibrato from Wastell, a harkening back to traditions this trio usually discards. As Wastell and Fell doff their hats toward the vocabulary of the “jazz” solo, Davies joins in, bending piquant pitches in the upper register as what I have no recourse but to call the tempo picks up again. In this way, in the space of a few brief minutes, the group presents its own history in astonishing distillation, dissolving boundaries in favor of new ones soon to be subjected to a similar fate.

At another extreme resides an extension of those flowing seed-moments of near-stasis in the trio’s powerful 1998 rendering of Intensitat, one of Stockhausen’s late 1960s text pieces. Obviously, via the rigors of recording, rehearsal and performance over the intervening two years, interaction is at an even higher level. It can happen in a moment, that communication that fosters elevation, and it’s palpable, as it is in this concert of compositions. Listen at 1:23 of the Stockhausen as Wastell microtonally alters his pitch, a shade separating tyranny from freedom. Similarly, at 2:46, Davies simply cuts off the ratcheting rhythms that had been bolstering the interaction, leaving a glorious bed of sustain and overtone in shifting dynamic planes. Here again and at other strategic points, vibrato is used but to an entirely different end. Is the trio employing it as a rhythmic device? Is Fell responsible for the emergent microtones at 2:22, whose gradual tempo increase eventually births the layering mini-cascades of vibrations in fluctuation we myopically call vibrato? The gorgeous miniature is rife with internal rhythms, imbuing the entire frequency spectrum with warmth, luminosity and, above all, a raw power, a vision of arising and somehow fastidious unity very rare in any chamber music. It is one of the most extraordinary occurrences in a set full of them, showing a group in the flux of development portended by that first concert and realized over the succeeding years. Yet, nothing anticipates, or can follow, the vast architectural drones, the huge swells as primal as ocean waves and as crystalline as spring water. The group’s atoms are elongated, saturated with the energy and life-blood only a shared performance experience affords. Again, pitch is only a consequence stemming from the timbres in vibration and mutation filling and elasticizing each moment. The applause is well deserved.

Rereading the above affirms that it cannot constitute anything close to a comprehensive review. For one thing, so many of this compendium’s wonderful performances are simply neglected. There is the occasion, the only one, of Simon Fell and violinist Phil Durrant performing together in a small group, caught in the Red Rose in February 1998. That beloved venue had a wonderful acoustic, especially evident on the two IST pieces opening the fourth disc. The initially sparse concluding track offers a precis of just how well the improvisers’ aesthetics meshed, matched only by John Butcher’s contributions to another Red Rose performance several months earlier. How one trills multiphonics in microtone I’ll never know, yet another nod to timbral intrigue, but you can hear Butcher doing just that as the combined portion of the concert begins, the trio supporting and leading in turn.

Ultimately, when confronting music plumbing such sonic depths, nothing can replace first-hand observation. How, after all, does one review the musical equivalent of a thunderstorm, a birth, something as nebulous and inconclusive as a conclusion, especially when the language to discuss it has yet to be invented? It is the substance of those unfolding events as much as their attendant statistics that generate the power and lead toward reflection, and this box rewards that sort of listening. More than that, it pays tribute to a time of exploration, of interactive moments caught in the simple but precious and fleeting acts of presaging others, however distant, and to the environments bearing witness as sound travels between mind, heart and body. Beyond even these relationships, the set honors Fell. Only weeks before his death, a 25th anniversary IST concert was being planned. The box is dedicated to Fell, and his mentorship helped Wastell and Davies to enter the musical scene the trio would go a long way toward defining. The music here somewhat mitigates the harsh reality that they will not perform again, as do the accompanying booklet’s reminiscences, from those involved in the music and from those observing. Insightful, touching and sometimes humorous, they mirror the music’s multifaceted approach in a way many such endeavors fail to do. With mixed emotions channeled through a quiet but definite comprehension of the extraordinary nature of what transpired and is documented, the various accounts celebrate the music and the musicians responsible for it. No more can be asked than that we do the same.

Marc Medwin

#IST #a more attractive way #confront recordings #marc medwin #albumreview #dusted magazine #box set #simon fell #rhodhri davies #mark wastel #timbre #free jazz #improvisation #modern composition #london

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justalads · 3 years ago

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so i was thinking about c!tubbo saying he has nightmares in the l’manburg anniversary stream and wrote this

/rp and /dsmp, about 1k words

the box is too small. it’s always been too small, but he’s never quite gotten used to it. his arms are pressed uncomfortably to his side, and he has to hunch his shoulders a bit in order to see.

tubbo squints up above the crowd. the sky is bright, the decorations dancing in the light breeze. the only noise is the slight, coughing laugher of schlatt. schlatt’s never silent, really. if he’s silent then something is deeply wrong. always yelling, choking on his own spit, wheezing as he struggles to move from place to place. tubbo feels a kind of disgusted pity being around him. it feels wrong to watch another human being act like this. it feels like watching a slug. or worse, even, more mechanical.

the man in question slumps, leaning heavily on quackity’s shoulder. “i knew,” he says, raising a finger. “knew about you the whole time.” the finger wavers, as if schlatt’s drawing something in the air, before resting on the firework launcher. “how d’you turn this thing on?” schlatt gives it a little shove, and techno pulls it back hastily. schlatt cackles, and tubbo can smell the sharp stench of alcohol. “just kidding,” schlatt singsongs, leaning backwards. he coughs. “no blood—“ —he coughs again— “on my hands.” the crowd’s silence leaves an absence instead, pressing, pushing forward. almost a light buzzing in the negative.

tubbo stares up at the man in front of him. techno’s eyes are genuinely unreadable. tubbo misses being able to read people’s eyes.

there’s really no use in talking, at this point. talking only drags it out. it’s become a point of pride, for him. the first few times he was screaming, begging, and it only took longer for the firework to—

“hurry up with it, won’t you,” schlatt growls, and techno shifts. tubbo stiffens. any moment now. just clench his teeth, and try to muffle any noise. and then he hears it, from the crowd.

“tubbo!” it’s undeniably tommy. a wave of panic crashes over tubbo as schlatt whirls, squinting out over the crowd. tommy is not supposed to be here. tommy is going to die, and tubbo cannot do anything. “tubbo!” again. he blinks.

“well?” dream shifts, leaning on his sword. “we don’t have all day,”

“you were supposed to— this isn’t right,” tommy says, panicked, taking a step back. the wind whistles against the wall. the sky is bright.

“the decision’s been made, tommy,” dream says, almost bored. “it was tubbo’s choice.” people nod, from on the wall and below. fundy and quackity and all the others, the hundreds watching below. there’s a murmur of assent.

“there’s consequences,” fundy says gently, laying a hand on tommy’s arm, which the latter slaps away. tommy’s gaze darts furiously between all of them. “but— this isn’t right,” he repeats, looking directly at tubbo. “you were supposed to save me.”

“he did,” dream interjects, stepping past tubbo to take tommy’s shoulder. “he saved us all,” the crowd says.

“agreed,” the houses sing. tubbo dips his head. all he can see is the ground, the dark wall, the whispering of the trees around him. the faint smell of gunpowder.

“good riddance,” niki says, and tubbo looks up again.

she’s seated on a rock, holding a bit of debris in her hand. it looks like a bit of a sign. the text reads “ogsted”. the rest of the sign lies in the distance, in the small crater. tubbo watches as niki tosses it into the pond, the ripples echoing out and sending gentle cascades upon the dirt of the shore. “he didn’t make any of our lives easier.” the shadow of the tower darkens her face. “maybe it’s better this way,” she whispers, her hair dancing around her face. it’s pink. it can’t be niki. niki wouldn’t say that about tommy. maybe it’s techno. that would… fix this.

“it’s a messy way to go out, that’s for sure,” techno says, and his cloak scrapes against the barren ground. the pond is still moving, a tide ebbing at the warm dirt. he tilts his head, meeting tubbo’s eyes. “you would know about those, huh?” it stings, admittedly. techno only chuckles a little before dipping his head. “sorry,” he says gruffly. “too soon, i expect.”

a hand lands on tubbo’s shoulder. “sorry about him,” phil says, shooting techno a reproachful look. “he’s not the best at manners.” tubbo looks up at techno again. he is a skull. another skull rolls to his feet.

the sky is bright, and it is full of white birds, terrible creatures. their heads screech, and the echos reverberate throughout the growing canyon. the creatures toss their heads, and replicas of them hurtle towards the ground. somebody is yelling. someone else is crying. the people are all dead. tubbo’s mouth is impossibly dry, and empty. “he tries his best though,” phil says noncommittally. he gazes fondly over the field, wings extended. “does what he thinks is right.” above them, in the sky, the explosions start. techno is standing with the birds, and screeching at tommy. he is a hero. he is dead. his city has betrayed him. techno pulls back his arm, and it’s his firework launcher.

“stop nodding off,” schlatt snaps.

the sky is bright. the crowd whispers, some people yell out. in his defense, tubbo presumes. the box cannot capture most of the sound. schlatt gives him a look of contempt. “always nodding off. useless.” he wheezes, and falls back again. “just kill him,” he tells techno, and there’s the ignition of a wick.

the sky is too bright. everything is white. he cannot see. he cannot feel his arms. he is the city, broken upon the ground, the birds picking at his bones like vultures. the grid above ignites, and explosives fall into his open chest. that is the feeling. his bones are coming apart and he cannot see them break. his mouth is gone, but it has always been gone. his hands are on fire. the birds circle, and the sun is in the center of the sky.

#~ Lad 2 #the events here that were incorrect are intentional #my excuse for people being ooc is that they're supposed to be #tubbo #tw unreality #tw death #tw blood mentions #tw alcohol mention #dreamsmp #dsmp #mcyt #rp #real clownery out here hope you guys enjoy

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flutteringphalanges · 4 years ago

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Summary: “Am I in Hell?” Agatha’s voice was hoarse, a hint of fear in her tone. “That depends on your definition,” Dracula answered. “Perhaps.” His fingers felt cool against her burning skin, the fever raging through her body. “If you’re going to kill me, then do it,” she mumbled. The count chuckled, gazing into her eyes. “On the contrary,” he smirked. “I’m going to save you.”

((In which Dracula cares for a gravely ill Agatha))

Characters: Agatha Van Helsing/Dracula

Rating: M

Read on FFN and AO3

A/N: Happy New Year's Eve AND happy Dracula 2020's First Year Anniversary Eve! I thought about posting this tomorrow, but I thought I made you guys wait long enough. Plus wanted to end 2020 on a good note since, well, this year has been...yeah...ANYWAY, hope you enjoy it! Feedback/likes/reblogs are greatly loved and appreciated! -Jen

Chapter Twelve

Agatha leaned over the bucket again and retched the contents of her stomach out for what seemed like the umpteenth time that day. The thick, tar like liquid had already begun to congeal as most old blood does. This time around it belong to a brown bear the Count had swiftly taken out in the mountains. The third animal the couple had tried to test Agatha's theory that she didn't need to survive off of humans. So far every attempt had ended in failure.

"You're growing weaker." Dracula commented, his voice impatient and edged with worry. "And if you keep up at this rate, you risk going feral." He wasn't sure how true his implications were, but at this rate, the former nun was endangering her well being. "Please, Agatha, be reasonable. It isn't a kill if I do it for you."

"And yet it would still be on my conscience." His lover sighed, wiping the side of her mouth with her sleeve. "If I am to live forever, I simply cannot have that." She swallowed, tasting the bitter bile on her tongue. "We'll keep trying. Surely there is something out there. No creature is designed to survive on one given source from a singular thing. Humans in our case."

The elder vampire groaned in response, clearly tired by his beloved's humanity that had managed to survive during her transformation. Agatha gently rested a hand on his arm, her eyes glancing up to meet his.

"Please." She said in a soft, yet adamant voice. "I want to keep going."

"If something begins to happen. If you start to change or..." His words seemed to fade off. "If it comes down to it, I will do what's in your best interest, Agatha. Even if you hate me for a millennium for doing it." Once more he paused. "I love you."

"I know." She smiled. "Which is why we will find a solution. Together." The corners of her lips twitched into a faint smirk. "And who knows, when we do, perhaps even you will convert."

Dracula snorted and rolled his eyes. "I hate to dash your hopes, but I can almost guarantee that will not be happening. I have an acquired taste and standards to boot. If we are successful at finding an alternative, I'll leave the riches to you." He leaned in close to her ear, his breath tickling and sending a shiver up Agatha's spine. "You truly have no idea what you are missing out on. The knowledge. The stories. Everything a filthy animal's blood lacks. Deep down, I know there is an inkling of curiosity within you."

The former nun took a step back, locking eyes with him. "That's what books are for. Reliable and only harmful from their papercuts. I will not be swayed from my decision, Count Dracula." Exhaling, she glanced around the room. "So we've tried deer, bear, rabbit...perhaps livestock is our next bet. Though, I do dislike the idea of stealing someone's property."

"You can't have it both ways, Agatha." Dracula frowned, clearly irritated by her stubborn, selfless nature. "Ultimately, the end result won't leave you with the happiest outcome, but stealing as you so referred to it is less sinful than murder." He scoffed at his words. "Then again, we both know our opinions on religion. Or lack thereof."

"...We could always start a farm?" Agatha spoke after a moment's pause. "After centuries, it wouldn't hurt for you to gain a hobby. One that would benefit me and keep you out of trouble." She chuckled, the laugh laced with exhaustion. "Imagine a flock of chickens. You could sell their eggs at the village market...if one was held at night, of course."

"And I think all of this animal blood has gotten to that pretty little mind of yours." Dracula said, cupping her face between his large hands. "Come, you need your rest. We can at least agree on that."

He was right on that account. She was feeling rather drained. Not to mention nauseated from the bear. The taste still lingered on the back of her tongue. Nodding her head, she took the vampire's hand and followed him down the long stretch of hallway to where their coffin was located. It wasn't the nicest looking thing, more so an oversized box filled with dirt. But Dracula was insistent on sleeping together and promised soon he'd have something specially made. Agatha couldn't help but wonder how someone would go about commissioning a luxury couple's casket. An interesting conversation indeed.

"I really hate that we have to sleep in dirt." Agatha grimaced as Dracula lifted the lid. "I don't care how restful it may be, waking up covered in grime isn't at all pleasant."

"You are by far the fussiest vampire I've ever created." Her lover laughed, shaking his head in amusement. "No one has ever voiced as many opinions as you. Or demands for that matter."

"Like you, I have standards...they just are different than yours." The former nun replied, eyeing the large box incredulously. "One day, when I have enough strength to do so, I'm going to look into these vampiric rites of yours." She could tell by the look on his face the idea didn't excite him. "Oh please, it isn't like I plan to shove a stake through my heart. Though, I am well aware that was a failed attempt on Jonathan Harker's part."

"To bed with you." The Count ushered, helping her into their place of rest. "Enough of this nonsense. It's time to take a nap while I go out and...borrow some farm animals. I hope you realize how much I care for you, I don't haul a full grown cow back to the castle for just anyone."

"Oh so heroic." Agatha snorted, pursing her lips as Dracula leaned in to kiss her. "Blatantly asking for praise rather than quietly accepting the fact that I truly appreciate all you do. If I am fussy, you are needy."

A pleasant form of bickering. Usually they had heated discussions-often of which ended in a passionate session of fucking. But tonight was different. Perhaps his worry for Agatha caused the flame to momentarily simmer down. Messed with his ability to be both suave and an ass. She looked beautiful lying there in the coffin she clearly despised, and though part of him wanted nothing more than to take her now, he knew it needed to wait. She was hungry. Needed to feed. And the consequences of not doing that were far from good.

"Name calling is childish, my dear nun." Dracula smirked knowing the irony behind it. "Now, please have enough sense to sleep. I'm losing moonlight by the hour and if I'm to get back here before dawn, I must leave now." He pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Stay."

"I'm not some hound." She called after him from the confines of the casket. "I can come and go as I please…" Agatha gazed up at the coffin lid that now blocked her view of the room. "For now, I just choose to accept that perhaps you are right about resting. Sleep does sound agreeable."

The former nun could've sworn she heard Dracula answer, but her mind had already started to grow foggy. Taking in an unnecessary breath, she closed her eyes and tried not to focus on the strange feeling in her stomach. She was so tired. So worn out. So weary that it didn't take long for her to slip away from reality and into her dreams.

Even in the darkness, Agatha recognized the place from where she stood. Though far emptier and dusty, it was an unmistakable memory implanted in her mind. The old inn that she had taken refuge in soon after her escape from the ruins of what had been St. Mary's convent and her lost sisters.

Taking a step forward, the former nun felt loose stone crumble underneath her feet. Glancing down, she lightly kicked a rock on the ground and watched as it bounced across the room, hitting the wall opposite her. She wasn't exactly sure why she was here. It was a dream, for sure, but it oddly felt real at the same time.

"Agatha?"

The voice was soft, meek, and the woman knew instantly who the speaker was. From the shadows, as timid as they day they met, Mina stepped out. She wore the same, blue habit as the day they had departed, blonde hair cascading down her shoulders. A cold draft came in from a neglected open window, blowing her locks gently. The smell was intoxicating.

"Mina?" Agatha whispered, her voice hoarse. "Why are you...you need to go! Go now!" She covered her nose, throat burning. It was only a dream. Only a dream. And yet, it felt so horribly real. "Go now!"

But the other woman, oblivious to the fact her friend was now a vampire, had a look of relief plastered across her features. "You disappeared." She said, stepping closer Agatha who, in turn, backed up against the wall. "I thought I'd never see you again. Where did you go?!"

"Mina, please!" Agatha pleaded, biting down so hard on her bottom lip she could taste her own blood. "You must go now. You're in danger!"

"It's alright now." The young woman insisted, closing the distance between her and the vampire. "Now that we are together again, we can...Good God, Agatha, what's happened to your eyes?!"

The once flat edges of her teeth had begun to grow pointed and a low guttural sound rumbled deep from the bottom of Agatha's throat. She stared back hungrily at Mina, the last reminisce of control she fought to hold disappearing. The vampire stepped forward, a prisoner to her own thirsty as her victim stared back in horror. She was so thirsty. So very, very thirsty…

"Agatha?" Mina whispered weakly. "Agatha, please!"

But the rational, humane side of the former nun was gone. Mina's pleas of mercy falling on deaf ears. Without so much as a second thought. A second consideration. She lunged towards the woman, knocking her onto the ground. As her sharp nails dug into the woman's flesh, she gazed down and readied to bury her fangs into…

"AGATHA!"

Agatha's eyes shot wide open, startled awake by the sound of Dracula's voice. She looked up and saw the other vampire staring down at her in utter astonishment, his hands gripping either of her shoulders as if he'd been trying to hold her down.

"It's alright. It's alright. You were having a nightmare." He attempted to assure her as her head whipped around wildly. "I've been trying to wake you up."

"Mina…" Agatha panted, as if needing to breathe. "Mina...I tried to warn her...tried to stop myself…" She shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut. "I couldn't control it." When she opened them again, the former nun looked deeply into her lover's eyes. "I was so thirsty…"

Dracula's lips pressed into a thin line as if he was trying to hold back on saying something. It wasn't until Agatha gathered herself enough that she really took in what the other vampire had yet to admit. Deep, long claw marks scraped the inside of their coffin resembling those of an animal trying to get out. Agatha looked down and noticed chips of wood sprinkled across her.

"Did I…" She swallowed, her stomach twisting. "Was that...me?"

"We're running out of time, Agatha." The other vampire said quietly. "If we don't figure things soon enough, it's only going to get worse. I'm not willing to let that happen." He paused, considering his next words carefully. "That means, I'll have no choice but to teach you how to hunt."

Agatha said nothing, but stared at the deep marks on the coffin. She thought of her dream. Of Mina. Of all of this. Swallowing, she ran a hand through her messy hair and sighed.

"Fine." She relented. "Teach me."

#Dracula #Dracula 2020 #Dragatha #Agatha Van Helsing #Dracula x Agatha #BBC Dracula #Bad Moon Rising

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vminity21 · 4 years ago

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Majesty | myg, pjm {Sneak Peek}

Pairing: Butler!Yoongi x Royal!Reader, Jester!Jimin x Princess!Reader, royalty!au

Word Count: 2.4k (Currently)

Genre: romance/angst/comedy

Summary: As Princess and future heir to the throne of the Eastern sector of the Globe, you live a conformed life to the castle under the scrutiny of your strict parents, King Anistol and Queen Lidabee. When your heart is first broken by the loss of your first love, you never imagined getting a brand new chance to fall in love again, but approached with the same circumstances. After years of rescuing servants and rebelling against your parents commands, you find yourself facing the consequences of another broken heart. When secrets arise to your attention, you learn things that you never thought possible, plotting yet another attempt at finding freedom.

Two years earlier….

Eggshell white curtains with glistening, gold embroidery are separated to welcome the tinging rays of light encompassing the room with warmth cascading along the deep red fabric coddling your frame; the cinching of the ribbon nearly makes you gasp as maiden LenLen provides the finishing touches of tying in your garment.

“I’m sorry your Highness,” she murmurs, swiftly gathering her equipment, “Queen Lidabee insisted on this dress.”

“Seems like she’s insisting for me not to breathe,” you mean it as a joke though your teeth are grit from the tightness along your waist, yet you provide your favorite maiden with a terse grin, “I thank you for your help, but I’m sure Her Kindliness will be very pleased to hear you’ve accomplished her goal in ending my life.”

Eyes rounding in fear, LenLen gasps, “But, Princess, you know I have no intention to-”

“I know,” you attempt to giggle, leaning closer to rest a hand on the maiden’s shoulder while your free palm clutches your abdomen, you lower your voice, “I’m only kidding, Len. By the way, I wasn’t hungry enough to stomach the lemon pastries Namjoon brought earlier, so you are more than welcome to take them,” giving her shoulder a brisk squeeze, LenLen’s expression softens to a mere delight.

“You have no idea how much I’ve been craving something sweet, your Highness,”

“Call me, [Y/N], Love. Her Majesty isn’t around to hound you, plus,” you wink knowingly, “Cravings seem to be stronger around this time of the season,”

When a canopy of realization dawns LenLen’s expression, her voice squeaks in surprise, “Guk told you- I mean,” she curtsies, “Count Jeongguk has informed you of my recent discovery?”

Joy sweeps your chest while a golden smile turns up the corners of your lips, “Indeed, he has. Your secret is safe with me,” you promise wholeheartedly, “When the time comes nearer, I will make sure you are moved to the countryside where you can safely focus on your pregnancy as well as raise your child without the scrutiny of the palace. However, Count Jeongguk figures to escape this hell of a castle, I will see to his protection.” Clearing your throat, you shrug, “Besides, when does Guk ever keep his mouth shut?”

“Oh, how wonderful you are!” LenLen clasps her hands in glee. Hugging you tight, she refrains from skipping out of the room to avoid unwanted attention when she pulls away, her gleaming eyes filled with hope for her future child and the man she hopes to wed one day. A future you refuse to let diminish due to the arrogancy settled upon the throne. Slowly turning to the mirror, makeup seems to do wonders when painted along your eyes, darkening your lashes to make the shade of your irises seem brighter. Happiness nowadays seems so farfetched, especially when all you dream of is abdicating your crown if only you could be given the choice. A choice of freedom.

You miss your father, Anistol, and the reminiscent of him actually being a father to you versus a loyal King to the eastern sector of the globe, which in some cases is understandable, but not an excuse to abandon his daughter even if she’s only a few corridors away. Your mother, Lidabee, has always had a cold countenance with the rarity of showing a motherly side which has always left you shattered and distant with an evident drop of confusion. In Lidabee’s eyes, a queen is to be proper and independent in her duties, and to stand for only royalty and providing a successful monarchy for their people whom they pride in caring for. But, in your heart, you know it is to an extent, or that is how it has always felt to you. They are not completely tyrants, but their control on preventing royal blood from mingling with anyone who they see as beneath them is a law not one person dares to break; when your palace friends dream of a better life, a better life is what you provide them, and for years you have managed to help the escape of many servants with the hopes of continuing your mission.

Many people in this sector of the globe find it honorable to serve their King and Queen especially you, their only daughter, the Princess, and future heir to the throne which pangs a grimace at the thought. Hence why there seems to be a never-ending supply of workers willing to accept whatever tasks are thrown at them to the point that the ones who have run have remained undetected. Now, if Count Jeongguk can keep his lips sealed for at least another few weeks, then you have confidence you can keep dearest Len hidden from your parents’ wrath.

“You look quite lovely, my Princess,” startled, you spin away from the mirror, immediate relief covering the profuse leap of your heart.

“Yoongi,” you breathe, regaining your composure, despite the discomfort of your girdle, “you frightened me.” A smirk quirks at the corner of his mouth, blonde tendrils thickly cover his forehead just a fraction from dipping into his eyelashes, and his arms keep their hold behind his straightened back.

“I do apologize, Princess, it was not my intention to scare you,”

“Then what do you propose was your intention, Sir Yoongi?” you muse. My how handsome he is, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks instantaneously with a blush burning the skin of your chest. Your palms press on either side of your hips while you lift an eyebrow teasingly. Almost missed it by a second, it’s as if a sadness pools in his umber eyes, but he regains another grin as if to bury a thought.

“I came to inform you of His Majesty’s plans to throw an honorable ball for the upcoming anniversary of his reign. He wants everyone to meet in the west wing at five this evening before the sun goes down.”

Stepping closer, eyes never leaving his, you elegantly poise your head with the same giddy tone, “You know you don’t have to speak so formally around me, Yoons. We are the only two in here,”

“I am aware,” he stiffens, though the yearning to hold you close heightens the obvious passion between the pair of you. Glaring suspiciously, you inch even closer, reaching to tidy his collar where the fabric is slightly wrinkled, and you notice the hitch in his breathing from where your palms then settle on his chest.

Silence beckons to the tension rising in the room of having to suppress the urge to mold your bodies together in an endless bliss of love that you hold for the man before you. Absentmindedly your fingers curl taut to the coat of his tuxedo and his lips part suddenly holding the same exact emotions you are battling, and just to feel another brink of proximity, you gently press your forehead to his chin where your shaky breaths mirror the way his mind is spinning a thousand miles a minute. Only seen as a Butler to the palace, he is much more than that to you, and the secret rendezvous the pair of you encountered have persisted despite the suspicions of your heart belonging to someone other than the marriage alliance your parents’ have subtly mentioned since your 23rd birthday. The horror of being married to anyone that you do not love is a nightmare you want to keep repressed until you can collect a brilliancy to disappearing to never be found and this idea derived the day you realized you were in love with the lead Butler, Min Yoongi.

In a painfully gradual movement, Yoongi shifts to brush his nose to the tip of yours where your insides nearly melt at the gesture, and even more so when his lips, soft and tepid, pause as if to ask for permission as he has done countless times. A gentleman he is to always consider you, even though he is whom you consider first.

“I-” you whisper against his mouth, but he stops you.

“Please don’t,” he pleads, a strain in his lowered voice that sparks a jolt of pain to clench your heart. No matter what, he will not let you say it, no matter how stubborn you want to be to ignore his wishes, you respect him, but for once you want to question him.

“Why? Yoongi, I lov-”

“Princess,” Yoongi sees it as a lost cause whereas you see it as a potential hope, but with the emotion etched in his whispers, you are starting to wonder if there is more to this then he is willing to say, but before you can ponder the doubt, he closes the gap and kisses you so softly for a moment, the turmoil is forgotten. His arms loosen from behind him before he hesitatingly grips his palms along your waist, his kiss captivating you while your fingertips move to grace the tips of his hair tickling the nape of his neck. And, if only you had known this was going to be the last moment enveloped in his arms with love igniting every crevice of the room, you would have activated your plan of escape that very moment.

Which is why Yoongi never tells you about the job relocation he was sentenced to serve.

“Please let me say it,” you are breathless, and you want to tease that it’s from the tension of the clothing smothering your frame, but Yoongi knows better than to believe that when you have equally smitten him to his core. “I want to say it. I want you.”

His fingers tenderly squeeze from where they have stayed glued to your waist in a perpetual longing to run away with you. If only he could bring himself to tell you the truth, of why he cannot bear to hear you say the words he would not hesitate to tell you in return; but knowing your obstinacy regarding desperate situations, he fears he would put your life in danger if he were to not think things through properly. “Princess,” his face is so close to you, his breath sweeping your lips still with the desire of wanting to kiss you infinitely, but he withholds. “Promise me you will not say it.” He whispers, masking the doting pain bristling across his heart knowing this will be the last time he ever sees you; he roughly swallows, especially when he sees your eyes misting with hushed tears, arms tightening behind his neck inching him closer to rest your face into the crook of his neck.

“Okay,” you whisper, your questions once again unanswered.

The following morning you stretch your arms to an abrupt yawn, sunshine streaming through the opened blinds, the faint sound of someone bustling into the room preparing trays of a steaming breakfast alerts you especially to your favorite sound of shuffling trays. Yoongi, you smile, opening your groggy eyes to reveal the long, tuxedo legs of Chef Namjoon.

Namjoon?

“Sir Joon?” Your eyes are widened now, mouth ajar as you gape at the all too familiar uniform fitted nicely to Namjoon’s figure. His brown hair tousled nicely despite you being used to seeing it hidden beneath a chef’s cap.

“Ah, good morning, Milady, I bring you breakfast from our newly and highly praised cook, Sir Taehyung,” bowing, his tight-lipped smile deepens his dimples while his eyes scrunch in a mild nervous tension. He is aware of your sudden curiosity of his presence being within your chambers when he is usually swept away into the royal scullery where he is assigned to teach and prepare delectable meals for the sovereigns of the kingdom.

“Taehyung?”

“Yes, your Highness, he has been recognized by many royals throughout the globe. He is quite the avid traveler, so I have heard.” Namjoon turns to busy himself, gathering a plate to decorate with the scrumptious smells wafting to your nostrils.

“But you are the best chef in the eastern part of the globe! I’m sure Sir Taehyung means well, but I have always enjoyed your delicacies, have you been offered a promotion, or-?” Chef Namjoon pauses, a silent gloom lingers in the air as his shoulders stiffen, and he does not make eye contact as he normally does. After a prolonged pause, you speak, “Sir Joon? Is everything okay?”

“I have been assigned a new role, your Highness. I am no longer to be the lead Chef of His Majesty’s Kingdom.”

A shudder of a hasty apprehension springs an immediate denial, it cannot be. This really cannot be. Shaky breaths from your dry mouth are all that is heard echoing throughout your chambers, the air thickening in a way that seems as though your lungs are not satisfied, yet the mist in your eyes shows the evidence of dread knowing the truth Namjoon does not have to reveal.

Promise me you will not say it.

“Your new role?” you whimper, the world spinning as white sparks dance along your vision. No, you want to wail, no, this cannot be!

“I’m sorry your Highness,” Namjoon’s hoarse voice sounds, “I have been assigned to be the lead Butler according to Her Majesty.”

The devastating, painstaking blow to the chest nearly brings you to your knees when the wound bleeds openly for all to see; the tears did not stop flowing into the months to come, wishing nothing more for Yoongi to return: to comfort you, wrap you in his arms on the nights he would secretly visit your chambers, pouting playful remarks in retort to your teasing, or the knowing smiles each time the pair of you would pass each other in the large hallways where you mockingly mouthed whatever meaningless directions an apprentice would say.

He is all you see when you close your eyes every damned night, clutching your pillow to muffle your screams, the anguish of losing him excruciating when you crave nothing but to be with him. When you dream of the day of marrying him no matter how impossible your parents made it out to be. To tell Yoongi the three words you have always wanted to tell him. Now you know, you know of why he refused to let you profess your undying love for he knew it would be short lived with the consequences that follow from a royal intertangling with a commoner. This was his way to avoid the punishment your parents’ would have conjured up for your rebellion to the crown for an illicit affair with a butler; he knew you would stubbornly do anything to protect him, the same as he would do anything to protect you, and now you know why. You know the agonizing answer to why.

All of the memories flood back in waves of crippling sadness for the one man, you have grown to fall in love with who is now gone with not one possibility of finding where he may be waiting for your victory of escape to rescue him.

#btswritingcafe #heartsforbts #minthlynet #min yoongi #yoongi fic #park jimin #jimin fic #bts angst #bts #bts fanfiction #bts fanfic #yoongi angst #bts sneak peek #bts one shot #bts yoongi #bts jimin #bts park jimin #bts min yoongi

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fantasyscribblings · 5 years ago

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Lunny Drabble - Elope

Here is yet another drabble. This time another favourite pairing of mine. Ginny/Luna!

Please Enjoy!!!

Lunny - Elope

Charlie watched with a smirk as his sister continued pacing before the mirror, pausing every other pass to look at her reflection, her hands twisting together.

“Would you calm down? You’re going to wear a hole through my carpet.” He said with a chuckle as she paused once more, his eyes catching hers in the mirrors reflection.

She huffed, pursing her lips together before she turned and walked over, sitting on the bed next to him and groaning as she held her head in her hands.

“I can’t help it. I keep expecting a howler to fly through the window at any moment, if Mum knew. If she ever finds out…” She started, heading towards a far too familiar tangent that he’d heard her begin many times that night.

“Ginny, it’s going to be fine. Why do you think that I suggested it? I know that back home Mum has been driving both you and Luna up a tree with all of her wedding planning. Why do you think I was the one to… suggest coming here to have the two of you assist us with our newest nest of Ridgebacks? I knew that you needed a break.” He said, resting a hand on her back as she lifted her head slightly, looking at him via the mirror across from them.

“I know Mum means well, but with Fred’s death, I can only imagine how much she’s been looking for further distractions. Bill’s sent me more than a few letters on how Fleur is reaching her last nerve with Mum’s ‘suggestions’ regarding raising Victoire. Not to mention poor Ron and Hermione with their own recent engagement. It simply makes sense that she would become hyper-fixated on your engagement to Luna.” He explained, causing her to roll her eyes and flop back onto the bed with a groan.

“It’s not just that! She’s on me for going professional with Quidditch. She’s on me for even thinking about maybe being an auror some day. Then there’s the wedding! She refuses to allow me to wear anything beyond a fluffy frilly dress, and any suggestion I have is near shot down!” She groaned, gesturing wildly with her arms from her position on the bed.

As far as she was concerned, her mother was displeased with her only daughter. After all she’d given birth to five rowdy boys, one Percy, and then a daughter just as rowdy as her brothers, if not slightly more.

She had been a rebel, a revolutionary, a brilliant quidditch player, an ace student, and so much more. Yet, instead of staying with Harry, the pair of them had realized that after the war, they just weren’t right for each other. Which, she only viewed as another negative check in her mother’s eyes. After all, she had badgered her for nearly a year, asking them both non-stop if they were ‘sure’.

What she failed to understand was that Ginny’s affections for him had changed through the years, in the end, he was another of her brothers.

While Luna, she had been Ginny’s saving grace during their Seventh year, and then beyond. She’d gotten to know her, to see the beauty and brilliance behind the girl that most others chose to ignore. They had grown close during that year, and Ginny had fallen head over heels for her.

Five years they had been together, five blissful years, where everyone was healing from the war. Then Ginny had mustered the nerve, spent months searching for the right ring, before finding one while taking a long walk through a lesser travelled part of Muggle London.

She’d gotten down on one knee proper, after a win with the Harpies, and opened a small wooden box fastened out of a Walnut shell, revealing a rose-gold ring woven to look like a vine, wrapped around a beautiful white sapphire that shone like a full moon.

Ever since then the prophet had been alive with rumours of their relationship, of drama between her and Harry. (Not to mention his own relationship with none other than Draco Malfoy, which had been a completely different sort of drama…)

Her Mother though, well, Molly Weasley had taken over as many wedding preparations as possible, often clashing with Xenophilius over some small detail or the other.

After six months both Ginny and Luna had been driven near mad by the sheer number of times that their moments of silence had been interrupted by an owl from Molly, or from Xenophilius Flooing into their apartment with some various swatch of fabric, and story on how it was to ward off something or other.

So, when Charlie had owled them about needing their help in Romania, both had jumped at the opportunity. They found themselves staying with Charlie (who had ended up dating Krum of all people, the talented Quidditch player taking an internship at the Dragon sanctuary shortly after his graduation from Durmstrang). A few days in, while the four of them had been flying over to see the Dragon’s one evening, Charlie had been the first to bring up the scandalous idea.

“How about instead of fighting Mum, you give in? At least, for the grand wedding she wants. Meanwhile, one of the handlers here, Monique she can marry you two. Got her certification while training to be a Healer a few years back. It’s bound to take some of the stress off. You can have a private ceremony, wear what you want, and none will be the wiser.” Krum nodded in agreement, weaving between the two as they lazily flew over the thick forests below.

Ginny had gaped at him, while Luna had gone silent, looking to the ground below as she seemed to lose herself in thought.

“Are you mad? If anyone found out that the wedding was a farce, if mum found out we went behind her back-” Ginny started, her voice rising as she imagined the fury that her mother could muster.

“It wouldn’t really be a farce…” Luna said softly, and Ginny looked over, confusion bright in her eyes.

“What-”

“Well, if we choose to marry here first... that would be just for us. A chance for us to be ourselves, without needing to make anyone else happy. You can wear dress robes, we can get married outside. Meanwhile, we continue to have our bigger wedding back home, to make everyone else happy, especially our parents. No matter what, the love between us is still there, and we can even have a secret anniversary. Everyone wins, really.”

Luna had always been good at that, breaking through Ginny’s stronger impulses, and getting straight to the point. Even when she was speaking of her creatures, Ginny understood her better than anyone else. She gave Ginny hope, and helped her see the magical in the mundane.

After their flight, the plan had been set in motion, and two days later the two women had been separated between Krum and Charlie, the two getting ready for a small peaceful ceremony together.

Charlie had even taken Ginny dress robe shopping, and she’d found a right dapper one to wear. A black robe with red and brown accents that matched both her team colours, and her house colours. One that would have scandalized her traditional mother, but suited the tomboy perfectly.

She sat up - looking to her reflection once more, her long hair swept back into a complicated sort of braid, flowers and snitch pendants woven artistically through the pleats. She stood up and looked to Charlie, sighing as she said, “Okay, you’re right. Luna’s right… I’m ready. Consequences be damned.”

Charlie grinned, standing up and taking her in a tight hug before the pair apparated to the clearing where the wedding was to be sent.

Ginny gasped as she caught sight of the small group of people by the Handler Monique who would be joining her and Luna together. Ron and Hermione were chatting casually with Harry, while Draco seemed to be having a civil chat with both Neville and Bill.

Fleur brightened as she caught sight of them, gripping at Bill’s arm who looked over and grinned at the look on his sister’s face.

“Come on, did you really think we’d miss this? Don’t worry, Mum thinks we’re out having dinner. George is watching Victoire while Percy has no idea. Plus, we couldn’t miss this.” He said, grinning as she ran over and gave him a hug.

After a moment caught catching up, near everyone took their seats, sitting on small stone benches overlooking the gondola where Ginny and Luna were to be wed. Hermione remained by Ginny’s side, while Harry waited on the opposite side, prepared to stand by Luna.

She appeared in a snap, removing her arm from where it had been looped with Krums.

She didn’t seem to notice anyone else in the area as she caught sight of Ginny, a bright smile coming to her eyes and face.

Ginny’s breath was stolen away from her by the sight of Luna. Her dress was a brilliant silver - sleeveless, and the skirt moved like a river as she walked up towards her. Upon her shoulders, and cascading down her back was a lacey, cape-like shawl, dark blue and decorated in millions of silver stars that twinkled magically in the dusk light. She had silver earrings that changed as well, going translucent as they went through the cycles of the moon.

Luna walked up the few stairs, nodding to Harry before turning to smile at Ginny, taking her hand as she said, “Are you ready, my love?”

Ginny nodded, giving Luna’s hand a gentle squeeze as she thought about the beautiful and bright future before her. “For you? Always.”

#lunny #linny #linny fanfic #luna lovegood #luna x ginny #ginny weasley #ginny x luna #dreamy redhead #hp ficlet #hp fic #hp drabble

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holy-hyuck · 6 years ago

Text

What’s Left of You

All that you give Minho is a month to stop loving you. Easier said than done, you fall victim to his calling sooner than you thought possible, even if you know how wrong it is to go back.

Pairing: Lee Minho x Reader

Word Count: 4.4k

Genre: Angst, Suggestive

Warnings: Slight make-out.

Song Rec: Mercy by Shawn Mendes

Your fingers traced the outline of your name on the back of the pendant, the silver gleaming in the sunlight coming in through the window. You looked at Minho for a split second, unable to do so for any longer as the guilt built up in you, your heart rattling as you thought of the words that were about to leave your mouth.

He placed the cup of tea - your favourite - on the table in front of you, sitting down so he was facing you.

He sent you a smile, grasping your hands in his, the necklace he gave you for your first anniversary sitting between your intertwined hands. His hair was brown, tousled. His skin shone gold, lips curling upwards involuntarily. His eyes were bright, full of light and love.

He was so beautiful.

You swallowed, your throat dry and scratchy like sandpaper.

"I'm so happy you came. I wanted to call you, actually; this is my only day off this week. I thought that maybe we could go to the cinema. They’re playing that movie we talked about seeing; remember?"

He meant so well but every word stabbed knives in your heart. You couldn't do it, you couldn't do it.

But you had to.

"Um, I actually- I wanted to- Or actually, needed to, talk to you," you said, giving him your best smile, something to ease the pain that was about to come, and knowing you would be the cause of it made you sick.

"You sound serious," he joked, his smile disappearing when the comment didn't make you laugh.

"I am," you admitted, gathering up all the courage you lost when you walked through the front door. "I-"

The dreadful words got stuck in your throat. You sat on these thoughts for a few weeks now, hoping that you'd find a solution to the ever-growing problem, or that you'd be able to shake it off. You loved him, you knew you did, and there was nothing more you wanted than to keep loving him, but the hurt you felt because of him was sometimes too much.

It wasn't his fault; perhaps, it was yours, for falling for him when you knew you could never be. There were so many obstacles between you two, and yet you agreed to be his, your heart forgetting about the downsides at the joy you felt in the moment.

And as you suspected, the joy ride came to an end.

You took a deep breath, your voice shaky despite your attempts to steady it.

"That's kind of what I wanted to talk to you about. I was just thinking; because of your job, I barely get to see you, and I just-” you choked on your words, wanting to swallow them back down. You let out a shaky breath, a cry desperately wanting to rip its way out of your throat as you looked down, your vision blurred from the tears. Although this wasn’t the intention, you let one roll down your cheek.

It felt wrong to look back up and meet Minho’s eyes.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, barely enough for him to hear as you leaned into his embrace, both of you fragile as he wrapped his arms around your frame, unsure, hesitant. “I think we should break up.”

Abruptly, he pulled back, holding you by your shoulder at a safe distance. He searched your face for any signs of a joke, sarcasm, humour - anything. You wouldn't, he thought. You wouldn't break his heart like that. What kind of excuse was this anyway? You knew about his job long before you got together. Was it just too much for you to handle now?

The laugh he elicited was dry and humourless, leaving a sour taste in his mouth. "That's funny." He stood up, walking away, every sound in the room becoming white noise.

You were quick on your feet, calling his name as he continued walking down the hallway, ignoring you even though your voice was echoing inside his head.

"Minho..." Your voice softened, too tired to argue. You knew this wouldn't be easy. It was even harder when he acted like this.

"Don't," he said, his tone matching yours. His back was facing you, making it all the more difficult to decipher his emotions. "Don't say you meant it."

You swore you heard his voice tremble and it was the most painful sound you've ever heard. Your mind fogged and within seconds, you were ready to leap into his arms and apologise. Your emotions were so strong for him; he had the power to destroy you and yet he's done nothing but love you, and that made you feel like a monster. But you knew it had to be done, sooner or later.

“No,” he said, his voice stern and face full of fury as he finally faced you. “No, don't you even dare say that,” he seethed.

“Minho, I can’t-”

“No! That’s so stupid, that’s so fucking stupid of you to say! You knew how it would be! You knew every single consequence of this relationship and now you give up on us? On me? I’ve given you everything, I’ve done everything for you, I loved you through thick and thin and you-”

“But I can’t do it anymore!”

Your voice shattered the bubble he was in, the veil of anger he locked himself in. It left you both silent and empty, thinking of what to say now even though you knew that no words could fix this.

"I can't! It's not easy for me either, you know? I spend my days thinking of what you're doing, wanting to spend time with you, wanting to call you but I always stop myself because I know you're never going to pick up the phone. You're never there, on the other line, the way you promised you'd be. And I can't even blame you because I knew how this would be, and still, every fucking day I miss you more than the last. I crave your touch, your kisses, a stupid goodnight message for all I care. All my friends, when they talk about their boyfriend or girlfriend, they say what they did the other day, or that sometimes all they do is nap together and I envy that because I can't do that with you. I want something that's real. I want to be able to touch you, but you're miles away. You're always so far away. I told you you'd be better off with another idol, with someone who understands. I thought I did, and I thought I was that someone but I'm clearly not who you need."

Your words hung in the air for a minute too long. You knew you said a word too much. You knew you couldn't blame him - he was right after all. But you hated how it felt when you couldn't sleep at night and all you wanted was for him to hold you, but the spot in your bed that he used to occupy was cold and empty.

You breathed out and he watched you, stunned with what you said. He never thought you felt that way, and quite frankly, you didn't think you have either. The splatter of your tear onto the floor brought you back to reality.

"I'm sorry." You bit your trembling lip. His shoulders shook, and you saw the waterfall on his face, his eyes gleaming but not with happiness.

"Don't," he whispered, taking few long strides towards you and burying his face in the crook of your neck, you bodies becoming one as your heart felt the agony you caused him. Your limbs went numb as he held you tighter than ever, afraid to let you go.

"I'm sorry," you repeated, suddenly out of words to say. What else could you say anyway? You already broke the ice, throwing yourself and Minho into the cold water.

"I still love you," he cried, desperately grasping onto anything to prevent him from sinking deeper.

"I love you too." Your words, though sweet, had a cold undertone that didn't comfort him the way they always used to. "But you'll forget me, and I promise, you'll stop loving me. Just give it time."

That day, you left him drowning, clinging onto the air you used to share with him and breathing in what was left of you.

You let the water run down your body, the warmth engulfing you and making you feel just a little less lonely. It drowned out the silence as you inhaled the deep raspberry scent from your shower gel, your mind flashing back to that night in his apartment, the candle sitting atop the coffee table, a stupidly comforting smell that filled you with regret and hurt from head to toe.

Closing your eyes, you felt the water cascading down your face, and you sought out the warmth from it that you were never going to get from anywhere else, now that its only source was out of your life.

Blinded, you found the tap and turned the water off, standing naked in the shower, with nothing but the sound of the laundry machine.

The apartment was empty, so sickeningly silent and dark it made your insides tighten, your heart wrench and you wanted to curl into yourself, sleep the pain away, the way you have for so long now, it feels.

In reality, it has only been three weeks. Every morning, the way you used to wake up to the sound of your alarm and get yourself a glass of cold water was no longer enjoyable. Every evening, the relief of taking off your heavy coat and your shoes was washed away with the reminder of the loneliness awaiting inside your home.

It was a routine you used as a foundation, starting and ending the day the same way; it was a way of keeping yourself grounded, but it has gone too far. It was tedious. It was mind-numbing. It was agonising.

And you couldn't handle the pain.

You've made the right decision, you told yourself. This was your daily mantra, knowing that you couldn't let yourself blame either one of you. It was his job. It was the stars, never aligning your way, separating your galaxies from each other, and you had to tell yourself it was for the better.

Even miles away from you, he gave you the strength of thousands. He made you feel like a lioness, but without him, you were just a lamb.

Never depend on a man, your mother told you, Never make him feel like he created you, like you're nothing without him.

But you couldn't help it. Every waking thought was a reprimand to forget about him, which, in turn, made you think about him all the more.

You must have loved the forbidden.

You took the necklace between your hands, letting it slip between your fingers like sand, knowing you didn’t deserve to feel the cold metal on your skin.

It's for the better, you repeated, training yourself to believe it.

It's not my fault, you convinced yourself, tired of shifting the blame towards him all the damn time, just because you couldn't admit that you broke him and that you broke yourself too in the process.

You truly thought you would be okay. Even if you loved him, your heart, tired of all the hurt, and your brain, trying to keep your sanity, told you it was what you needed to do, even if every bone and cell in your body told you you were wrong.

With a deep sigh, you plopped down on your bed, one hand under your head as the other flipped the phone between your fingers. Suddenly, it rang, startling you, and you let the phone fall next to you.

After regaining your composure, you picked it up, your heart racing as Minho's name flashed on the screen, the same photo from when you were together staring back at you. It's only been three weeks. What could he want?

You debated what to do but your instinct kicked in and you picked up the call, denying the fluttering of your heart.

It was quiet for a second, even though the phone was pressed tightly against your ear, but then you heard sniffing and a broken, fragile voice.

"(Y/n)?" He sounded hopeful.

"Minho," you breathed, unsure of what to say, why he called, or how this conversation would play out.

"Hey..." You could almost imagine the little smile on his face, unable to help the one forming on your face.

Then, he started sobbing and time stopped. You were frozen in place, knowing you couldn't do anything to ease the pain, being so many miles away. He staggered some words out, sometimes only syllables, but nothing made sense in the end. You waited patiently at the other end of the line, feeling helpless.

"I gave myself a month," he said, after what felt like hours, "To forget you. You promised I'd stop loving you but...but it's been three weeks, and my heart can't go on without you. It'll never be the same without you, even after a month will pass by. Even after a year. I can't do this without you, (y/n)..."

His words shot bullets at your heart as you sat in the darkness of your room, eyes squeezed shut and hot tears falling from your eyes, all efforts to stop them rendered useless.

"I can't do this, Minho..."

"Can I just see you? One more time, just one last time. I can't even remember what your face looks like, even if I dreamed of you every night."

You bit your lip, knowing that going to see him would be the biggest mistake of your life; knowing that once you'd see him, you wouldn't survive leaving him again. He didn't know what he was doing to you, the blackness he was spreading in your heart.

"I love you," he sounded through the phone, shuttering your heart into millions of pieces and you ended the call, unable to stand his voice, breaking you over and over again.

But even then, you were already on your feet, even though it was a mistake, because Minho was worth all the consequences that would follow.

Even your heart was in doubt as you stood on his doorstep, your hand shaking as you brought it up to knock on the door. You hesitated; you tried again, bringing your hand back each time. Closing your eyes, you reached out again and your knuckles touched the brown wood before you could back out. Even then, you considered running away, disappearing into the shadows because you knew that no matter what happened tonight between the two of you, even if it would only be a conversation, your heart wouldn't let you let go of him again. It's done that one too many times that now it will shatter to a point where nothing will be able to fix it.

After a moment silence filled with the rustling of leaves, the sound of the heavy doors opening interrupted the fluttering of butterflies in your stomach. It was Woojin's face you came in contact with and he gave you a forced smile, letting you in.

"He's upstairs. I'm going to the shop; won't be back for another hour. Please," He took your wrist in his hand, leaning in so you could hear his whisper, "bring him back."

He left you alone in the hall, the one where you left Minho, and you wished it hurt you less to be here.

You knew the route to Minho's room off by heart. You knew he took the top bunk, that he always had a bottle of water propped on his desk, along with your matching necklace next to it. He always threw his shoes off by the front door of the house, and you always complained to him about it because he did it in your house too.

Walking up the stairs didn't feel the same. Everything from the beige walls to the wood creaking underneath your feet told you that this wasn't a place you were welcome in anymore, even if the door was always open, even if Minho called you twenty times each night, telling you that your place was with him.

Yet again, you hesitated, inches away from Minho's door, but the noise the floor created made him aware of your presence. You told yourself this would be good for you, that seeing him for the last time, letting you both cry all the locked up emotions out would bring you both to the bright side.

Taking a deep breath, you finally knocked on the door, gently pushing it open and letting yourself take everything in. The clothes on the floor, one on top of another until there were several piles pushed up against the wall in an attempt to make the mess Minho's created any more presentable. There were several empty bottles of water shoved underneath the bed, and the bin was filled with tissues to the rim, overflowing.

Breathing in the scent of destruction, you let it contaminate your lungs. The pain in your heart told you you've caused this, but you couldn't let yourself take the blame another time. You had to stop destroying yourself over and over again to punish yourself for being human, and doing what you thought was right.

Minho's gaze fell upon you and a lump formed in his throat. He didn't think you'd actually show up, and now that you did, he didn't know what to do. It was a false hope, calling you in the midst of desperation when his emotions got the best of him and clouded his judgement, and the members weren't there to stop him. He was desperate to let you hear his cries, to see what you did, and that only you could bring him back to life. It was his last resort, his heart unable to cope with the thought of having to let you go. He needed another chance because he knew that if he left you both to suffer in silence, you would bury each other in your memories, and the pain would never truly go away. He knew that if you left, he would have to forget you, and deep down he knew he would never be able to fully let go of you, that you would always be a part of his life, even if he carved your name out of his heart with the sharpest blade.

You ached for him, and it hit you just how much when you looked at him when he was the most vulnerable. His eyes were darker than ever, the brightness killed long ago. He still had so much, you knew. He still had dancing, he still had music. He still had his members, and fans, and family, and yet you knew that it didn't matter that he had all of that, because he had lost you.

Standing in silence, neither one of you knew what to say. Now that you were here, you couldn't just turn back and leave, but the quietness of the apartment tore you apart.

Then, he stood up from the bed, his movements sudden, and lunged towards you as he wrapped his arms around your perplexed form. The air was knocked out of your lungs, your brain unable to comprehend his actions for a second, before you let yourself reciprocate the gesture. You hugged him back, gently at first, then the scent of his cologne, the one he used to mask the fact that he hasn't showered in a day or two, or three even, hit your nostrils and you breathed him in like he was your oxygen, like you would die without him.

"I'm sorry," he choked out, and you hadn't realised he'd been crying until you heard the words. "I'm sorry," he repeated, and you stroked his head, letting the words sink in.

"There's nothing to be sorry about."

"I'm sorry."

He let go of you, looking you in the eyes for a split second before looking at the ground, the corners of his mouth lifting up into a smile.

"I didn't think you'd come," he admitted, and you nodded your head because quite frankly, you didn't think you'd come either.

You took another look around the room, scanning the place that you've been in so many times, and couldn't help but wonder how three weeks apart from Minho made it so foreign, so cold.

You felt Minho's eyes on you, afraid to meet them. When you did, the unmistakable stars in them made you smile. You missed them.

You missed Minho.

"So-"

"I just needed to see you. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I have nothing to say. I'm sorry I even called you in the first place. I-I don't know what I was thinking, honestly. It was stupid - I'm stupid."

Biting your lip, you placed your hand on his bicep, your eyes meeting his, and you fought with yourself as to not crumble under his gaze. "You're not stupid. I know what you were thinking - and maybe, I was thinking that too."

You took a deep breath. "But I can't do this anymore. We can't do this. Running back and forth on our emotions, giving each other hope when it died so long ago. I'm sorry."

You let go of him, your hand suddenly cold without his touch. You turned around, the tears in his eyes forming your own and you let your hand linger on the door handle for a second more, a second too long, enough for you to break. Pressing your forehead against the wood, you let yourself cry, your heart unable to cover up the hurt any longer. You let the sobs fill the room, the tears falling one by one until they formed a stream down your face.

You spun around, eyes meeting Minho's and you enveloped him in a hug, allowing yourself to fall apart in his arms, your cries becoming one. At exactly that moment, you both felt your hearts breaking, the lonely halves ripping out of your chests to meet each other and create a whole.

Once you spilled out an ocean, you pressed your foreheads together, your breaths mixing into one. "I'm sorry," you whispered, knowing it was wrong to clutch onto him when you needed to and leaving when you were okay once again.

He looked up at you, tilting your chin up when you wouldn't meet his eyes.

They were dark, the dim light in the room making shadows dance across his face. They flickered between your own eyes and your lips, finally settling on the latter, and his gaze held onto them, just a second too long. He leaned forward, capturing your lips in a kiss and holding you like you were going to slip between his fingertips.

Lost in the moment, overclouded with all the wrong emotions you came here with, with the hurt still present and still nagging in your heart, you brought your hands to his face, and against your better judgement, you gave yourself over to him.

His fingers dug into your skin, leaving crescents on the surface. The pain was pleasurable, fueling the fire between you two. His hands travelled along your body, exploring what he has forgotten in the time apart.

His touch was cold, so different from the way you've remembered him. It reached every crevice of your skin so that he would never forget what it felt like to hold you so tightly against him, to feel your heartbeat against his own chest, the rapid beating a product of his actions.

He was hungry for you and you yearned for him, gripping his black shirt until your knuckles turned white. His eyes were shut close because he was scared that if he opened them, you would be gone, and it all would be just a dream.

His feet moved back towards the bed and he sat on it, pulling you with him. At that moment, you came to your senses, snapping back to reality, and you pushed him onto the bed, eyes wide as you walked backwards, nearly tripping on the trash he had on the floor.

You brought your hand up to your lips, the feeling of his kiss, the stinging sensation still lingering. You got too caught up in it, listening to your heart too much.

"We shouldn't have," you let out in a whisper, your words predictable. He knew you would say this, long before your mind thought of the words.

He knew he should care more about you, about your feelings at that moment. You were conflicted, your brain and heart splitting into two different voices telling you different definitions of right and wrong, both questioning the morals of the other.

Your heart wanted him, but your brain knew he was no longer yours, that you let him go and it had to stay that way. You were torn apart between two universes, nowhere near making the choice you thought you had already made.

You knew it was a mistake to come here, yet you came anyway.

He was selfish when it came to you. He couldn't help it. Every time you came to his field of vision, his mind became a haze, overclouded with his love for you. It was dangerous, he was told, and he knew, but you were worth the risk, worth all the pain.

You both stood in silence, your chests heaving, the effects of the heated kiss still there as you thought of something to say, but no words were good enough.

You both knew you were right, that this shouldn't have happened. But you also knew why it happened, that you both still felt strongly for each other even if you told your hearts to stop feeling, even if you spent night after night numbing yourself.

"We shouldn't have," he repeated after you, the pain exerting through the words.

You nodded, out of words, out of reason. You parted your lips, sucking in the sickening and tense air but anything you had on your mind had already drifted away. There was truly nothing you could do or say to fix this.

The air you left behind you was cold and empty, as one last 'I love you' has died on your lips.

#stray kids scenario #stray kids imagine #stray kids x reader #stray kids minho scenario #stray kids lee know scenario #stray kids minho imagine #stray kids lee know imagine #stray kids angst #lee minho scenario #lee know scenario #lee minho imagine #lee know imagine #lee minho angst #lee know angst #lee minho x reader #lee know x reader

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eerythingisshaka · 6 years ago

Text

Mr. and Mrs. Stevens

This is my submission for @hoopshoney and @purple-apricots Black Panther Anniversary/Valentines Fic Fest! Not sure if this fic goes with the theme of the fest and if its a bit....I don’t know, however I did a thing and that’s that on that!

Warnings: Violence, Language, Sexual Situations

Word Count: 4k

Erik Killmonger x Black!OC

Prompt: “Try not to get blood on your clothes. We have dinner reservations in half an hour.”

Her phone trills in her bra as she checks herself out in the mirror. The shift she picked up for a friend starts in 15 minutes and she hates when he calls beforehand.

Picking up the call she answers. “Hey Erik.”

“Wassup baby girl? You at work?” His voice carries extra loud in her ear and kind of scratchy.

“Yeah actually. So why are you calling?” She asks in annoyance while applying her lippie.

“Aww, now don’t be like that. You -- money tonight e--? So don’t trip!” His voice crackles in her ear.

She takes a step back to look over herself in the mirror, pushing her braids back and turning around to check her behind. “The only thing I’m tripping over is why you obviously aren’t using the new AirPods I got you last month? I can hear the 10.99 drugstore quality in my ear, it’s bringing down my mood.” A loud sniff interrupts her train of thought as she sees a brunette leaning over the rim of a sink with a rolled up dollar bill.

Erik tuts at her. “Come on, you know I’m a traditionalist when it comes to the audio experience! I gotta, I gotta have, you know, an immersive, like, surround sound type of thing and like, the cords help-”

She leans on the sink in front of her. “You lost one at the gym today huh? When I called you and you said ‘shit shit shit!’ that was you dropping my money down the drain, huh?”

“Your money? Since when is it your money only?” Erik asks out the side of his mouth.

A girl taps her on the arm, wiping her nostrils as she holds out the dollar bill with a line left on the sink. She shakes her head with a polite smile. “Since I been doing all the work here. These long nights, planning my own appointments, working these guys for tips with only my own damn wit, when they obviously want more!”

“Pssh, aight aight, calm down. You know I appreciate this. It’s OUR thing though, so don’t get your butt on your back with me. I know you nervous cuz a high roller comin in today.” Erik says calmly.

She picks up her bag and stuffs it in a locker, slamming it closed. “Yeah, it’s basically now or never, Erik. If I’m not what he’s looking for, he’s moving on and then we ain’t got shit!”

Erik shushes her softly. “Chill, trust me. You what he’s lookin for. Guys like him love bitches like-”

“You better be kind and rewind that for me!” She demands. Erik always slipping his tongue at the wrong times, ignorant self.

Erik laughs. “I don’t mean you! He likes ‘females’ like you. He studies them the most, you know? That better?”

She sighs, choosing to ignore the still derogatory term. “Fine. You just be here when it’s all said and done. I need you in times like this.”

“You do, huh? I need you too, if you wearin whatever was in that bag you packed. Shit looked tiny, so you ain’t covering much.”

She cackles out loud, her laugh bouncing off the walls of the room. “Shut UP! Don’t be silly right now!”

“Ain’t nuthin silly! WE ain’t playing, you feel me?” Erik says authoritatively.

She kicks her heel at the ground, biting her lip. “I might be in a mood to see my friend backstage tonight.”

“Oh, so you claiming this dick right now? Cuz, I thought this was MY dick! Since I put in all the work around here, getting hard, staying hard, breaking your fucking back so all you gotta do is take it and you can barely handle that-”

“Oh Erik, fuck on with that. Buh-bye!”

“You get it now? Be good, DeDe.”

---

Johnny Rocket’s Adult Entertainment Club has a reputation for high profile clientele and catering to every kink imaginable. Politicians, celebrities, CEOs, and anyone with a 7 figure or more annual salary has the possibility of getting in any night, however the waiting list was 6 months back, minimum. If your name is powerful enough, you may receive a bump for the inconvenience, but there’s no way that list would move, as people kept looking for a chance to have an extravagant night inside.

One did not have to be looking for a touch from a stranger in order to enjoy themselves there, the club scene is just as hopping with exquisite seating, expensive liquors and miscellaneous party favors for the bold. Tonight, Johnny Rocket’s is packed wall to wall for a birthday party of the man who runs the Upper West Side of Las Papeleras, of that’s what he would call it. Mark Foley is the embodiment of greed; a shark tank businessman with a lust for power. His monopoly of the financial district kept his pockets running over and the local law enforcement’s lined to keep his shady dealings going at an accelerated rate.

His dealings started off with drug trades across the southern border of the United States, renting out the time of immigrants on the promise of Visa documents and safe keeping of their families on the road to citizenship. This was a messy business however, as many of his vulnerable employees would be caught shortly after a drop or killed for being intercepted to ensure the details of his operation remained unknown. It wouldn’t take much to cover his trail with his buddies in DC anyway. Even with a successful run, Foley would instruct his subordinates to drop off the grid, leaving his pushers high and dry until ICE came for them eventually.

But he was out of that game, now it is all about real estate. Foley knew exactly where to upstart businesses for friends and confidants that would make him the richest man in America.

“The rundown, dangerous, and poverty stricken neighborhoods are nestled so conveniently between downtown and the burbs. We just need to get those low lifes sucking off the teat of our taxpayer dollars to get off some extra dough, or get the fuck outta there.” Foley slurs his words, picking up his tumbler of 12 year old whiskey.

One of his associates respond, shaking his head. “Ahh, come on, Foley. Those people have been living there for so many fucking generations! How could you uproot them like that, changing there way of life at the drop of a hat like that? Where’s your heart?”

Foley blinks his eyes a couple of times, staring at his acquaintance from across the room for what seemed like hours. The flashing, multi-colored lights of the club blur his vision as the bass of A$AP Rocky pounds at their temples.

“Really?” Foley asks loudly over the music, frozen with his drink in his hand.

The man laughs out loud, banging the back of the couch as he leans his head back in blissful humor. “Fuck no! I’m just fucking with you Foley, come on!” He boasts, picking up a bottle of whiskey, clanging it against Foley’s glass.

Foley shakes as his hoarse laugh builds in his gut. “Ohh, man, you had me going there for a second! You can’t joke like that with me man, you’re still on probation with me.”

The associate combs his hair out of his face, adjusting his tailored, chocolate suede jacket. “Let me have some fun, huh? Anyway, you know what to do. Call up Johnson to get in touch with Hesson about his eminent domain clause on the block, and kick those sons of bitches out on the concrete. They’ll find a way, roaches never die, you know? They just skedaddle on to a new nest to infest.”

Foley lights up a cigar, pointing it his way. “Exactly. I consider this motivation to do better for themselves. Hell, once I clean up the pigsty, they can bring their credit score and occupation info, if they have one, and make a deposit with 6 months rent to settle in to the swanky new digs I transform those rat traps from!”

A waitress comes over in a leather miniskirt and thigh high boots with a fringed crop top that rests off her shoulder. Half of her braids are bound on top of her head, with the rest cascading down her back. Even in the dark room and the intensity of the strobing lights, her melanin shown beautifully rich, bringing the table to her full attention.

“Can I get you gentlemen another round?” Her voice said with a sultry timbre, leaning forward to pick up bottle and adjoining glasses. Some of her braids fall in the face of a hypnotized Foley who reached his thick hands through them, sniffing.

“Mmm, if you mean the juice, that’s not what I need another round of, sugar.” Foley says wagging his eyebrows.

She looks over at him, pulling her braids back and out of his hands. “You are Mark Foley, correct?”

He nods slowly, mouth half hanging open. “I like the way you say my name, doll.”

“My name is Sade. Your friend here made arrangements for us to...get to know each other a little better…” Sade bites her lip, using her almond shaped eyes to invite Foley into the possibility.

He didn’t need too much convincing as he clapped his hands looking over at his associate. “You sly dog! You planned this for me?”

He shrugs. “Nothing but the best, for the man who holds my old hood in his hands.” Raising the bottle up again in solidarity, Foley springs up out of the booth, grabbing Sade by the waist.

“This EXACTLY what I need! Let’s not delay, drop those glasses at the bar and let’s boogie!” Foley exclaims, leading Sade along and leaving his associate with the bill.

Foley’s hands were lit up over Sade’s body, feeling her soft and firm portions of her body with no shame as she led him to the quieter, private rooms in the bottom level of the club. A black door marked with the number 8 in gold is where Sade took them before pausing to turn around and face him, snapping her fingers to regain his sober attention.

“Once we cross this threshold, you will need to behave yourself. I won’t ask you again, otherwise consequences will be set.” She says calmly.

Foley looks around the hallway, rubbing his hands together before whispering. “Whatever you say, mistress. I am at your command.” His Dad-bod practically vibrated with excitement as she opened the door. As it closed with a clang, Foley peers around to inspect the various chains, harnesses, chairs with binding mechanisms that decorated the room.

“Whew, this is-”

“SHUT UP!” Sade yelled with a crack of a whip. Foley turned around quickly in shock.

“Sade, I wasn’t-”

“Are you speaking out of turn after an order?” Sade snarls. In the midst of Foley looking around the room, she has put on a black lace mask covering her face and a nine tailed whip in one hand with ropes in the other.

Foley shakes his head excitedly. “My apologies!”

“Turn around and get on your knees.” Sade says walking around the perimeter of the room like a lioness tracking her prey. Foley does as he is told, fitting the profile of sub perfectly as he avoids eye contact.

“You are a stupid, worm-grubbing quim aren’t you?” Sade says matter of factly, playing with the nine-tails in front of him.

Foley nods aggressively.

“ANSWER ME! Don’t you have a tongue?!” Sade demands, this time cracking the whip across Foley’s arm.

He shrieks. “Agh! Yes! Yes mistress, I am! I do!”

“Hm, we’ll see about that later...Do you have a problem with authority?” Foley stammers, not sure how to answer. “A man of such wealth and status must know a thing or two about breaking rules….Are you going to break mine?”

“No mistress. I’ll listen to every word!”

Sade puts her heel into his chest, leaning against him on her knee as she speaks in his face. “Have you ever let a Black person tell you what to do?”

Once again, Foley is at a loss for words as Sade runs a gloved hand through his thin, short strands of hair, before bringing the palm of her hand square across his cheek with a hard SLAP.

“That ends today. Tell me Black Lives Matter.” Sade commands with a dig of her heel that makes him wince.

“Ahh, Bl-Black Lives Matter.” Foley says hesitantly.

Sade takes her foot off of him before cracking the whip on him again. “LOUDER!”

“Black Lives Matter! Thank God, they matter!” Foley says more enthusiastically.

Sade looks him over with disgust. “Take off your clothes as you recite every Black person you know that has contributed to the fabric of our nation. Go!”

Foley starts with the buttons on his jacket and an ode to Harriet Tubman, Rosa Parks, Martin Luther King Jr. (Sade had to whip him for leaving off the Jr.) getting down to his briefs before stuttering on names, giving up before after he said Bill Cosby, holding his hands in front of his manhood.

“It’s not cold, put your hands down!” Sade demanded.

He does do quickly, looking embarrassed at the small protrusion he can’t seem to control.

Sade shakes her hand tutting him. “I’m glad you’re having fun. It’s a shame though, how little you know. The American private school system really failed you. However I am in a generous mood and have every intention on catching you up to speed. With a little help from a friend.”

On cue, the door opens and in walks his associate.

Foley protests. “Whoa, hey, this may have been incorrect info you got. I’m not into THAT.”

Sade grips his hair at the root. “Have my boot as a snack while the adults talk.” Stomping her foot in front of him, Foley bends down on the concrete floor to kiss and lick her shoe.

Sade sighs, wiping her brow. “Babysitting is so hard. What took you so long Erik?”

He unbuttons his jacket sighing. “His fucking card wouldn’t go through upstairs. So this muthafucka owe me his life and some change now.”

Erik picks up Foley’s pants, ruffling through his pockets for his wallet.

“Whoa, bro, what are you doing? You aren’t a part of this!” Foley says.

Sade was not pleased with this interruption, bringing her boot around to land it squarely with his chin. The crack of the impact echoed in the room as Foley flopped on his back, writhing in pain.

“What...the….FUCK!” He yells out, blood starting to coat his fingers.

“Damn, Sade!” Erik exclaimed, staring at his girl.

Sade inspects her boot. “Shit, he got a damn scuff in it, now I’m really pissed. Tie his ass up so we can move on.”

Erik handles Foley like a ragdoll, turning him over and using Sade’s ropes to tie his hands behind his back.

“You fucking niggers don’t know who you’re dealing with!” Foley says through clenched teeth.

Erik pulls him up by his arms over to a part of the wall with a collar and chain attached to it. Turning Foley around, he hooks his neck up to the contraption.

“You really want them to be your last words, bitch ass cunt?” Erik says, tightening the collar on the last possible notch. “Gotta use they language to get to em sometimes.” Erik says to Sade.

Foley laughs nervously as tears fill his eyes. “I could make you rich, man. Get your mom out the ghetto. You got any siblings? You could take them anywhere! I’ll turn your life around in ways you never seen, just let me out of here with this bitch!”

Sade sits on a stool trying to buff out the mark on her shoe. “Erik, his voice is annoying me…” She says in a sing-songy manner.

Erik pulls out Foley’s phone from his pants pocket, holding it up to his face to unlock it.

“Fuck! I shoulda known that facial unlock would bite me in the ass.”

Erik opens his camera to take some pictures. “Aww, shit! You finna be the Belle of the Ball once these circulate through your contacts. No way your bros at the Capitol can clean this mess up.” Erik laughs, showing the gallery to Foley, who is whining for mercy.

“Come on! Don’t do this! Let’s talk this over! You need some money? Let me give you something something, and we can work this out. No harm no foul!”

“Give him your bank login, we’ll handle the rest.” Sade instructs from across the room.”

Foley shifts, blinking the sweat out of his eyes. “I-I mean, you don’t wanna give me a figure first-”

Erik sends a strong blow to Foley’s gut, knocking the wind and dignity out of him.

“O...k…” Foley rasps as he coughs through his username and password for Erik to set up a transfer.

“Thanks for the paycheck, bro.” Erik, takes some leather gloves off of a table, sliding them, flexing his fingers. “No way in hell you can help me while you still got breath in your body. And ain’t shit you can do for me. That neighborhood you wanna run over so fuckin bad ain’t yours to take. White folks can’t never miss out on a land deal, fuckin colonizers.”

Foley struggled against his bindings, becoming agitated. “I am providing a service! Something that will make their world better!”

Erik punches the wall next to his head, cracking the concrete. “A world you ain’t got no plan to let them in? They already got a place to stay, and you want them outta there cuz the living is too cheap and they barely affording that. So instead of working for them, you’re just gonna build shit that they can’t afford, segregating them even more until they gotta leave. Turning half the shit into fucking parking lots any damn way.”

Foley breathes heavily, swallowing hard. “It’s so disappointing to hear you settling for less, bro. It really is…”

Sade comes up behind Erik, handing him a club and brass knuckles.

“I don’t need that shit, I got this.” Erik insists with a wink.

Sade rolls her eyes. “Try not to get blood on your clothes. We have dinner reservations in an hour.”

As Erik takes off his jacket and dress shirt. Foley says, “Aye, what was it you said before? Roaches always surviving? What’s it to you when they’ll find another hole to crawl into? Making babies and killing themselves, it’s the circle of life. I'm just tired of seeing your Black asses fucking with my city.”

Erik reaches behind his back near his waistband to swiftly take take out his military issue knife, grabbing Foley by his neck, slamming his head into the wall. As Foley neck folds sheath his hand, Erik brings the knife slowly to his eye socket as Foley closes his eyelids tightly. That only makes the process more messy as he screams in excruciating pain while Erik skillfully gouges him.

“There. Now you aint gotta see shit. That better?” Sade says, walking away at this point when all she heard was the pounding of Erik’s fist in bone. Foley’s feebled cries in pain didn’t last long when Erik socked him in his mouth, making him swallow his own teeth. Sounded as if he even indulged in the knuckles and the club after all, as he dared Foley to say something again, until it was impossible to do so Sade sat in her seat, reviewing her manicure as the cacophony of pounds into Foley’s body turned soft.

Erik’s breathing was the only thing left as he made his way back over to Sade with a wild nature in his eyes, and blood coating his knuckles and face.

“Ohhh, look at you! You’re never careful when I ask you to!” Sade scolds him as she pulls out a handkerchief and water, wiping down his hands.

“You know how I get carried away in the moment.” Erik says, voice gravelly as he stares at Sade.

Sade finishes off his hands, reaching for his face to clean. “Mhm, I know. Lucky for you, I brought a spare undershirt to change. What about your pants…” Sade brushed some dust near his crotch, feeling his dick twitch under her touch. “That is enough! I’m not cancelling this dinner. It's been weeks in the making!”

Erik bites his lip, leaning over Sade as she digs through her bag. “You blaming me when you out here dressed like that, kicking white folks in the face and not expecting me to wanna fuck you for that?”

Sade reaches for the collar of his shirt, tearing it halfway off his him with a blade between her teeth. She takes it and aims it over his chest. “You know how we celebrate…”

Applying pressure, she drags it slowly across his skin, red liquid bubbling along the length of the cut as Erik seethed. The satisfying release of his skin allowing the penetration of her blade made her breath hitch in her chest. “We got another one, we mark the occasion. Without him contacting his people in DC, no way they can settle a vote to gentrify now.”

Sade runs her thumb along the blood trickling out, wiping it clean before bring her face in his chest to lick his wound. The soft, muskiness of his skin is too tempting for her to let go as she caresses his chest.

Erik sighs deeply, taking one hand to grab her ass and the other wraps her braids around its knuckles pulling her face back as he devours her mouth hungrily. Erik lifts her up and onto a nearby table with a thud, pulling her skirt up to her waist as she reaches to free him from his trousers.

“Ooh, dont make me scar your back up now. This is lucky number 57?” Sade chuckles as Erik brings ankles to his shoulders, leaning over her.

The way Erik looks at her, one might think she was his sworn enemy. But this is Erik’s favorite time with Sade. Not just fucking, but taking out white folks that aren’t doing shit for anyone but themselves, leaving a trail of dead brown and black bodies behind them. Doing this vigilante justice together never got old.

“Try me. And a lot more to come.” Erik promises as Sade kisses his keloid riddled arm, biting down once he entered her.

Sade peppered Erik with affection as they fucked. Their roles easily switched from business to pleasure. Sade being the brains behind most of the operations, and Erik being the muscle, all he needed was to be told where to go and he had the rest. But as lovers, Erik took control of her, and she needed that change of pace.

As Erik reaches for her throat, he put his weight on her, lapping at her neck as he digs her out desperately. Sade gasped with each stroke he dropped inside of her, seeing stars as her breath quickened. Her head fell to one side as she got a full view of the damage Erik did to Foley’s body. The bruising, the bone jutting from his skin, blood pooling near his collapsed skull was all too much for Sade. She came so hard, Erik nearly slipped in her wetness flooding between them, tightening up on Erik until he contributed his own fluids to their celebration.

Erik lays still on top of her panting. “How much time left we got on the room?”

Sade rubs his back, still smooth but hopefully not for long once they continue their mission. “45 minutes.” She smacks his shoulders, willing him to roll off of her. “You’re cleaning up by yourself this time. Your dick is making me miss dinner, I’ve suffered enough.”

Erik laughs slow and deeply as he rubs his face, satisfied all the same. “You need a mop-iana?”

RagTag (it’s been so long since I wrote, I’m forgetting who likes to be tagged)

@chaneajoyyy @bidibidibombaclaat @wakanda-inspired

#erik killmonger fanfic #black panther fanfic #withlovefromwakanda #shakafic #fanfic

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umccall71 · 6 years ago

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Chapter 3

Characters:Prince Liam x (mc) Lady Saige

Rating:Mature Content includes profanity, sexual content,talks about depression.

Word Count:2896

Disclaimer: All characters used are sole property of Pixelberry. I am simply borrowing them for entertainment.

Summary:After a summer of a Lifetime Prince Liam thought he could have it all. He was carefree, free, and sharing time with the woman of his dreams. When life as easy a balancing act between love and duty, he realizes his truths are lies, wrong is right, and decisions do have consequences.Lady Saige never imagined she would be one of his consequences. When an act of utter horror throws her world into a tailspin.

Warning: This series contains subject matter of depression and hopelessness .The story may trigger certain individuals. Please be advised. If your reading this series you are acknowledging you are at least 18 +.

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