#close third is leaving a party and silent still electricity courses through your being and it sings to you songs of baccanal delight btw

[raspberryjellybrains]

I think the closest we can get to touching God, feeling it in our corrupted little human hands, dirty since original sin, dirty since the stars came alive and the fruit was taken, dirty since first we left the right hand of the Creator, is to sit in a thunder storm and let it all wash off. everything you are and were and thought might be is not, because you are dirty and soil everything you touch of the Holy and the Divine and the Word. God is the boom before the flash, it moves through in waves and sheets that batter your weak and failing mortal flesh and leaves all the sweeter for the pain, apples and plums on the ground to ripen for consumption by the divine you were born to feed. you feel the wind whip your hair and clothes and spirit far away, far into the stars and you know that some part of you has Felt God, really, really felt it. You are the lamb and the knife and the altar upon which it is sacrificed as your blood juice wine flows thick and free with rivulets of pure, pure water. the second closest we can get is to take such a nice stretch that makes you go oughgwougwoughu.

[be-ready-when-i-say-go]

Middle of the Trees

You can’t sleep. Calum learns about a secret talent. 

Reader Insert. No specific race or gender. 

This is was SUPPOSED to be a quick 500 word blurbs. She’s 2.4k words but we already knew I’m captain of long windedness. Please enjoy the pre-game to tomorrow’s festivies. (It’s not related at all. Just cranking out some last minute drafts before my final 5sos fic goes up.)

Enjoy my masterlist.

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No one has my permission to repost this fic, including translations. All rights reserved. Copyright © be-ready-when-i-say-go, 2020. 

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You shouldn’t have been awake. Not this late at night. You hadn’t meant to be awake at this hour, if you’re honest. It was probably the nap from earlier, when you were out with Calum, bathing in the warm sun. Being out in the sun created a fatigue that truly was unmatched. So after your return in doors and showering, you settled onto the couch. Sleep found you without a fight. Now, now, you are paying the price it seems.

The house is settling into the quiet of the night. Duke is curled up on your side of the bed. Calum half covered by the sheets and bathed in the faintest light from the moon seeping in through the blinds. It isn’t a lot of light. Though, it helps that even in the dark you can make out the outline of Calum’s figure in the bed. There are two options, after staring at the TV in the living room, proved no use for your much too alert mind: you can curl up next to Calum and hope that the warmth of his body is enough to trick your brain or you could mess about with something in the house until the buzzing of your brained quieted. 

On a plus, Calum slept like the dead, so even if you made a little bit of noise with your choice of activity, it probably wouldn’t wake him. Padding into his office/music room, you find the keyboard he set up in the corner. Most of the room is lined with plaques and various guitars: bass, electric, acoustic. Plopping yourself into the computer chair at his desk, you roll it over to the keyboard. It turns on, the small red light letting you know so. You readjust the settings, after playing just a quick note and horns screech out at you. 

“Didn’t know that was up his sleeve,” you tease, clicking it over to the piano setting. When you play the note again, it sounds like twinkling stars and you just sit for a moment. The window’s to your left, the shades are drawn but not shut fully. Almost as if Calum had closed them part way through the day, at some point because it was too much light. 

From here, your view is mostly backyard and privacy shrubbery but you can imagine that on just the other side is the road. And who knows if cars are passing by at this time of night, but they could be. And inside those cars are kids laughing as they are taken back from some party.  Or maybe it’s just someone trying to clear their head. The weight of everything has finally pushed their spine too far and if they don’t do something, don’t do anything, they’re sure to snap. 

Maybe cars are just out because folks are heading home from the late shift, heading out to the late shift and all around are just folks living lives. And you are here. Sitting at a keyboard, hoping that your fingers find something to say. But that is a life living too, you suppose. You are a life living too. By the time you turn your attention back to the keys, your fingers are moving and the haunting sounds swell for a moment, trail off and up near the higher end, you pick it back up. 

There’s nothing wrong with where you are, of course. It’s comfortable. It’s familiar and it’s not that you’re bored with Calum, or the relationship. But part of you wants to hear cars going by. You want to be in those cars, sometimes. You don’t think your youth was snatched from you but you do think that maybe you had always been a little too cautious, had always played things a little too safe. 

There’s life happening in this house, you remind yourself, fingers running down the scale. It gets like this sometimes. Having you remind yourself that there’s nothing wrong with the way you’ve played your cards. They’ve worked out for you. And it’s only at night, when you’re alone with your thoughts that you start to second guess everything. You always joke that it’s a talent that takes years to perfect to overthink like you do.  Really it’s not so bad, it’s not. 

The keys sing out for a moment longer, waiting for more of your fingers to work magic over them. But all you can do is just sit and stare and imagine the neon lights bathing a street in their glow and how heels are clicking against asphalt and how someone’s bent over their plate of greasy food. Or maybe someone’s leaning into a wall, in a too brightly lit dinner, praying for the sun to finally lift the curtain of darkness. 

“You never said you could play piano?” It’s Calum’s scratchy and hoarse voice from behind you. 

You shrug before spinning around in the chair. “I only play by ear mostly. Not trained to play it really.”

He shuffles, scratching at his scalp for a second before that hand stretches out. “Well, you sound lovely. Bed?”

“Can’t sleep,” you answer, trailing your fingers over his skin. It sends a shiver down his spine at how cold your fingers are and how soft the touch is; he’ll never get used to it. It’s been a year as if and it always catches him off guard. 

His fingers wrap over yours and tugs to bring you to your feet. “Teach me.” It’s a soft command and in the darkness as your eyes have adjusted you can see and hear how sleep is still holding onto him. He probably woke up to go to the bathroom or maybe the piano playing woke him. 

“Did I wake you?”

Calum doesn’t answer. Instead he settles into the chair and pats his lap. “Teach me.”

You shrug. “I don’t--I don’t even remember what I played. It just,” you gesture for a moment, like vomit coming out of your mouth. 

He shrugs. “Play me something else then.” The command comes with another pat to his thighs. 

You don’t raise anymore arguments and settle into him. Calum turns the hair with his feet, arms wrapping around your waist. His breath tickles your back. Your fingers settle curled and ready for your thoughts to carry them. But for a moment in time, all you focus on is the way Calum’s breathing causes his chest to just brush up against your back. You let yourself breathe in time with him for a moment. 

The first note hits the air and it lingers, nearly fading out before the next one accompanies it. It’s a dance, you see now. Two people who have fallen in sync with each other. The tempo you’ve created makes you think of a waltz, dazzling lights and the clinking of tea cups against their porcelain saucers. You think about when you were a kid and thought about how magical a moment it is to find the one, to lock eyes across the room with the person that will get to see your soul, naked and truly you. 

Somewhere in the years that childlike wonder when it comes to love tarnished.  Maybe it’s all the hearts that weren’t gentle with yours and maybe it’s all the hearts you weren’t gentle with. Maybe it’s the beds you almost got into. Maybe it’s the friends that you lost contact with just because that’s the way the world spins. People come in for a season and you want them to stay for harvest. How fucked up is it, to have a heart that yearns to be loved and to give love, but manages to get attached to the wrong people, to know that even things with pure intents can be mistakes.

Calum squeezes your waist. The particular harsh throaty croaks catch his ears and he’s not sure where this is going, what’s happening but he wants you to know that he’s here. He won’t let you fall. “It’s okay,” he murmurs against your skin, lips brushing and leaving behind in their wake a trail of tingles. 

“Do you remember your dreams?” you asks, finally bringing your gaze back to the keys in front of you and not the beige wall. 

“I don’t think I dream much anymore. Not any ones that are interesting really.”

“We all dream. You just don’t remember them that’s all.”

Calum chuckles, leaning a bit to the side to see your face. “There’s one dream. That keeps coming back.”

“What is it?”

“Do you remember your dreams?”

“I asked you first.”

With a kiss to your back, he exhales deeply. “I’m in some sort of field. Tall grass. Some flowers. But there’s this dirt path in front of me. It splits into two and one’s into some deep forest. The other seems to go on for miles with more field, most flat land. Can’t see the end for either one of them. And I’m just, like, standing there. Really. That’s it. Just standing.”

“Never pick a path?” you ask letting the run play once, then twice, then a third time in half speed. 

“Well, if I pick the forest. I meet an angel halfway through. Can’t really make out any details. Just a general human like figure in bright light. I try to talk to them. But they’re silent, singing up into the skies for what seems like forever. I can stand there as long as I want and they never drop the note.” As the sentence leaves his mouth, he notices that you replay the same note once, twice, a third time and even a fourth. 

“What’s in the forest?”

“Besides some trees and the angel?” You nod. Another exhale from him tickles your skin. “Not much. Not much animal life. No wind. Just us two. I can walk down some more. It’s more trees that outline the path and a river. Sometimes I skip the angel and just go straight to staring up through the clear water of this river, up to the bright sun and I just float. Let the current take me. I can float right pass my mum. She never hears me under the water. My dad’s a little further down. He doesn’t hear me. Mali’s there too. The guys. Friends from back in Australia. None of them can hear me and then that angel comes back, like right at the end after everyone else has seemingly just let me go by. They’re right there. I almost don’t even try with them, you know. Just figure that if the end has to take me it will. But they see me. They’re watching and it’s like finally my arms can break through the surface of the water. And they just latch on.”

“Do you think you needed to be saved? Or just wanted it? Like do you know that there’s danger on the other side?”

Calum hadn’t thought about that. By the time he’s free from the water he’s awake, or his alarm is going off. “I don’t know if there’s danger.”

“What’s down the other path?” Your fingers are still carrying over the keys, you’re thinking that flat plains need half notes. What’s the worst that could happen? You know you won’t be staying there long, not if there’s more to Calum’s dream. 

“I’ve never gone down that path. I’ve wondered about it. But any time that dream happens I always choose the forest.”

“Is there anything you want to be down there? Do you wish it a path to something?”

“I wouldn’t even begin to have an idea.”  

That’s content if you’ve ever heard it. If you ever had to play a song for it too. “I think you want to be saved. You don’t need it. Just want to know that people are there for you.”

“Maybe,” he hums in agreement. The music hasn’t stopped but it has slowed. The notes have more space, the sit longer, ring longer in his ears. “Do you remember your dreams?”

“Nah, I think they hate me.”

“They don’t hate you. You’re, like, the least hateable person in the world.”

You scoff, gaze falling back outside the window. Maybe all the cars have parked now. Maybe the kids finally got home. That late shift ended for that one person and just started for the other. There are no more heels to click. No more fries to scarf down. No more grease to pop at the skin. 

“Anxious again?” The question is soft. You almost don’t hear it from Calum’s lip, but you do feel it as he speaks. 

“Little bit, I guess.”

“Wanna go for a ride tomorrow?Maybe pack up and just see what’s out there for a day?”

“We can, yeah. Maybe it’ll help.” Maybe it’ll make you feel human again, connected to the masses but still living your own life. You play it out, thinking of what an angel means and what it must feel like to finally break through that water. How relief must flood his body and his veins. 

Release. To let go. Release. What a relief. And soon the keys have no more life in them, no more croaking or groaning or taps from your fingers and you just let things sink, fall how they must out and maybe it’s okay to let go. 

“Yeah we can go for a ride,” you say. Only to be meet by silence. Calum’s breath is deep. You can feel it in your back. His hold around you has slackened just a little and you know he’s falling, giving into sleep--if not already there. 

You turn off the keyboard and tap his forearm. It wakes him. “Sleepy?” he asks. You’re sure his eyes are closed. 

Sleep hasn’t gripped you yet. But you and Calum should probably get back to bed, especially him. “On it’s way,” you return, knowing sleep will find you, just not as immediately as it found Calum. 

He hums, pushing back and after you stand, he shuffles back to the bedroom. The sheets smell like him and a little bit like Duke, but they’re a packaged deal. But you wouldn’t have it any other way. You lay on your back, fingers trailing over the skin of Calum’s forearm slung over your stomach. 

“I do remember my dreams,” you whisper. Calum hums, fingers flexes a bit and squish the flesh of you side. He doesn’t say anything though. So you continue on. “I’m standing in a field. Tall grass, some flowers. There’s a dirt road. It diverges and I don’t head further down into the fields. I go up into the trees. And I bathe myself in sunlight as a traveller comes by. They never seem lost. They just continue straight on, past me, down to the river. Sometimes I find them floating around. Sometimes I save them. But every time, we meet, in the middle of the trees.”

[wilhelmjfink]

Daryl Dixon Drabble #6 - pt 2

Sorry I can’t “read more” on my phone and it’s long! Will these two make up? Daryl, an emotional tightass? Prob not. We’ll see.

—

You’d never minded confrontation before. You couldn’t afford to fear it, really, with how frequently you’d opened your mouth and manage to say all the wrong things — case and point — and almost always found yourself too stubborn to apologize and instead would escalate the situation until you and whomever you’d been arguing with were toe to toe in a shouting match, only to be broken up by a third party usually before it got physical. Usually.

But then, you’d only ever been the one to throw the first punch. This whole scenario was new — being on the receiving end of someone’s anger and escalating them until they snapped first. You’d always known to simply hit back, right? What did that mean for you then and there, still laying on the cold grass perched up on your elbows, watching as Daryl disappeared into the night?

You were shaking — you usually did when things got heated. Didn’t particularly matter who it was with, either, but this time felt different. It felt wrong.

Pulling yourself to your feet you brushed the dirt off of your jeans, wiping your sweaty palms against the fabric on your thighs, and gently prodded at the newly tender spot around your tailbone that was sure to bruise. Not horribly, but enough to remind you about this night for at least the coming week.

Daryl had disappeared completely. All you could hear was the crackling of the fire and some spring peepers in the distance; formerly a peaceful and reassuring sound. Not now, though — not as long as you stood there stupidly staring into the distance, fighting the anxiety that was filling your chest. Where had he gone? The moon was high in the sky, a glowing silver crescent that gave you little natural light, but you knew Daryl didn’t really even need it. He would navigate the terrain with skill and precision as if he’d lived his whole entire life on this god damn farm.

Your machete was strapped to your thigh in its rightful spot, as it always was, and it would be better to keep quiet anyway. Certainly your shouting had alerted your presence to any walker on the property, and even with the wine still in your blood and the adrenaline that was still threatening to kill your buzz, you were on high alert as you jogged to the tree line with a newly found sense of determination. Hopefully the makeshift fencing along the outskirts of the property served its purpose in keeping any stragglers out.

In the darkness you’d have to rely on your ears and go with your gut feelings, and then simply hope that would be enough. You’d found yourself in similar situations before — even recently, searching for the little girl sun up to sun down, but at least you’d had Daryl to follow then. The first stretch of woods wasn’t as deep as it was narrow, so hopefully you would be able to sneak through it and come out on the field without issue. Outside of that we’re the traps and electrical fence that lined the perimeter of the farm, and Daryl wasn’t stupid enough to venture further than that.

The foliage was high this time of year, thick with green leaves and fallen sticks that crunched beneath your feet. As far as you could tell with each step that lead you further and further into the woods, you were unsettlingly alone in the thick darkness, which was somehow both a comfort and a concern that threatened to nag you until you either found Daryl or hung around long enough to see the sun begin to rise. You had no idea how long either option would take, so you pressed on with a hope that maybe your eyes would adjust better and you’d maybe even be able to impress Daryl with your nocturnal tracking skills... if you could find him.

Even in the near-pitch-black of night you could feel your head swimming slightly, the lingering effects of alcohol disorienting you, threatening to dull your senses even more. As the adrenaline wore off, the more your buzz returned. If you could see, your world would certainly be teetering slightly beneath your feet, rocking you like a rowboat.

It was eerily silent, the fire now a faded ball of flickering light in the far distance and the peepers and crickets having silenced their chirping upon your presence. Of course, Daryl was so skilled that he strode through the brush with a hunters tread so silent that not even the insects beneath his boots had noticed him. He would have that advantage on you, surely, but even if he heard you coming, you knew that he was far too adept to mistake you for a walker and shoot you.

Although, you thought to yourself, that didn’t necessarily mean that he wouldn’t try to hurt you, did it?

The idea of Daryl laying his hands on you in that way had never once crossed your mind — admittedly, it had under vastly different circumstances — but to give as far as shove you was something you’d never even considered. He’d only ever touched you with a harsh grip when he threw you behind himself protectively in the face of danger, or when he cleaned and dressed a wound you’d sustained with lingering fear and adrenaline in his system. It was only ever with good intentions; his ferocity contradicting the way his touch was surpringly gentle and warm. It wasn’t like that this time. And it was that realization that had you stopping in your tracks and trying to withstand the sheer force that the sudden guilt hit you with.

You had crossed a line. Fuck that — you had gotten a running start and leapt over that line like it was the long jump test in high school gym class. The worst part? You’d known that was a low blow. In your head, you’d briefly acknowledged that your words were going to hurt him in some way and you’d spat them out anyway. Just like you always did, and undoubtedly would continue to do as long as walked the earth, you’d said just the right wrong thing and driven the other person to crack. And, yeah — you’d both been drinking and both had loose tongues to begin with, but it was irrefutable that you’d gone too far this time if his initial response was to physically shove you away from him.

Exhaling a a long breath and trying to steady yourself you needed to gather your bearings before pressing on. The quick snapping of a twig somewhere nearby had you planting your boot back down firmly onto the ground, and your hand instinctively going to the handle of your machete. You listened intently, holding your breath, eyes striving to see in the darkness around you for any sign of movement, but everything even felt still. Dark, silent, and still.

You swallowed hard. “Daryl?” There was absolutely no way he could’ve heard you squeak his name out — you hardly heard it yourself. You cleared your throat and opened your mouth to try again just as you were thrown off your feet and down to the ground on your hands and knees, a heavy mass pinning you down from behind.

Now, with your adrenaline once again soaring and your senses heightened in panic, you could hear the low growling of the walker on your back. You thrashed beneath it and briefly wondered if you were thrown into water with how heavy your limbs felt and how muffled it’s groaning sounded despite being so close to your ears. While you summoned all your strength to hoist yourself back upright, straightening your arms in an attempt to shake him off like a bucking bronco would a cowboy, it occurred to you that you’d dropped your machete in the fall.

At least now you’d managed to get onto your knees instead of sprawled face down helplessly in the dirt, but the walker was relentless, it’s bony fingers already intertwined into your ponytail and yanking painfully as it tried to right itself. It’s jaw snapped hungrily, what remained of its rotted teeth clicking against eachother as it tried once again to throw its body weight at you.

You’d manage to spin around just as it tumbled forward into you, knocking you from your knees on to your back with the walker now hugging you, a clear view of its grey skin and yellow eyes. Straddling you, leaning into your forearm that trembled weakly while supporting its weight above you, sheer panic and adrenaline keeping it pressed against its decayed chest and its mouth away from your neck. Tears blurred your vision. Your mind reeled desperately, screaming at you to find your knife, to get your shit together, to overcome this walker that latched onto any piece of you it could grasp despite you throwing elbows at it and shoving your shoulders into it and kicking your legs out to absolutely no prevail and you’re going to die here, you’re going to fucking die here, you’re going to —

It collapsed on you, dead weight, and everything was suddenly still and silent once again.

All you could hear was the pounding of your heart in your ears as it mocked your racing pulse, struggling to breathe easy with your chest crushed beneath some combination of the corpse and panic. It didn’t move, it didn’t make a sound — but you lay still in fear of stirring it awake or somehow bringing it back to life while your brain sluggishly tried to catch up with the events that had just happened.

However long it was that you laid there on the ground, paralyzed in fear, you would never be able to tell — minutes, hours, seconds you were sure — it both somehow drug by agonizingly slow yet when you blinked next the weight had rolled off of you and you shot upright with a gasping breath, taking in oxygen you hadn’t even been aware had been withheld from you.

Your mouth was dry and you panted like a dog and your brain was shouting at you to run, but another pair of disembodied hands from within the darkness reached out and grasped onto your shoulders, drawing a terrified scream from your own lips that echoed through the night, against your better judgment to keep quiet. It had you held in place before you could even get to your feet.

“Hey, hey! Hey!”

You froze.

We’re you that drunk? Or, did you maybe die? And this was some sort of hell where walkers could speak while they ate you alive?

“S’just me. Calm down.”

Of course it was Daryl. Of course, he’d managed to come rescue you like a knight in shining armor after you managed to get yourself in a stupid situation that could’ve been easily avoided if you’d just stopped to think every once in awhile. And though your cheeks flooded with embarrassment and shame, you couldn’t deny the relief that filled your veins like a drug, because technically, you had found him. Which was all you wanted in the first place anyway, right?

“Shit,” you exhaled breathlessly, allowing yourself to relax again while you struggled to straighten your thoughts out. “Daryl, I—“

“What in the hell’s the matter with ya?” He whispered harshly, voice still sharp enough to make you flinch with each syllable. “Runnin’ around in the fuckin’ woods in the middle of the night. You gotta fuckin’ death wish or somethin’?”

You blinked. “I... I needed to find you—“

“No,” he cut you off furiously and you swore you could feel the heat of his anger radiating off of his body; somehow still enticing despite his demeanor. “Ya don’t ever fuckin’ come after me, ya hear me?”

“But I—“

“But nothin’! Ya don’t ever put yourself in danger, ‘specially not for me. What if I hadn’t been nearby? What if —“

“Daryl!” Between the two of you, you supposed you’d already made enough noise that you shouting wouldn’t make much of a difference anymore. “Let me talk!”

He stiffened, but shut his mouth. And even through the darkness of night you could still sense how worked up he was, how rapidly he was breathing, how warmth still radiated from his sweat-coated skin that was so unnaturally close to your own body that, between that and the fact that you’d never really even resolved your internal conflict and rehearsed some choreographed apology like you normally would have, you found that words had failed you completely. And you were silent.

Averting your gaze you sighed, hands absentmindedly playing with the grass beneath your fingertips until Daryl stood and, grabbing you by those hands, hoisted you to your feet. With a surprisingly gentle shove between your shoulders, he got you walking toward the camp, defeated.

Although you remained on high alert, adrenaline just started to ebb away slowly, you couldn’t help but watch Daryl from your peripherals throughout the short trek back. You knew that he would be aware of any walkers or potential threats that you obviously couldn’t see or hear yourself in the environment that you were in; not to mention you were already at a disadvantage. You tried so hard to read him, to feel what he was feeling and gauge his behavior and actions but he was, as always, shut away. An exciting cliffhanger that still managed to engulf your entire world within a chapter of a book you’d already read a hundred times. And you weren’t sure if you would ever figure him out — but damn if you weren’t going to try.

[baeklination]

Drunk. Fool. pt.3

ft. Junmyeon

Pic cred: Primavera Peach

Date:200613

Warnings: light dom/sub, sex toys, anal, general explicit language. SMUT. Just be at least 18.

Pairing: Minseok x F.Reader + Junmyeon

WC: 1.9k

NOTE: HOW? Did this end up not being the ending? I dunno, but there is more smut to be had with these, so at least one more chap is coming.

Part 1   Part 2   Part 4

                                          ¤¤¤

  Minseok didn’t have to spell it out - you knew these elevator doors wouldn’t open to a beautiful restaurant. But neither did you think they would open to this: a brightly lit hallway of an apartment on the 22nd floor with a beautiful man coming to greet you. He smiles with both mouth and eyes, warmly yet reserved and...something else. That type of something that lets you know that you are the main course.

“Precisely on time. Minseok”, he says with a slight bow, making a few strands of his red hair fall into his face.

“Junmyeon.” Minseok tips his head and raises his eyebrows, a gesture to show his appreciation for Junmyeon’s attire; black leather trousers paired with a white shirt embellished with chains and leather details in red and black. It’s definitely on the dramatic side, but it has a flare to it, and it’s an interesting juxtaposition: his serene face with this eye-catching outfit. 

  This guy has set a scene - and you know Minseok loves it. You can’t be a hundred percent sure, but you think Minseok’s bow was a bit lower. Is it simply because this Junmyeon is older than him, or because he knows what he has planned for you? What ever the reason you’re thoughts are interrupted by Junmyeon’s voice:

“This is her I take it..?”

As he takes a few steps in your direction his energy washes over you. It’s powerful in such a way that you don’t have to “put on” a submissive demeanour; it towers over you making you feel small, compliant, a little scared - and excited. He holds your chin with his thumb and index finger and looks at you. Not being able to hold his gaze you look down, which earns you a tap under the chin.

“Ap,ap.”

You look up again for what seems like an eternity before he turns to Minseok:

“I see what you mean...I’ll be happy to help.”

You may look composed but your mind is racing, trying to decipher what he means; help with what? Sure, you were a brat yesterday, but enough to bring in “outside council”..? Of course it was - you’d pulled him from a meeting. You had pulled your daddy from his fucking job. Shit...SHIT! Freak out-session aside you know this is your own doing, and the only way to get back into Min’s good graces is to be a good girl and bite the bullet. 

Junmyeon takes your hand, and leans in, almost brushing your ear with his lips:

“Come with me, you.”

Him purposely not calling you by your name makes you nervous, yet it also sends a seductive tingle through your body, making you eager to follow. You look over your shoulder to see Min following. Good.

  Junmyeon escorts you down the hallway, past a kitchen and the living room, through his bedroom into a room in the back - his dungeon. Your eyes widen as you take it all in: there’s a velvet couch running the whole length of the wall to your left and opposite wall has curtains along it. In the middle sits a wooden table with straps, buckles and leather cushioning. To be honest it looks like something you’d see at the medieval museum, so you can’t help but to gasp:

“Oh my-”

Junmyeon moves his hand to grab your upper arm as he turns around to look down at you:

“Only when spoken to”, is all he says. All he needs to say. Minseok has found a real one, as he called these guys. You feel a hand on the small of your back, slowly moving down the curve of your ass - you’d know Min’s touch from a thousand others’. 

“Do you wanna start her off?”, Junmyeon asks, rather matter-of-factly.

 “No, go ahead, she’s a big girl, she doesn’t need me”, Minseok replies, shooting you a meaning look. “Be good for me, baby. Make daddy proud”, he says and sits down on the couch.

  You know that the punishment is what Junmyeon will do, but right now it feels like the lack of Min is a more severe one. In this environment all you needed was that little brush of his hand to make you go from slick to soaked; wanting nothing more than to straddle him, seeing that amused hungry smile from him as he slowly put his fingers inside you and then spread the juices up to your clit and back to your ass, lingering, circling a bit until you had to beg him to press them in.

  Junmyeon leads you to the end of the table and softly presses your back for you to bend down, so that you’re upper body is resting on it. He puts his hand on your thigh, through the slit of your dress - a que for you to spread your legs - and pulls up your dress with his right hand. You close your eyes and bite the inside of your cheek, not wanting to give away too much. Minseok’s the one who brought you here, so he’s okay with these things - but to you it feels so good that it’s almost uncomfortably okay.

“Open your eyes”, you hear Minseok’s voice. 

You look straight at him, again feeling that hunger for him, but also being okay with him seeing you turned on by someone else. And by the look of him he’s about ready to cut Junmyeon’s party short and ram his cock into your wet pussy. It’s barely noticeable, but a quick squint of his eyes, more like a twitch really, gives it away, as he sees your dress being pulled up.

Junmyeon’s hand slowly makes its way up to your entrance, and his breathing hitches. He bends down and spreads your cheeks to get a better look:

“You’ve got a prime specimen here, Minseok.” He tsks. “Does she always get this wet?”

Minseok smiles at you with pride in his eyes:

“That’s why she’s my baby girl. And if you keep going...” he trails off, making you roll your eyes as you suppress a moan.

  Junmyeon makes his way to the right-hand wall and pulls the curtain away to reveal a curated selection of toys and tools ; whips, paddles, chains, masks, ball-gags and whatever else you could think of. This is either going to be very fun or very fun. He picks a collar and starts attaching a chain to it, but then stops and puts a leather lead on it instead; his attention to details is thrilling. He takes a small pouch - one of many - and turns back around. He puts a finger between your neck and the collar when he puts it on you:

“Can you breathe?”

“Yes”, you reply, feeling a bit hoarse from being quiet for so long.

He looks at you with softness and for a second you’re stunned by his beauty.

“I don’t know what a sweet girl like you could’ve done to deserve this, but if your daddy says you do...” he sighs and shakes head and lands a burning spank on your ass.

Being totally unprepared for it you cry out, but manage to bite your tongue midway. Of course that’s not good enough for Junmyeon who yanks the lead with a stern:

“No.”

You curse yourself for not staying silent, and feel embarrassed for Minseok. Not one sound will leave your lips from now on you promise yourself. Junmyeon positions himself behind you again and when you hear Min chuckle you can guess what was brought out of the pouch. You hear a low buzz and immediately after feel it pressing on your entrance; a vibrator, a small one. Junmyeon presses it in slowly - painfully slowly - but not all the way, just a centimeter or so, and brings it out again. Then in again.

“Look at your daddy, sweetheart.”

You turn your head and look at Min, struggling to keep your eyes open from the pleasure. Struggling to not beg him - either of them - to fuck you. You angle your toes inward and arch your back, trying to get more.

“Hm, I don’t think she’s as sweet as I first thought”, Jun says to Min. “She’s a little slut, isn’t she?”. While saying it he moves the vibrator up to your anal, making you twitch and inhale hard with pleasure. Picking up on it, Jun pulls the lead back and increases the speed on the vibrator as he starts pressing it in little by little to stretch you out.

“Fuck…” Minseok sighs “now there’s a sight…”

“You should see it from my angle. Grab the third bag for me, will you?”

Minseok does what Junmyeon asks and before long you feel a dildo filling your ass, moving in and out at a slow pace, and vibrating. You close your eyes and feel Minseok’s hand on your mouth; instinctively you open it and he slips two fingers inside, moving them in the same slow pace as Junmyeon.

“Feel how wet she is now” he says to Junmyeon.

Junmyeon puts his fingers in your pussy, not bothering toying with you and moans:

“She’s a mess, and I’ve barely done anything..!”

“Mm-hmm, she’s like that” Minseok replies, fingers still in your mouth.

“You, do you like your daddy’s fingers that much?”

“Yes”, you shake your head.

“Or is it me and this dildo in your ass..?”

You look at Min, not sure what to answer. Luckily, he bends down and says:

“Just tell him what you like, baby.”

“All of it. Everything”, you moan. 

“She’s gonna come soon if you don’t control it.”

“Yeah, I can feel her on my fingers. I’m gonna let her. Make her. Go sit down, watch her”, Junmyeon replies. “Now let’s see how long it takes with just this” he says, pushing the dildo in all the way. You don’t even care that he’s removed his fingers; seeing Minseok so turned on, and the lewd feeling of being bent over with a dildo in your ass more than enough. Junmyeon pulls your leash tighter so your head is upright, and with the same hand grabs the left side of our ass, spreading it to get a better look. He puts the vibrator on full power which sends a jolt through your body, making your pussy almost drip with how wet it is. It doesn’t take long for that familiar electricity to build up when he start setting a faster pace, and you can’t help but to let sounds slip out.

“Are you gonna let your daddy see you come?”

As your legs start to spasm you just about manage to moan a “yes”, and you hear Min grunt. When your orgasm comes Junmyeon grabs your pelvic bone to hold you down and pumps the dildo with relentless speed, making you whine and moan an endless slew of “fuck”, “oh”.

When your sounds trail off Junmyeon relaxes the lead to let you rest your head and slowly removes the dildo.

“Come here” he says, pulling you up on your shaky legs “go lie down for a second, we’re gonna go have a drink.” Your initial excitement fades when he continues “I’ll bring you some water. There’s a bathroom right outside if you want to freshen up. Don’t go anywhere else.”

Just as you sit down Minseok stands up:

“You did good, baby”, he says stroking your head. “And since you know each other now I’ll let Junmyeon have you all to himself from now on.”

[anninhiliation]

Bathroom Mirror

A/N: Hi anon, I hope you had a better morning than I did because honestly never again. (Jk I NEED a drink after this week) Now, I can't really write soft fluffy smut so this is a little rough. NOT AS NASTY AS CHRIS, but I'm nasty so this might be a lil nasty your call. Also, I might have to post Ericks on Saturday because I am in school and I do have a paper and quiz tomorrow but I'm over here being nasty. I am pushing through for Hoel so please pray for my GPA fkdjfksdfj.

Masterlist

Wordcount

Warnings: 18+, dont have sex before marriage sinners.

I was on my third drink of red label mixed with coke feeling the alcohol run through my veins. Joel was forced to go to the most dreadful dinner party and dragged me along with him. I silently entertained myself with a secret drinking game, of taking a huge sip of my drink every time I heard a fake laugh or someone would share their life story with me. At first, the red label burned going down my throat but the more I drank the less I felt the burn. I felt as if I could drink straight vodka at this point and there would be no need for a chaser. The more I drank, the more the room spun and everything made me giggle. Joel noticed that I was drunk when he caught me giggling to people leaving and entering the bathroom.  

“Babe, what's so funny?” He asked as he gripped my waist and kissed my cheek

“I bet that bathroom is really nice.” I giggled as I leaned against him

“Yea it probably is, this is a fancy place.” He chuckled 

“I bet its really big in there,” I added as I turned my head to look at him

“Probably there's a lot of people here. But I still don't get what's so funny.” Joel innocently stated smiling down at me

“Joel…” I smiled finding his innocent mind to be so adorable

“Y/N…?” Joel mimicked as he shook his head confused

“Babe” I grinned “Let me explain.”

I grabbed his hand and led him to the bathroom after someone left. I quickly locked the door and pushed him against it. My lips crashed into his as my arms wrapped around his neck. His hands held onto my waist as he kissed me back. I moved my lips to his jaw softly tugging at his lightly stubbled skin. He let out a soft groan as my lips made their way to his neck landing on his sensitive spot. Joel's hands sunk further down my body as they gently squeezed my ass and grabbed my thighs picking me up. I jumped a little, wrapping my legs around his waist as I continued to kiss his neck. Joel placed me on the bathroom counter and kissed my neck. He landed directly on my sweet spot sending electricity to my core.

I bucked my hips and moaned out, craving more.

“Joel...fuck me!” I whined tugging on my bottom lip.

“What if someone walks in?” He freaked out

“They'll leave! Joel papi please!” I begged sliding off the counter and getting on my knees. “Plus I locked the door so they know its occupied.” 

“Babe….ughh….fucckk…” Joel moaned out as I unbuckled his pants, lifted his shirt and kissed his V line down. 

Joel grabbed onto the counter as I grabbed his hardening penis and licked up his shaft. I kissed the tip coating my lips in his pre-cum and let go. 

“I can continue if youd like but you seemed to have a problem fucking in here.” I teased locking eyes with him. 

“Mi amor, please don't stop!” He whined 

I sucked on his head and swirled my hand around his shaft. Joel let go of the counter and tugged on my hair.

“Babe…more...please” He groaned as he thrusted his hips. 

I took more of him in as he began to face fuck me making my hands land on his thighs. Tears rolled down my cheeks as my core drowned in pleasure. 

“Fuck you’re so hot you should look at yourself in the mirror.” Joel groaned as he hit the back of my throat. 

His eyes went wide and a sly grin formed in his face when he removed himself from me and helped me up. He turned me around and bent me over the sink in one swift motion. He lifted my tight dress and smacked my ass.  

“Baby, you're not wearing any underwear?” He asked amazed

“I didn't want panty lines.” I huffed out sticking my ass out “Now are you going to fuck me or not?”

“Of course,” Joel growled as he grabbed my ass and slowly inserted the tip. 

My walls slowly stretched around him as he began at a slow pace. 

“Babe I want you to look at yourself” Joel commanded as he tugged on my hair. 

My head shot up as I locked eyes with him in the mirror. 

“Oh and I’m the kinky one?” I teased as he fasted the pace.

His hands grabbed my hips and quickened the pace. I pressed my hand against the mirror as I locked eyes with my reflection. I was a moaning mess as Joel rammed in and out of me as if he had just returned home from tour. 

“See how pretty you are?” Joel growled as he leaned his body down and licked the shell of my ear. 

The new position had Joel hitting my g-spot each time.

“Don't stop” I begged as I tried to grab onto the flat surface. 

“Not until you cum princesa” Joel grunted as my other hand smacked the counter trying to hold my body up. 

A familiar knot formed in my stomach as Joel whispered sweet nothings into my ear and occasionally nibbled on my ear. My legs began to shake as I sunk into the pleasure. Joels thrusts disorganized themselves from the rhythm as my walls squeezed around him. 

“Baby I'm close,” Joel grunted trying to fight from reaching the end of his own orgasm

“Me too.” I muffled between my incoherent moans

“Cum on me” Joel encouraged as I dropped my head, legs shaking and I screamed out into my sweet release. 

Joel rode me out for my high and pulled out, dropping me to my knees and I opened my mouth as he came on my tongue, missing a few times hitting my cheek and forehead. I swallowed what I could and wiped the excess off on a towel. Joel picked up his pants and fixed himself in front of the mirror fixing his curls as I lowered my dress back down and ran my fingers through my hair. After the two of us fixed each other up, Joel opened the door first to be met with a grinning Christopher. 

“Hey man,” Joel said nonchalantly. 

“Thank God you're done. Did the two of you use a condom?” He blurted out into a full belly laugh.

[mirkwoodshewolf]

Daughter of Freddie Mercury; Freddie Mercury x pre-teen/teen reader pt.2

*Author’s note*

And here we go everyone, here is pt.2 of the request. Now i want to warn everyone in advance that this part is TWICE AS ANGSTY and probably the most angsty thing I will ever write.  So if anyone needs, I’ve got tissues ready for everyone and anyone who needs them. Also the POV’s change constantly throughout this part so if that bothers anyone I’m telling you in advance. 

Warnings: mentions of drugs, ANGST, some fluff, the SOB P**nt**, swearing.

Taglist:

@psychosupernatural

@geek-and-proud

_____________________________________________________________

I now was lying on the guest bed in Uncle Deacy's house. My hair now fully wet after just getting out of a bath. Thanks to aunt Veronica who helped to rinse out the dip and anything else that had gotten stuck to my hair, plus also to wash away the champagne smell from my skin.

I lay there on my side motionlessly with tears still dripping out of my eyes every now and them, occasionally sniffling. A soft knock and the door creaked open and I heard Uncle Deacy's voice say.

"Hey, may I come in?" I remained silent. I heard the door shut and felt a dip at the foot of the bed. Silence rang out through the room and that's when I heard Uncle Deacy say. "I've made some hot chocolate downstairs. I know how much that cheers you up."

"I'm gonna end back in the foster home." I finally muttered softly. I knew uncle Deacy's eyes were locked right at me as I heard him say in shock.

"What makes you say that?"

"Not the first time it's been that way." I bluntly stated. I felt his hand on my shoulder and finally I turned towards him and I continued, "Paul's taking him away from me. I can feel it. It happened once before with my third foster dad. The minute he met a girl he no longer wanted me. They hosted parties like that all the time, and then one day he called the foster home telling them he no longer wanted me......." I tried holding back my tears as I tried to get out. "Guess I was never meant to be a part of a family. I'll just be the black plague of this earth....."

"Bullshit!" I looked up at Uncle John and was shocked at his statement. Usually he's calm and collected, rarely does he ever snap but just now he did and I was terrified. He inhaled deeply before exhaling softly and said, "I'm sorry dear, but what you just said is absolute rubbish."

"If it is rubbish, then why hasn't anyone adopted me yet? Why do they always say they'll be there for me when eventually they always leave me?" I asked as I sat up and kept eye contact with him. He stared right back at me, his face completely stoic and I knew I had him in a box.

That was until he lifted his hand and cupped my cheek gingerly and he said to me.

"Close your eyes." I looked at him confused.

"What?"

"Just trust me love," I sighed heavily and closed them and I heard him say again, "Now I want you to forget everything you see," I felt his hand take my wrist and place it over my chest, right over my heart. "What do you feel?" I soon felt my heartbeat and I said as I opened my eyes.

"My heart." I looked up at Uncle Deacy and he said as he extended his arm.

"Come here." I allowed his arm to wrap around my shoulder and I leaned up against his chest as he held me close and moved my head over his chest allowing me to hear his heartbeat.

"Your heart?"

"Two rhythms synchronizing together to create a strong beat to a song. And you are the most important beat to this family (y/n). From day one when you came to us, you became such an important part to this crazed family, we'd be lost without you here. You belong here (y/n), and don't let what Paul or anyone else make you think otherwise."

"You really mean that?" I asked as I looked up at him hopefully.

"Of course, I never say what I don't mean. I may not always speak the most out of the other three, but when I do say something, it's always 100% true." I wrapped my arms around Uncle Deacy's neck and hugged him as tight as I could. I felt his arm wrap around me as he hugged me back with as much strength as he could all the while stroking my back. "Freddie just marches to his own rhythm. But sooner or later he will come around. He always does."

"Thanks uncle Deacy, I love you."

"I love you too poppet. Now, what do you say we head downstairs for that hot chocolate, hmm?" I nodded happily and we separated from each other and headed downstairs to grab the hot chocolate, and for the rest of the night Uncle Deacy never once let his arm down from my shoulder's always keeping me close to him in his one armed hug.

But as time continued to move on, it seemed like my dad was just getting worse. Paul's influence was really starting to affect the Freddie Mercury I first met back at the foster home, he wasn't the same he drank more, was high practically all the time and barely acknowledged my existence any more.

What's worse was that he was also starting to push away Uncle Brian, Deacy and Roger. Like when one day shortly after they had filmed the music video for uncle Deacy's song "I want to break free" with all of them dressed in drag, apparently America banned the video because of the idea and pointing the blame on dad when in reality it was Uncle Roger's idea.

I listened in on the meeting even when I knew I wasn't supposed to. I hid behind the door as I heard my dad say.

"I'm never touring in the US again. And I'm the one being blamed for it. Not you dear whose idea I believe it was to dress up in drag. Nor you, not even you who wrote the bloody thing." He said pointing out to Roger for the idea, then to Brian and finally Deacy who wrote the song. "No, crazy cross dressing Freddie. Freddie the Freak, Freddie the Fag. I'm tired of touring aren't you? Album tour album tour. I want to do something different."

"We're a band that's what bands do. Album, tour. Album, tour." I heard Uncle Brian say.

"Well I need a break, I'm sick of it." Dad snapped.

"What are you saying Freddie?" I heard Uncle Deacy say. There was silence that lingered in the room for what felt like eternity until finally my dad spoke.

"I've signed a deal, with CBS records."

"You've done what?" I heard Uncle Roger say.

"Without telling us." Uncle Brian stated.

"What kind of deal?" asked uncle Deacy.

"Look I'm not saying we won't ever record or tour again. Queen will go on. But I—I need to do something different, do you know what I mean? I-I-I need to grow. What's the song, fly away?"

"Spread my wings and fly away." Said Uncle Deacy.

"Spread my wings and fly away." My dad piped in.

"A solo album." Said Uncle Brian.

"Two actually. Back to back." Paul's voice finally spoke up.

"Another word out of you and I'll throw you out the bloody window!" uncle Roger's voice snarled.

"But that's years Freddie I mean—that'll take years."

"Ye have little faith."

"I just I don't believe this." Uncle Roger spoke up. "How much?" Silence rang throughout the room. "What did they pay you?!" Roger demanded again. Everyone including me was waiting on baited-breath to hear just how much my dad was offered. "I wanna know how much they paid you!"

"Four million dollars!" My dad yelled out.

Oh God...... I couldn't believe how much they were offering for my dad's solo career. This, this, this was—mind boggling.

"That's more than any Queen deal." Said Uncle Deacy in disbelief.

"Look the routine is killing us, I mean you all must want a break from all the arguments. Whose song gets on the album. Whose songs the single? Who wrote what? Who gets the bigger slice of the royalties, what's on the B-side all of it. You must need a break." My dad tried to reason with the guys.

"Freddie. We're a family." Uncle Brian spoke up in a low tone but dad snapped, his voice choking up.

"No we're not! We're not a family. You've got families. Children! Wives! What have I got?!"

"You've got an adoptive daughter, but clearly you're too high to even remember that she still needs you." Uncle Deacy's solemn quick wit spoke up.

"I won't compromise my vision any longer." Is he for real here? He can't be serious about this.

"Compromise? Are you joking? You were working and Heathrow before we gave you a chance!" Uncle Roger's voice spoke up.

And without me....you'd—you'd be a dentist. Drumming 12-8 times blues at the weekend at the Crown and Anchor. And you, well, you would be Dr. Brian May. Author of a fascinating dissertation on the cosmos....that no one ever reads. And Deacy, for the life of me.....nothing comes to mind." Deacy who tried to brush his pain aside said proudly but I could hear the pain in his voice.

"I studied electrical engineering. Does that meet your standard?"

"It's perfect." Tears filled my eyes as I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Dad was serious about breaking up the band and if he does, that means I'll—I'll never be able to see my uncles again.

"You just killed Queen." Uncle Roger's voice spoke up lowly and brokenheartedly.

"Oh give her a kiss one day she might wake up."

"You need us Freddie, more than you know. Think about what this will do to (y/n)."

"I don't need anyone. And never tell me how to raise my daughter. In fact—I forbid any of you for seeing her." What no! He—he can't do this to me.

I finally got the perfect family I've always dreamed about, I can't lose them now!

Not wanting to hear anymore I raced out into the backyard and raced next door hoping that mum would be there. Once I got to the front door I knocked on it repeatedly and as loud as I could but there was no answer.

"Mum please—please I need you. Everything's falling apart......I don't know what to do. I don't know what to do." I slid down the door and curled up against it and wept hysterically into my lap, hiding my head in my arms.

"(Y/n)." I sniffled and looked up to see my uncles standing before me. I stood up and hugged uncle Roger as he was the closest one and he wrapped his arms around me as I sobbed out.

"I don't want you guys to go! Please don't leave me. You promised we'd be okay. You promised!"

"We know darling, we know." I heard Uncle Brian say as his arms came around me as well. Soon Uncle Deacy joined in and I was caught in the middle of a three-way group hug. Something my uncles always did for me whenever my really bad days came up.

"You're the best family I've ever had. I don't want you guys to go."

"Oh believe us darling we don't want to leave you either. You're too important to us." Said Uncle Roger as I felt him kiss the top of my head.

"(Y/n)!!" I looked up to see Paul standing outside the front door. "Get back inside and pack up your things." He called out to me.

"No! I'm not leaving!" I cried back.

"Don't you dare talk back to me lass!"

"You're not my father! You've poisoned him you son of a bitch! You're poison Paul Prenter! A snake in the grass! A coward—"

"(Y/N)!!!" My father's voice soon roared out. He now appeared beside Paul and he proclaimed. "I order you to get inside the house and pack up your stuff! I'm your father and I know what's best for you!" My sudden confidence deflated like a balloon as I was reduced to a whimpering mess. I looked up to my uncles who all had tears in their eyes. "Now (y/n)!" I looked up at my uncles and begged to them.

"I don't wanna go please. I don't want to leave you three, I don't wanna go, I don't wanna go!" Uncle Brian cupped my face and he said.

"We know love, but I'm afraid there's nothing we can do about it."

"No please......let me stay with you guys. You've been better fathers than he has lately."

"As much as we would want to, we can't (y/n). You've been the best niece the three of us could've asked for. And know that we will always love you." He kissed the center of my forehead when I felt a rough hand take my arm and I was pulled away.

I looked up to see Paul forcing me out of my uncle's protective group hug. I thrashed and tried to fight back but he had a strong grip on me. Uncle Roger's hand still held my free one tightly until I was forced to let go due to the distance. I could see him wanting to come back for me but uncle Brian and uncle Deacy stopped him all three of them looking at me with sorrow-filled eyes.

I cried out for each of them but no matter how much I screamed, no matter how much I pleaded and begged, they didn't come back for me.

*Brian's POV*

It broke our hearts not to go running back and try to get her out of Paul's repulsive grip. Trust me Roger's not the only one who wants to beat Paul to the ground for forcing her out of our arms. But we had no legal recourse for this, had we tried to interfere; Freddie would probably try to start a legal action against us, which could lead to a restraining order against us.

Forbidding us by law to from have any contact with (y/n). I refused to do that to (y/n). She's already been through enough and I refused to put her through that situation. I watched with a broken heart along with Deacy and Roger as Paul finally shoved her into the house and Fred slammed the door shut.

*Munich 1984. My POV*

It's been about 3 weeks since we've moved to Munich, Germany. I barely came out for anything. I rarely ate, I hardly slept, hell I never responded to my dad if he tried to start some bonding time through music. I ignored him completely. He ruined my life, he took me away from the one family I finally came to love and was hardly paying attention to me because he was always either working or hosting a party downstairs.

He always thought he could make it up to me but I never gave him the time of day. I bluntly refused to even look at him, I just buried myself into my sheets and said not a word.

*Freddie's POV*

I was downstairs leaning against the stairway. Everyone else was getting high or drinking as booming music was playing. Normally I would be the life of the party but now—I was worried about (y/n). Ever since the move, she's hasn't spoken a word to me, she won't even look at me.

"Freddie c'mon your guests are waiting to see the host. They all want a little Mercury in their cup." Paul's voice spoke up as he knelt down in front of me. I placed my cigarette onto my lips and exhaled the smoke and didn't respond back. "What's wrong Freddie?"

"Did I do the right thing? For (y/n)? She won't speak to me anymore. Was I right?"

"Of course you were. She's just behaving like every other rebel teenager these days. Always throwing fits, locking themselves in their room. There's nothing to worry about. In a day or two she'll come around. Now come let's show these Germans how the people from London dance."

"I'm too tired Paul darling, I think I'll just turn in for the night." I slowly got up and walked up the stairs, feeling like utter shit. Finally I reached my room and collapsed onto it exhaling heavily before I passed out.

*3rd Person POV*

As the party continued on, Paul slipped away and got to a phone in the kitchen and pulled out a piece of paper and began dialing a phone number. He pressed the phone to his ear and plugged his other one to muffle the sound of the music as he heard the phone ring three times before it stopped.

"Mrs. Boynton, yes I would like to report a case of child neglect."

*My POV*

A few days later I was all along in the large house, Freddie had gone out to the studio to record his second album leaving me alone with all the mess of the party from the previous night, which meant leaving the drugs out onto the table.

I searched through the cabinets trying to find something to eat but there was hardly anything to eat. My stomach growled at me and that's when I heard a knock at the door. I slowly walked towards the front door but before I could even open it, social workers stormed the place and that's when I saw Mrs. Boynton.

"Mrs. Boynton?" I asked.

"(Y/n) I'm sorry to do this but we're going to have to take you back to London."

"What? Why?"

"Mrs. Boynton, just as we were told, there's puffs of cocaine lying all over the table unsupervised. And there's no sign of Mr. Mercury anywhere." One of the social workers said as they held up a back of cocaine in his hand. Mrs. Boynton looked down at me and she said.

"It would seem Freddie is unfit to take care of you anymore. We will immediately transport you back to England and back into the system."

"What no, no I can't go back there!" I cried out.

"And I'm afraid now that you are the legal adult age of 16, you will be put into a different housing. The young adult homeless facility until you are 18. I'm sorry my dear."

"No, no, no, no, no, no, you can take me to three people! Brian May, Roger Taylor or John Deacon! They're my uncles they can take care of me!" I cried out as two male social workers took me by the arm and proceeded to drag me out of the house. "Please Mrs. Boynton you can't put me in the system again! Please! Please don't do this to me!!" I was now being dragged towards a car and shoved inside.

I tried to get out but the door slammed shut on me and I couldn't open the door as it was now locked. I pounded on the window trying to get anyone's attention but no one would look at me.

It was then I saw Mrs. Boynton talking to Paul. She handed him a notice and Paul and her shook hands with each other before she walked away. I—I don't believe this. Paul's framing Freddie for all of this, and now I'm being put back into the system but this time I'm in the young homeless adult system.

Paul turned towards me and just waved at me as the car turned on and we drove away from the house.

*3rd Person POV*

For the next few weeks; Paul kept up the ruse that the reason why Freddie never saw his daughter come out was because she was still acting like a rebel teenager or telling him that she finally was coming around and just seeing the sights of Munich. Whatever he could to keep Freddie in the dark about his daughter and every time Freddie bought it.

That is until the night Mary came to see him.

It was now 1985 in the pouring rain, she had flown out to Munich to hopefully reach Freddie and see what had become of him since she and Jim Beach had been trying to phone Freddie for different various reasons.

The moment Freddie saw the love of his life, he was overjoyed to finally see her for the first time in a very long time. The two former lovers embraced each other after so long and Mary expressed her worry to Freddie but he assured her that he was fine and that he was just too busy working on the second album.

"Stay, stay here with me. I need the love of my life. And with you here, you could even help bring (y/n) out of her shell. She needs her mother." Freddie said as he stroked the side of Mary's face.

"Freddie, what about Queen? Jim told me he's been trying to contact you about Live Aid and you won't take his calls."

"What's Live Aid? And (y/n) is upstairs locked in her room, that's where she's always been ever since I moved her here."

"You haven't heard? Freddie it's the biggest concert there's ever been or ever will be for the famine in Africa. And Mrs. Boynton contacted me telling me that you were unfit to take care of her. They took her back into the system."

"Perhaps Paul thought Live Aid wasn't a good idea a distraction from my work that's what's important. And he would've told me if Mrs. Boynton had come about (y/n). Stay with me darling and everything will be alright. We can go up and see (y/n) for ourselves."

"Freddie I can't stay with you."

"Of course you can, I need you Mary."

"Freddie I'm pregnant." With that bombshell, Freddie's heart sunk like the Titanic. He stared at Mary in pure shock before his shock turned to anger as he said to her.

"How could you?"

"How could I? Freddie this has nothing to do with you!" It was then a choir of voices were heard including Paul's as soon coming in were Paul and his tag team of druggies and prostitutes.

"Freddie! Sorry we're late," when he came around and saw Mary Paul was stunned to see her. "Mary, what a pleasant surprise. Hans, everyone come in make yourselves at home." He soon said to the gang of people who soon came right on in like it was their own home. Paul walked up to Freddie and Mary as he said ashamed, "I wish you were comin to stay, I would've scrubbed the place."

"Actually I'm not staying." Mary said sadly as she walked out of the house. Freddie chased after her in the pouring rain calling out her name. He approached the cab that she had gotten into and managed to hold the door open before she could close it.

"I'm happy for you." Freddie managed to say as he now stood before the love of his life. "Truly I am. Just—I'm frightened."

"Freddie you don't need to be. Because no matter what you are loved. By me, by Brian, Deacy, Roger, your family. Our daughter. It's enough. And these people—they don't care about you. Paul doesn't care about you." It was then Mary took something out from her coat and continued, "I saw Paul throw these in the bin a few years ago shortly after you had moved us into those homes. I couldn't risk him finding them again and burning them instead." She handed the folder to Freddie and he slowly took it from Mary as she urged him once more, "You don't belong here Freddie. Come home."

"Home." Freddie muttered softly. He closed the door and that's when the taxi cab drove off leaving Freddie standing there in the pouring rain.

"Freddie? What are you doing you'll catch your death."

"Why didn't you tell me about Live Aid?" asked Freddie.

"The Africa charity gig?" asked Paul. "It would be an embarrassment I—I didn't want to waste your time." As Paul spoke, Freddie slowly opened up the manila folder and inside of it were the adoption papers for one (Y/n) (l/n).

Freddie felt this sudden rage but he contained it, for now. He held his hand up stopping Paul from speaking any further.

"You should've told me."

"Of course I did. You forgot. You're always forgetting things. Come in now and have a drink." Freddie didn't move a single muscle as he finally said.

"You're out."

"What do you mean?"

"I want you out of my life."

"Because I'm the only one left you're blaming me for everything?"

"I blame myself. For how I behaved before my real friends, my family, my daughter."

"So I'm out, just like that? After everything we've been through? Think of the photos I have. I know who you are Freddie Mercury." Freddie then turned around towards Paul and just stared at him. He walked towards Paul and thinking that he had him right where he wanted him, Paul grinned but then out of nowhere, Freddie slugged Paul right across the face sending him down to the ground with a bloody nose.

Paul looked up at Freddie in shock at the fact that he had actually hit him. Freddie turned his back on him and said.

"You know when you know you've gone rotten? Really rotten. Fruit flies. Dirty, little fruit flies. Coming to feast on what's left. Well there isn't much for you to feast on anymore. So fly off! And do what you like with your photographs and your stories. But promise me one thing. That I never see your face again, ever." With that Freddie walked away with Paul calling out to him telling him he didn't mean it and that he'd make everything better.

The following few days; Paul sold the stories and photographs to the public and soon the whole world knew about Freddie's alternate crazy life style. Freddie watched as Paul was on a television news cast show about all things regarding celebrity gossip and he confessed to everything that Freddie had done.

Freddie went back to London to try and make things right with the band, of course the three of them were reluctant but with the help of Miami it began to slowly work out. With them now officially in the line up for Live Aid that was one thing down, but Freddie had another issue at hand.

He got in contact with Mrs. Boynton who at first didn't want Freddie to talk but he managed to convince her to stay on the line and apologize for everything he had done. As the one sole person who (y/n) had left in this world throughout the system, Mrs. Boynton gave Freddie a piece of her mind while still maintaining her professionalism.

Freddie apologized repeatedly and begged her to tell him where it was the current facility where (y/n) was being kept at was located at. But repeatedly due to the amount of drugs found at the house, Mrs. Boynton didn't believe that Freddie was willing to take on the responsibility of a child, much less one like (y/n) after all that she's been through.

With a heavy heart, Freddie began to accept the fact that he may never see his little girl again. But he had at least hoped that she could at least see one final concert before she would leave his life forever.

So he gave Mrs. Boynton two tickets plus backstage passes to the Live Aid concert that he managed to somehow gain thanks to the help of Miami and Bob Geldof himself. And with that he left Mrs. Boynton's office with sorrow and told the guys that it wouldn't happen.

*My POV*

I was in my room playing my Walkman playing "I'm not in love" by 10cc when I felt a hand at my shoulder and standing over me was Mrs. Boynton. I removed my headphones and said.

"Mrs. Boynton, what are you doing here?" she sighed heavily and said.

"I may live to regret this but," she handed me a small envelope and I took it from her and opened it up to reveal two tickets as well as backstage passes that read.

LIVE AID CONCERT Sat. July 13th, 1985.

Wembley Stadium, 12pm

"Freddie came into my office the other day and gave this to me. It seems like he's turning a new leaf and wants you back." I turned away from her scoffing at the idea.

"If he had he'd never would've let Paul go as far as he did. He should've known that it was Paul's doing that I'm back here."

"I know." She said. I turned to her in shock and said.

"You knew he'd set it up?"

"Had a feeling that's the reason why he called. But I couldn't go against regulations at the time. But now.....I really think you should at least go talk to him." I looked at her in silence before looking down at the tickets.

*July 13th. Day of Live Aid. 3rd Person POV*

Queen were sitting in their trailer waiting for the knock by one of the volunteers to inform them that they were now called to the stage. Deacy was sipping on his cup of tea, Brian was fiddling with his red special tuning it to the right pitch, Freddie sat by the door trying to get his head in place, and Roger was sipping on a glass of whiskey.

They soon heard a knock at the door. Thinking it was one of the volunteers, Jim Hutton who had come along with Freddie went up to the door and opened it to reveal (y/n).

"(Y/n)?" Brian said in shock, almost not believing what he was seeing.

"Hey Uncle Brian. Been a long time." He smiled and couldn't help himself as he got up and hugged his niece for the first time in over a year. She happily hugged him back just as tight as he was hugging her.

"My, my lovey you're so big now." Roger's voice spoke up. She separated from her uncle Brian and as Roger came up to her, he playfully picked her up spinning her around as he kissed all over her face which brought out a joyous laugh from her.

"Oh Uncle Roger I've missed you so much."

"Hopefully not much more than me poppet." She smiled as she walked up to her uncle Deacon and hugged him. He kissed her temple and rocked her back and forth as she laid her head over his heart. She looked up at him and couldn't help but say.

"Did you grow a mushroom on your head or something Uncle Deacy?" John simply chuckled as he shook his head at her and said.

"Oh love I sure have missed that humor of yours." It was then (y/n) finally came face to face with Freddie.

He stood up from his seat and slowly walked out of the trailer, never once letting his eyes leave her as he awkwardly stood before her nervously fiddling with his fingers.

"Hey Freddie." She said softly.

"(Y/n).....my god darling look at you. Almost all grown up."

"Yeah. That's what happens when you ignore someone for almost a year and then allow them to get shipped back to the system." She couldn't help but say still feeling the anger and resentment towards him.

"I—I didn't think you'd come." Freddie admitted softly.

"I almost didn't." she admitted back to him. "But Mrs. Boynton managed to convince me otherwise. Queen will always still be my favorite band no matter what, so if I didn't at least come to wish any of you good luck before the show, I'd regret it forever. Plus it be a shame to waste the ticket and the pass since I knew it was sold out for months."

"I'm really glad you came darling."

"I better get to my spot less it be taken away."

"Why not watch it from the best seat with Jim?" He offered. "Jim darling," Jim walked beside Freddie and he continued, "You remember my—the girl I told you about."

"Yes, it's finally nice to meet you (y/n)." The two shook hands and (y/n) felt a connection with Jim. Unlike Paul who instantly gave her bad vibes, there was nothing but warmth and kindness coming from Jim.

"Why don't the two of you meet up with Mary and David and I will see you all after?" the two of them nodded and (y/n) and Jim walked off but not before (y/n) wished her uncles and Freddie one last good luck.

*My POV*

"So Jim—how do you know Freddie?" I asked.

"We—we're good friends lass. Your father—he found me after getting back on his feet. He really has missed you, and wishes that he was there for you more. He had no idea what Paul had done."

"Well it happened." I said. We spoke not another word on the subject and just talked about random things until we met up with Mary and her boyfriend David.

"(Y/n)." said Mary.

"Hey mum." She hugged me and I noticed the baby bump starting to form. "You're—"

"Yes, I'm pregnant. 2 months along."

"That's....amazing mum." I said.

"But know this darling, just because I'm about to have a child of my own, doesn't mean that I'll love you any less. You will always be my daughter (y/n), my first born. Nothing can ever change that." I smiled and the two of us hugged each other just as the announcers called Queen out onto the stage.

And let me just say watching that entire performance, it was like seeing the boys come back together again. It was like all that's happened this past year never happened. Queen stole the show and had punched a hole in the sky straight into the heavens.

After the show I raced backstage and I just couldn't help myself as the first person I hugged was Freddie. I wrapped my arms around his neck and wept happily into his neck. I didn't care if he was sweating up a storm, I just wanted to hug him. He immediately hugged me back and I said as I separated from him.

"You were amazing. All of you were."

"Thank you my darling." I then hugged and kissed each on of my uncles and told them what a wonderful job they had done.

After the concert, I had gone back to Garden Lodge to visit with Freddie for the night till Mrs. Boynton came to pick me up in the morning. I sipped on a cup of tea and that's when Freddie said.

"(Y/n) darling," I turned to look at him and he continued, "I—I know I've been hideous. I was neglectful.....naive....a real arsehole to you. I was no better than the other foster fathers you've had before, and I shouldn't have let Paul poison my mind the way he did."

"Freddie—"

"Please darling I need to finish this," he came up and knelt down in front of me and proceeded to say, "I feel like I shouldn't even deserve your forgiveness. But I hope these will at least show some sign that I might still have a chance." He then handed me a neatly wrapped present.

I looked at him before I took the present from his hand and unwrapped it. When I opened the box, the first thing that I saw were the legal adoption papers from the foster care. I looked at every page and every spot where it showed for a signature, there was one until I finally looked at the last page to see at the bottom a named signed.

Freddie Mercury.

I looked at him and muttered.

"Fred I—I don't know what to say....."

"All I need is an honest answer." I sighed heavily and said.

"You have no idea how happy I am to see these forms. I've been waiting for so long to see papers like these. Finally hoping that I had found the right family to take me in." He softly smiled at me with hope in his eyes as I continued, "But I can't accept this." His smile vanished. "What happened and what you had done to me really hurt me Freddie. You neglected to see that Paul was manipulating you until he got you away not only from the guys and mum, but from me too. I'm sorry I just....."

"It's fine. I—I understand." He said solemnly as he took the papers back. After a moment of silence I spoke up again.

"At least not yet." He looked at me confused. "I—I still want to be in your life Freddie Mercury. Because you've been the only real father I've ever known. But I don't think I'm ready to legally be your daughter, not until I at least see that you're ready for me. So can we—start over?" His eyes sparked back up and he said.

"Oh my darling I would like nothing else." I smiled at him and he embraced me tightly in his arms rocking me back and forth gently.

For the next year I stayed with Freddie in his house of Garden Lodge and eventually Jim moved in and the two of them grew close with each other. And no matter what anyone said, I supported them because like my mum, Jim was the love of his life.

By 1987, I was finally ready and so we had set up a court date for my to Legally become a Mercury. After going through the trials and signing any documented proof (since by this time I was an adult and no longer in the custody of the foster system anymore), I once again had my father back.

That was one of the happiest days of my life. The day I finally called Freddie Mercury my father. And he remained that way till the end, even after he died and in the decades to come he was still changing my life.

I grew up to become a writer and wrote hundreds of books based on his life and legacy. He was always my inspiration and he always would be till the end of time.

My name is (Y/n) Mercury, daughter of the Legend and God Freddie Fuckin Mercury. And that name will always stick even on my tombstone.

[miss-noo-na]

And Then There Were Three (Part 1)

Part: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4

Title: And Then There Were Three

Featuring: I.M x Jooheon x Reader

Rating: Mature. Smut, oral, rough sex, dirty talk, threeways, and more.

Summary: You and Changkyun are having an intense secret affair, unaware that someone knows, and wants to share.

The electricity took you by surprise, the jolt ran through you from the moment you made eye contact across the room at the company party. You thought it was a fluke at first, he was just handsome in person and that was all. The second, third, and fourth time you found his eyes it happened again and again and only got stronger, and from the way he looked back at you each time, you knew he felt it, too.

When you were formally introduced, he averted his eyes as he shook your hand, but a knowing smile played upon his lips.

You started to chat, casually. You knew who he was, of course. It was part of the job to know who he was, but even prior to that you were aware. Despite this, he was alarmingly normal, at least in comparison to the other idols you had worked with. They were either young and nervous, or had a head too big to carry on their own shoulders. He was somewhere in the middle, like an everyday guy you might meet on a Friday night. He seemed interested in getting to know you.

“I like to know all the staff.” He was quick to say, in case you thought something else of it.

“Well that’s good,” You nodded, “Because I like to know the talent.”

You cast him a sideways glance, and maybe you had meant that to be as flirtatious as it sounded. He grinned back in response.

2 hours later he had you up against the wall inside a hotel room.

His kisses were fervent, and you clutched at his clothing as you tried to keep up. He pulled back and panted against your mouth.

“I don’t usually do this.”

You laughed. “Neither do I.”

This was wrong on so many levels. You had just gotten this job, you had just met this man who no doubt would be in a world of trouble with both his company and the general public if this got out. You didn’t do one-night stands, much-less with famous dudes you met at work parties.

But there was no denying the instant chemistry, the heat that radiated off his skin and warmed you up from the inside out. The way he looked at you, that deep voice, his hands now searing down your sides to your hips as he sank his teeth into your neck, all of it too much and not enough at the same time, and you weren’t going to stop anytime soon.

Usually it took you awhile to get comfortable with someone enough to be intimate with them, at least a couple dates, but none of that mattered here as he tore and tugged your clothing off and pressed you back into the bed. When he was on top of you, you pushed his dark hair out of his face and gazed up at him, biting your bottom lip and nodding in approval before he sank himself inside you. You gasped, eyes fluttering closed as he took his time working you up, burying his face in your neck and groaning low against your skin.

You built up sweat and rhythm, and you didn’t know if it was just the craziness of it all or him, but it felt amazing. What took other lovers months to learn, he caught on to within minutes, following your sounds and reactions with his hands and hips, doing it again and again when he found it.

You clawed his shoulders and bowed back as your orgasm hit you like a tidal wave, and he followed suit, moaning as his thrusts stuttered to a stop.

You caught your breath and came to your senses, cleaning up but in no rush to go anywhere. Regret started to set in, just a little bit. It was hard to feel too guilty, though.

Changkyun pulled his shirt back over his head and sat down on the bed next to you, where you fixed your own clothing and let out a nervous laugh.

“I know I already said this but really, I don’t-”

“I believe you,” He cut you off, “It was weird, right?” He laughed, running a hand through his hair and staring at the ground.

“Weird in a good way,” You shrugged.

“Oh, definitely.”

You laughed again before it was silent for awhile.

“We probably shouldn’t let this get any further, I mean I just started this job and-” You fumbled over your words.

“I get it, trust me. It was a one time thing.”

You nodded.

He walked you outside where you could catch a ride back home. It was awkward for a moment, not sure how to end it, and decided to meet in the middle for a hug. You left feeling okay with everything. It was fun and adventurous, but that was all. At least, that’s what you initially thought.

You tried your best to keep your distance, but it became almost impossible when you realized just how much you had to be around him. You were in the thick of it as a staff member, at most music shows, interviews, and engagements. Luckily you were usually too busy running around like a chicken with its head cut off for it to affect your work, but every now and then you realized that the fire you initially had between you still burned bright.

It didn’t help that he was naturally charming and kind of a flirt by way of personality alone. Add that to the fact he still seemed as attracted to you as you were to him, and it spelled trouble.

One such day, he was being more friendly than usual, and it left you flustered beyond reason every time you interacted with him. It got to the point where when you were off to the side, almost alone, you had to say something.

“Knock it off,” You said, not looking at him as you fixed his jacket.

“What?” He asked innocently, and when you looked up at him he was smirking.

“You know what.” You grumbled, and he laughed.

“Aww, come on.” He said, pressing himself forward, closer to you. “You know this isn’t easy for me, either.”

His last comment sounded different, less joking and in a deeper tone. You weren’t even able to focus on your task anymore, just mindlessly pulling at the strap on the jacket.

He reached up with one hand and ever so gently touched your jaw with the side of his finger. “You get prettier every time I see you, it makes it so hard to focus.”

You swatted his hand away and glared at him. “Stop it.”

“Fine.” He said, but he was still smiling.

You didn’t know how much longer you could deny it, the urge to throw caution to the wind and let him do whatever he wanted to you (again) was overwhelming. In all your life, you had never felt this way before, your brain clouded over by lust, to the point where even being in the same room with him was torture. You started to think there was something wrong with you, especially because as much as you told yourself your job came first, you had a hard time actually believing it.

You didn’t know if it was better or worse that he seemed to feel the exact same way.

After a celebratory post-comeback dinner that weekend, everyone began to mingle about the restaurant, drinking and chatting in a relaxed, low-key way. You had just finished a conversation with a fellow employee and friend who walked away to get more drinks, leaving you temporarily alone in the corner. Changkyun took a chance to approach.

“Are you having a good time?” He asked, and you eyed him suspiciously. His tone seemed casual, but you had learned better about him.

“I am.” You said simply, looking over his shoulder for your friend to come and save you from this situation.

“It’s rude to look past people when they’re talking to you.” He said, taking a step closer.

“You need my full attention?” You asked as your eyes started to settle into a glare, but he only smiled.

“Now that you mention it,” He pretended to think, “I’d like more than just your attention.”

You lowered your voice and leaned forward. No one else was close by, but you didn’t know if they could eavesdrop. “What are you doing?” You hissed, and he played dumb, per usual.

“I’m just having a conversation.”

“I thought we agreed that it would be one time?”

He cocked his head to one side. “We did, and who is suggesting otherwise?”

You sighed, “Don’t act stupid, you are clearly flirting with me.”

He chuckled. “I didn’t know some innocent flirting was an invitation to my bed.”

You were getting frustrated, redness creeping up your neck and across your cheeks, trying to keep your composure between the suggestive way he spoke to you but also anger that he was toying with your emotions like this. You knew what he was up to, you weren’t crazy.

“You are so….ugh,” You pushed passed him, bumping his shoulder as you went, going outside for some fresh air. You didn’t have time for mind games.

The restaurant patio was mostly empty, it was a chilly night. You leaned up against the wall outside and watched pedestrians stroll by, taking a few calming breaths, the cool air stinging your tightened lungs. Your whole body had a tendency to tense up when you were upset like this.

Just as you were starting to feel normal, Changkyun exited the back door, and you scowled as soon as you saw his face.

“Hey,” He said softly, but you weren’t going to let a sweet voice and puppy eyes affect you this time.

“Unless you came out here to bring me a drink, bye.” You said, maybe being a little harsh but also knowing you didn’t owe him your attention.

“I’m sorry,” He said, deciding to ignore the snide comment. “I can get a little carried away with the teasing sometimes.”

You crossed your arms and avoided eye contact. “You’re forgiven,” You said flatly, not sounding convincing.

“If you really want me to leave you alone, I will. I just thought you-” He stopped himself, “I’ll leave you alone.” He reiterated instead.

“It’s not that I wanted you to leave me alone, it’s just-” Now you stopped yourself, too, mostly to make a sound somewhere between a sigh and a huff. “I don’t want you to mess with me like that unless you mean it.”

Changkyun rubbed the back of his neck and let out an awkward laugh. “You were right earlier, I did say it should be a one time thing, but...I don’t know. It’s not like I really want to date anyone right now, for obvious reasons, but I also have a hard time staying away from you. I don’t know why.”

You blinked at the ground, nodding in agreement. “I get it. Like, I don’t need a boyfriend right now but also I wouldn’t mind you and I just-” You gestured vaguely into the air, because even you didn’t understand it.

“Do you want to go home with me?” He asked suddenly, and you finally met his gaze. All the jokes and apprehension had melted away and he just stared in a way that made you forget how cold it was out here.

“Yes.”

And so you had thrown that caution, chucked it right out the damn window. He lied about wanting to get back early to get some rest, the others assured him not to wait up because they’d probably be out late since it was so rare they got to do so.  You slipped away a few minutes later, when everyone else was distracted by their conversations.

Being at the dorm felt taboo, especially since it was just the two of you and you were doing something you knew you shouldn't be, yet that also made it more exciting. He kissed you all the way to the bedroom, but unlike the first night he was in less of a rush. 

With the door shut behind him, he took his time pulling away your clothing as you did his. His hands moved a little slower, more deliberate, first kneading your bare breasts before taking each one to his mouth, swirling his tongue in a way that made you arch your chest into him. He trailed his finger tips down the middle of your stomach to the waistband of your underwear and snapped it against your skin, smirking when you yelped. He continued over your mound to your clothed core and pressed the digits into your center, feeling your wetness moisten the fabric.

“Jesus,” He breathed, “You are so wet.”

You thought about how it was probably because you had wanted this so badly ever since the first time, and had touched yourself to thoughts of him for weeks after that, but instead all that left you was a shaky moan.

“I bet you thought about this a lot.” He said smugly, as if he’d read your thoughts. He started to work over you in circles, and you hated that there was still a flimsy layer of cloth between your skin and his, but it was on purpose for him.

He came back up closer to your face, “I know I did.”  He said before consuming you in a kiss.

“Being around you all the time, having to stop myself from thinking about what it feels like to be inside you.” He said quietly against your mouth as the kiss ended, his fingers still moving over your clit through the completely soaked fabric.

You mewled and raised your hips, quietly pleading for more. He took the hint, letting his two fingers slid down to pull your underwear to one side so they could stroke your folds, just outside your entrance. The digits glided with ease through your juices, and he reveled in the way you glistened on his skin. He groaned as he looked down between you, pausing to raise his hand to his mouth and taste you. He stared up at you as he did so, eyes glazed over with lust, and the sight made you suck in a lungful of air.

“Please,” You said in a voice much higher than your typical one, giving him a desperate look that seemed to entice him further. He dipped down and buried his face between your thighs and you let out a sound of both surprise and pleasure, throwing your head back and threading your hands into his hair.

He lapped at your clit and along your folds, eagerly consuming every part of you, letting his prepped fingers find their way inside you during the process. You clawed at the pillow and rocked your hips into his face, riding every wave toward release, which hit you hard and had you whimpering and calling out his name.

He hardly gave you a seconds rest before he pulled himself up, shoved what little clothing he had left down, and sank himself inside your still throbbing core. He let out a deep, unsteady groan as you took all of him in, and he could feel the last pulses of your orgasm around his cock. 

He just held himself there for a moment, eyes closed, panting and waiting for you to come down. Once your heart rate returned to normal, he opened his eyes and stared down at you as he pulled back and out, then slammed himself all the way back in.

You reached up for him on instinct, yelping at the jolt of his thrust, pleading with your eyes for him to do it again. When that wasn’t enough, you spoke up.

“Fuck me.” You said, digging your nails into his shoulders. “Fuck me as hard as you want.”

He bowed forward and moaned at your words, unable to deny such a request. He worked himself up to a hard yet steady rhythm, and the bed creaked and swayed underneath you.

Still, you could tell he was holding back, the depth of his gaze a clear indication of that.

“Harder,” You insisted, narrowing your eyes at him, one hand reaching over head to brace yourself against the headboard.

He fell forward, one of his hands circling your throat as he came down toward your face. “Are you sure?” He panted, more as a challenge than a question.

You nodded, eyes wide and needy, “I can take it.”

He let out a breathless laugh, “I’m going to fucking ruin you.”

With that, he curled into you, giving himself the leverage he needed to fuck you as hard as he was able to, the headboard now slamming incessantly into the wall, and it was a good thing there weren’t any neighbors nearby, if not for that than for the sobs and wails that he elicited out of you. You didn’t simply grip him now, but tore into his skin vicious red lines along his back and shoulders.

You felt something welling up inside you, but you didn’t think it was actually possible. You had never orgasmed like this before, and especially not more than once in a night. You had always assumed you weren’t able to, until now, when it was very obvious you were working your way toward that very thing. You tightened your thighs around his hips and your eyes slammed shut, and the hand around your throat gave one little squeeze before his thumb pushed over your jaw and chin.

“Are you going to come for me again?” He asked, switching up his pace to make sure his thrusts were deeper and more purposeful. “I can feel you swelling around my cock. How bad do you want it?”

He was such a merciless tease, that even in a time like this he could mentally torture you further, and you loved it.

You forced your eyes open and choked out a response. “So bad, please let me come.”

He had total control over you, his motions slowing down just enough to keep you on the edge. “You’re asking my permission?” He said with a devilish smirk. “Mm, I like that. Ask me again.”

You felt like you were losing your mind, your body going through things it had never felt before, and yet you couldn’t do anything about it, not unless you begged for it.

“Please, make me come. I want to come for you.” You pulled at him, rolling your hips up and onto him in a way that made him moan out unexpectedly. He paused for a moment, the motion clearly taking him off-guard and almost making him lose it. In retaliation, he pulled your hands off him and pinned them back, slowly building up his pace again.

“Don’t come until I tell you to,” He growled, quickening his thrusts, pushing you toward the edge again. You flexed your fingers , tugging at your arms just to test it and letting out a hum of approval when you felt how tight his grip was.

You got back to the point of frenzy from before, only now it was much harder to keep quiet since you were fighting against your own instincts to let yourself go. Now your arms tugged of their own accord as you chanted “please, please,”, not able to form any other words.

“You can come,” He finally said, his voice strained as he neared his own end. “Come with me.”

Your back arched as the orgasm hit you before he could even finish speaking. Unable to hold you down by your wrists, he instead threaded his fingers through yours and gripped your hands, moaning out his release against your neck, pressing himself all the way inside you and letting your inner muscles keep him there.

He fell against your trembling body and it took a long time for you both to feel coherent again. You were drenched in sweat and each others fluids, scratch marks long his skin and you flushed with redness around your neck and wrists.

You were mentally, emotionally, and physically spent, and yet more deeply satisfied in all arenas than you had been in years. After washing up, you both laid your weary bones back down on the bed, Changkyun holding you close and stroking your skin, soothing the parts of you he had been so rough with before. 

“That was intense.” He said after a long moment of quiet, and you let out a weak laugh.

“But I liked it,” You added, and he nodded. “Me too,”

You talked a little longer, but eventually fell into a much needed sleep, and the next morning he snuck you out the front door.

This became more of a routine thing, that actually made working together much more bearable. You met up at least once a week to have mind-blowing sex that challenged you both in all your senses. Neither one of you understood exactly what it was, but you tried not to question it. The times you did talk about it, you decided it wasn’t quite romantic but it wasn’t just an easy lay either. It was something in-between, some kind of odd connection that relieved all your stress and opened up new thoughts and feelings. You decided not to think about it too much.

It, of course, had to be kept a secret, and the others were none the wiser.

Or so you thought.

Little did you know, someone from the sidelines had slowly come to see it. Maybe if it had been anyone else they wouldn’t have noticed, but their burgeoning crush on you from the moment you signed on with the company made them painfully aware that something was going on.

Jooheon had seen the way the two of you talked, when all he had wanted to do was admire you from afar. At first he thought it was his imagination, something brought on by jealousy of how close you seemed. Yet, the longer he watched the more apparent it became. Changkyun could flirt, but he didn’t look at everyone like that. Only you.

Jooheon tried his best to ignore it, but he burned up inside every single time. He had to grit his teeth and keep himself from falling into a sulk every time you even glanced at Changkyun with that dazed, dewy look in your eyes.

There was another layer underneath that basic emotion, though. He couldn’t bring himself to be angry at his best friend, he adored him too much, and had developed a closeness to him that went beyond brotherhood. Thus, Jooheon felt a confusing dose of envy and want. He didn’t just want you, he wanted whatever it was you two had.  

He wanted to be apart of it.

[enbyleighlines]

Modern au drabble prompt - some sort of family celebration with the 'jin' sibs? I really liked the idea of them getting to grow up together in this version (no im not still crying over how they all ended in canon sssshhhhhh)

Absolutely! I would be delighted to write about the Jin siblings!

I also am always crying over how they ended up in canon! I just want good things for all of them! Jin Zixuan, especially, deserves all the love

I hope you enjoy this little Jin sib drabble~

—

Tonight, the Ouyang-Meng-Luo-Mo family is hosting a graduation celebration. More specifically, they’re celebrating Mo Hou earning a two-year university degree. At age 16, she had gotten pregnant, dropped out of high school, and got kicked out of her home, only to be taken in by her abusive older half-sister.

Now, seven years later, Mo Hou is celebrating her triumph over all the tragedies of her past. It involves a lot of wine and karaoke, and other things that thirteen-year-old Jin Zixuan doesn’t quite understand the appeal of.

This is why he is hunkered in the next room over, with his three siblings, and the three Jiang siblings.

They’re attempting to play a game of monopoly. It’s a little hard to concentrate, though, with all the whooping and hollering going on in the living room.

Still, there’s something comforting about the routine. The seven of them have become their own entity over the course of the last three years, like a street gang of child hooligans, but for the suburbs.

Jin Zixuan is the leader, although he’s only the second oldest. Jiang Yanli, who is the actual oldest, allows him to be in charge, because she has a crush on him.

Third oldest is Wei Wuxian, Jiang Yanli’s adoptive brother. Only five days younger is Jiang Cheng, Jiang Yanli’s brother by blood. Both of the boys are twelve, the same age as Meng Yao, Jin Zixuan’s first half-brother.

Second youngest is eleven year old Qin Su, Jin Zixuan’s half-sister. And last is little Mo Xuanyu, Jin Zixuan’s second half- brother, who is only nine.

Jiang Yanli is keeping track of the rules and the paper money.

Jin Zixuan is winning. It’s not like he has tough competition. Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng are playing as one team, and they keep making risky decisions that come back to bite them in the butt. Meng Yao and Qin Su make up another team, and they’re not taking any risks at all.

Mo Xuanyu is also technically on Jin Zixuan’s team, but he isn’t contributing anything to the game. He just silently clings to Jin Zixuan’s side like a baby koala.

After being sent to jail for a third time, Jiang Cheng loses his infamous temper. He attempts to throw his team’s stack of money down at the board, which only causes it to scatter every which way. “This game sucks,” he snaps, “Let’s play something else!”

“A-Cheng,” Jiang Yanli chastises, “There’s no reason to make a mess.”

“You’re such a sore loser,” Jin Zixuan says to Jiang Cheng, and then to Jiang Yanli, “You baby him too much.”

Both Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian bristle at that, equally offended.

Qin Su is already moving to tidy up the mess of papers. She hums as she works, a habit of stress masquerading as ditziness. “It’s okay,” she assures everyone, “It’s just a game. I was getting bored, anyway.”

“Always playing the peacemaker, A-Su,” Meng Yao teases, but he moves to help her sort the paper bills.

But Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian, ever the spoiled little brats, aren’t mollified.

“You think Jiejie babies us too much?” Jiang Cheng asks, in a low, threatening tone. “Or do you just not understand how being an older sibling works?”

“Jiang Cheng!” Yanli gasps.

Hot blood fills Jin Zixuan’s face. Unexpectedly, Jiang Cheng has hit something of a sore spot for him. He finds himself standing up.

Mo Xuanyu retreats, pressing closer to Meng Yao.

“That’s real mature,” Jin Zixuan says, “making fun of my family situation.” He feels the beginning of tears prickle his eyes, but he blinks them away. “How dare you.”

“A-Cheng, apologize!”

Jiang Cheng does not apologize. He gets to his own feet. “I wasn’t making fun of your family situation,” he doubles down, “I’m saying that you don’t know anything about being an oldest sibling!”

“Jiang Cheng has a point,” Wei Wuxian puts in, always coming to his adoptive brother’s side, “If Jiejie babies us, it’s only because she loves us!”

“Okay, okay, that’s enough,” Jiang Yanli desperately tries to calm everyone down.

“Are you saying I don’t love my siblings?” The words leave Jin Zixuan’s mouth before he can think them through. “Just— just because I don’t treat them like babies?”

“What’s going on in there?”

That comes from Yu Ziyuan, the Jiang siblings’s mother. She’s standing in the doorway, glowering in at all of them. Her rage does not discriminate between innocent and guilty, does not give a damn about “who started it”.

Everyone falls silent under her watchful eyes.

The silence is Yu Ziyuan’s desired reaction. She quirks a small, satisfied smile and says, “Good. That’s what I like to hear.” And then she leaves to rejoin the party.

But Jin Zixuan is still hurting. He gives the monopoly board a kick and rushes off down the hall towards his room.

Once there, he slams the door and throws himself onto his bed. He can’t stop the floodgates this time. Tears and snot gush liberally from his face as he sobs as hard as he can without making noise.

He can’t let the Jiang brothers hear him. They’ll never stop teasing him if they find out he’s crying like a baby.

It’s not his fault, he thinks to himself. He’s only been an oldest sibling for four years. Before then, he was an only child. Why should he know how being a sibling works?

But even to himself, it just sounds like a lame excuse. Meng Yao, Qin Su, and Mo Xuanyu are all in the same boat, but they all act like they’ve been siblings since birth. They like each other. They already have nicknames for each other, like A-Su, Yu-er, Er-gege, and A-jie.

Jin Zixuan presses his palms to his eyes and heaves noiseless, wet breaths into his bed sheets.

Maybe Jiang Cheng is right, he thinks. Maybe he isn’t meant to be an oldest sibling. Maybe he doesn’t know what that means. Maybe... maybe his siblings don’t even like him.

Jin Zixuan is only barely calming down when, ten minutes later, there is a tentative knock at his door.

Oh great, Jin Zixuan thinks. That must be Jiang Yanli.

She’s such a silly girl, with such an annoying, obvious crush. It gives Jin Zixuan second-hand embarrassment whenever he talks to her. It’s the last thing he needs.

But then a voice speaks through the door, and it’s not Jiang Yanli’s voice.

“Zixuan? Zixuan, can we come in?”

The voice belongs to Meng Yao, of all people. And... did he say ‘we’?

“Who’s we?” Jin Zixuan demands.

“Me, and A-Su, and Yu-er,” Meng Yao replies, “Just us three.”

His three siblings. Jin Zixuan hurriedly wipes his face dry on a pillow, and then tosses the soiled pillow aside. He sits on the edge of the bed, and steels his expression. “Come in.”

Meng Yao opens the door, and Qin Su and Mo Xuanyu rush forward. They both leap up onto Jin Zixuan’s bed, and huddle up close on either side, sandwiching him.

“You’re not a bad Da-gege,” Qin Su speaks first, “Jiang Cheng was wrong to say you’re a bad big sibling.”

Jin Zixuan freezes at the term. Qin Su usually only ever uses it at her mother’s insistence. Usually, he’s just plain old Jin Zixuan to her. Maybe ‘Zixuan’ by itself, if he’s lucky.

The sudden fear that Qin Su is being inauthentic crawls up Jin Zixuan’s spine. He pushes her away, but softly. “Since when do you call me ‘Da-gege’?”

Meng Yao heaves a great big sigh. “See, this is what Jiang Cheng meant.”

Jin Zixuan freezes. Meng Yao is usually so polite, that this sudden accusation throws him off guard. “What did you say?”

“I said Jiang Cheng was right,” Meng Yao repeats in no uncertain terms, “You don’t know how to be the oldest sibling. Your Meimei just called you Da-gege, and you push her away.”

“She didn’t mean it,” Jin Zixuan accuses.

“Yes, I did!” Qin Su actually sounds angry for once. “It’s just... you always look so mad when I call you that!”

“Me, too.” That comes from little Mo Xuanyu, who, even at the age of nine, rarely speaks. He’s a strange boy, even stranger than the ever-cheerful Qin Su or the eerily intelligent Meng Yao.

“Huh?” Jin Zixuan asks dumbly.

“I want you call you Da-gege,” Mo Xuanyu answers, mumbling as per usual.

“You... want to call me Da-gege?” Jin Zixuan looks from Mo Xuanyu to Qin Su. It sounds too good to be true. Surely they were just saying it to avoid angering their mothers, who are always afraid of being seen as a broken family.

But Meng Yao shares a different way of looking at things. “Why wouldn’t they?” He asks, “Aren’t you our Da-gege?”

Jin Zixuan scowls, but he doesn’t reply. He feels like he’s been put in his place, and he doesn’t like it. At the same time, though, he feels... happy. He’s happy to think that maybe his siblings actually DO like him.

“You can call me A-Su, if you want,” Qin Su adds, “or... at least call me Meimei!”

That last request hits Jin Zixuan like an electric shock. He stares at Qin Su. A thought enters his head for the first time. All this time, he’s been afraid that his siblings secretly don’t like him. Is it possible that they have been having the same doubts about him?

Jin Zixuan takes in a deep breath, and forces himself not to tear up again. “Okay,” he says, “I’ll... I’ll call you A-Su from now on.”

“And me!” Mo Xuanyu pleads, grabbing onto his arm and tugging. “Call me Yu-er!”

“Okay,” Jin Zixuan says, dazed, “Yu-er.”

Mo Xuanyu beams, showing off his missing front teeth. He lost them a couple of days ago after running into a tree, playing tag with Qin Su. It somehow makes him look more like himself, in a weird way.

“And you can call me whatever you want to call me,” Meng Yao pipes in, “I would like to call you Da-ge, myself.”

Jin Zixuan watches Meng Yao, taken aback. But he is often confused by the things that Meng Yao says. They are exactly one year apart in age, as they share the same birthday. But Meng Yao seems older, somehow, like he was meant to be born first.

“You should call him A-Yao,” Qin Su suggests, “That’s what his Mama calls him.”

“Only if he wants to,” Meng Yao insists.

Jin Zixuan is speechless for a moment. His throat is tightening, making it harder to breathe. He wants to say: Yes, of course I want to! But that would be childish, and Jin Zixuan is the oldest. He has to be a good example.

“I’ll call you A-Yao from now on,” Jin Zixuan decides.

Meng Yao smiles and nods his head once, in a strangely formal sort of way. “I would like that very much, Da-ge,” he replies.

Man, his siblings are so weird! Jin Zixuan looks from one to the other.

A-Yao acts so stiff, like he’s got the personality of an old man, wise beyond his years. A-Su is too quirky, too joyful, like she’s afraid the world will end if she allows herself to be sad for even a second. And little Yu-er is weirdly quiet, but clumsy, like he’s still learning how to walk.

Jin Zixuan isn’t mature enough yet to realize that their oddities come from trauma. He just knows that they’re strange, but they’re his, and he loves them.

So he gathers Qin Su and Mo Xuanyu closer, just for a moment, just to indulge in a quick thank-you hug.

And Meng Yao surprises Jin Zixuan yet again by stepping forward, and putting his arms around all of them. He buries his face into Qin Su’s hair, avoiding eye contact as he squeezes them all affectionately.

It’s not until later that Jin Zixuan figures out that Jiang Yanli encouraged his siblings to come and talk with him. That she always saw through his prideful outer skin, to the insecurities hidden below. She’s the one who explained to his siblings that they needed to make their thoughts and feelings obvious, in order to get them through his thick skull.

By that point, Jin Zixuan is in love with her. But that doesn’t happen until much later.

[gossamie]

the one, defined.

summary — The day Jimin’s name appears on the back of your hand will be the happiest day of your life. This is what you believe until you meet Taehyung.

pairing — kim taehyung x park jimin x reader

genre — angst + fluff

word count — 7,348

warnings — vomiting & gagging, subtle mentions of alcohol

notes — is this long overdue? yes. have i been horrible at writing consistenly lately? yes. will this make up for it? maybe.

well hi yes i am back with a real thicc boi of a story! i have been DYING to write a hanahaki au ever since i read inktae’s blue orchids, which is the first fic i ever read on tumblr and what inspired me to open my own writing account! i definitely had some creative liberties with the hanahaki au, but i tried to stick to its basic concept as much as possible. i hope you guys enjoy ♡

p.s. disclaimer: i do not own the hanahaki concept.

p.p.s. thanks again to @louvresdemiel aka the one person i literally cannot imagine writing without! love you so much!!

You have always hated the color black. Hated the way it looked on you, hated the way it stained the night sky, hated the way it reminded you of darkness and mourning and melancholia and the achingly beautiful feeling of nothing.

But his name will materialize onto your skin one day, and those nine black letters will be the most beautiful sight you’ve ever seen.

This is the only thought that fills your head as you watch Jimin get down on one knee and open a small velvet box containing a diamond ring.

It’s hard to see Jimin clearly through the tears blurring your vision, but you can see that he’s all hopeful eyes and beaming smiles and trembling fingers and it only makes you fall for him even harder. Such a sight is one that you’ve only dreamed of seeing since you fell in love with Jimin two years ago. The day you met is still vivid, bright, wondrous in your memory, and you rewind each beautiful minute in your mind like a reel of film: the red umbrella that abruptly appeared above your head and sheltered you from the rain, the bashful grin that grew on Jimin’s lips, the shy introductions shared between the two of you, the way you looked into his eyes as he walked you home and knowing that marrying him would be a dream.

The memory is enough to make your tears turn into waterfalls because your dreams have finally come true.

When Jimin asks you to marry him, you say yes, yes, I would say yes to you for an eternity if I could, and he kisses you breathlessly amidst the flowering daffodils.

You ignore the fact that Jimin’s name hasn’t appeared on your hand yet.

“Well, it looks like Fate has brought us another star-crossed couple!”

A pink blush blooms on your cheeks at the exclamation as you embrace yet another one of Jimin’s wealthy relatives whose name you still don’t know. Your grateful smile never falters, however; it was Jimin’s family, after all, that was able to throw such a lavish engagement party in such a short amount of time. Jimin was as captivated as you were by the opulence of the venue when the two of you came earlier that day to help your future father-in-law set up the party, and when your fiancé asked if you liked it— the crystal chandelier bathing the banquet hall with a golden glow, the red velvet draped across the ceiling, and the seemingly endless bouquets of white roses that cover every blank space of the walls— you only nodded, smiled a little brighter, held his hand a little tighter.

But this was not what you wanted; you hated it all. This is not the intimate gathering that you thought you and Jimin agreed upon. This is all too many people and too many unfamiliar faces and this is all too much. This is not what you wanted, but you didn’t have the heart to tell him.

So this is how you remain: walking around the grand venue to thank both you and Jimin’s family members for coming to the party, resisting the urge to peel off the itchy lace dress that’s too tight in too many places your soon-to-be mother-in-law bought for you, and wishing to spend this day anywhere but here. It takes all of your energy to keep a lovely smile plastered on your face and even more of your patience to keep talking to the people who only acknowledge your existence when you come home with Jimin for the holidays, but you do it all for him, for the man that you love.

Your frustration reaches its peak when you hear the umpteenth reassurance of feigned sympathy and his name will be on the palm of your hand before you know it, don’t you worry and you’re about to tell Jimin that you need to get a breath of fresh air when he spots a guest standing by the desserts table and excitedly rushes over to greet them, leaving you to silently follow him.

“I can’t believe you’re here! I’m so glad you could make it,” your fiancé exclaims, tightly enclosing the stranger in an embrace. Several words are exchanged before Jimin turns around to look at you, as if he just remembered that you existed. “Oh— Y/N, this is Taehyung. We’ve been best friends since we were little kids, but he just moved back into the neighborhood. Taehyung, this is Y/N, my fiancée.”

He’s beautiful.

The thought pops in your head before you can stop it, its appearance so unexpected it is alarming, but it is impossible to deny his attractive looks; there is not one feature of Taehyung’s face that wasn’t filled with irresistible allure, that wasn’t crafted by the heavens to otherworldly perfection, that wasn’t made to be loved.

What’s more alarming to you, however, is the fact that Taehyung looks like someone that was made to be loved by you.

Taehyung must be utterly oblivious to your distress because he only looks at you with a boxy grin as he holds out his hand for you to shake. “So you’re the girl that Jimin never stops talking about. It’s nice to meet you, Y/N.”

A nod is the only response you can muster because, as you take Taehyung’s hand, the carefully crafted smile on your face starts to slip as something in your heart shifts. There is no name for the emotion you are feeling, but it’s something, and it’s accompanied by clammy hands and electricity coursing down your spine and fire in your veins.

Something in your stomach violently lurches. You realize that if you stay here any longer— if you stay with Taehyung any longer— you’re going to be sick.

You say something that sounds vaguely similar to an excuse to use the bathroom and try not to make your haste for the door too obvious, ignoring any relative who tries to congratulate you on your engagement. The moment you leave the banquet hall, your footsteps hasten towards the restroom, throwing open the nearest stall before you collapse over the toilet and empty the contents of your stomach, the sound of your retching reverberating off the linoleum walls.

When you finally lift your head up after what feels like an eternity spent in agonizing pain, you look in the toilet bowl not to find vomit, but— but…

Flower petals.

Bright, yellow petals.

They grasp the sides of the toilet bowl, litter the white tiles under your knees, hang limply from your lips. You pick one up, admiring the way its velvety softness feels against the pad of your thumb, and marvel at how such a beautiful, miniscule thing will surely lead to your death.

Something that looks eerily similar to your own handwriting on the palm of your hand catches your eye. You look at it once to count the number of letters.

Not nine black letters, but eleven red letters.

You do not need to look at it again to know that it is not Jimin’s name on your palm.

You don’t leave your apartment for the next two days.

It’s fear that keeps you rooted to your bed, that tells you to leave Jimin’s endless calls and texts unanswered, that averts your eyes from the sinful red that deforms the palm of your hand. You fear meeting Taehyung again; you’re certain that if you were to look into his warm brown eyes again, you’ll purge all the yellow petals fluttering in your stomach onto his feet.

When you do allow yourself to spare a glance at Taehyung’s name written in red, you try to imagine Jimin’s name in black in its place, imagine what it would be like if Fate hadn’t been so cruel and had given you your true soulmate. You have even resorted to writing over his name with a pen for hours on end, fawning over your attempt to drown out the scarlet with obsidian.  

But the pen’s ink is not the universe’s tattoo; it is as impermanent as the white roses that have withered away after the engagement party, and when you look at your hand after you exit the shower and realize that Jimin’s name is nothing but a smear against the crimson, you find yourself hating the color black all over again.

For the time being, as you wait for the stars to realign and for Destiny to stop working in its devilish ways, you allow yourself to be consumed by your love for Jimin until the memory of Taehyung’s deep voice is nothing more than a whisper, no matter how many times the mere thought of ignoring Taehyung makes you vomit yellow.

You continue to be oblivious to your pain until the third day, when Jimin shows up at your doorstep and invites you to come with him to Taehyung’s housewarming party, and at first, the petals that reel in your stomach at the mention of his name is enough to make you say no. But that something in your heart shifts again, begs you to be closer, closer to Taehyung until all you think is how much you need to be next to him and all you say is “Yes”.

When you arrive at the party, however, you make it your goal to avoid Taehyung at all costs by staying close to Jimin. Listening to Jimin as he chats with new and old friends alike, chiming in to introduce yourself every once in a while, taking far too many sips of the drink in your hand as you continue to act as the fly on the wall— you do anything to distract yourself from the flowers that scrape the sides of your throat and the man that makes your heart beat wildly at the thought of his smile.

You begin to think that staying next to Jimin tonight might not have been the best idea in the world when your fiancé finds Taehyung in the living room and starts up a conversation with him.

You know that staying next to Jimin was the worst idea in the world when, in the middle of his conversation, your fiancé says that he’s going to get another drink, forcing you to be in a conversation with him.

In one second, Jimin is seemingly ignoring your eyes, which silently beg him not to go please don’t leave me alone with someone I don’t want to fall in love with, as he turns his back towards you and makes his way to the kitchen.

In two seconds, it’s just you and Taehyung.  

This moment— where Taehyung is looking at you and you’re looking at your feet and at your hands and at the ceiling and everywhere but him— is the one moment you’ve been attempting to avoid all night. You try not to think too hard about the silence that suffocates the two of you, nor do you try to to think too hard about how close you’re standing to him, nor do you try to think too hard about the electricity that surges through the air and crackles in your ears and sets fire to your heart until it is nothing but ashes.

You wonder if Taehyung is thinking about you, too.

Breaking the silence, Taehyung asks, “Are you excited about the wedding?”

“Yes!” you quickly reply, but the answer is more forceful than you would’ve liked, so you add, “I guess I’ve always known that Jimin was the one.”

You feel like you’re lying.

“Do… do you have someone like that? You know, ‘the one’?” you ask in return.

Don’t say yes don’t say yes why don’t I want him to say yes—

“No,” he responds. You stop yourself from sighing in relief. “I’d like to, though. I’ve always wanted to look at someone and think to myself, ‘That person’s going to be my soulmate.’” Taehyung gives you a soft smile. “It must be nice, huh? To feel that way about Jimin.”

You should answer him. You should play the role of an excited bride-to-be, say that you’re happy to spend this next chapter of your life with your soulmate even though the horrible red lie on your palm says otherwise.

But you can’t, because you’re transfixed by the way a medley of felicity and longing fills his eyes. You can see the universe woven into the depths of his pupils, hear the wistful desire in his voice, feel the scarlet on the palm of your hand burn, and you simultaneously want to leave as quickly as you can and stay for as long as possible.

So you don’t answer him. You’re not sure if you should feel shameful or grateful.

Suddenly, Taehyung’s cheeks begin to bloom with red roses, his eyes becoming suddenly fascinated by an imaginary speck of dust on his shoe. “So it’s been like ten years since I’ve lived here and I’m not sure how much has changed or stayed the same so I was wondering if you could show me around town or something like it’s no big deal if you don’t want to I was just—”

You can’t help but chuckle at the awkward fumble of his words. “I’d love to give you a tour of the town, Taehyung,” you answer, to which he responds with his beaming, boxy smile.

The two of you agree to meet the day after tomorrow as you and Jimin have booked an appointment with the florist tomorrow afternoon for the wedding, and you leave the party with the same thought as you did at the engagement party: it would be so, so easy to fall in love with Taehyung, and maybe— just maybe— it wouldn’t be so bad to fall for him.

The thought makes you throw up yellow petals the moment you get home.

“Y/N, what do you think?”

You blink, turning your head towards Jimin as he raises a brow, waiting for a response. You haven’t been listening to the conversation for the past few minutes; your attention is still focused on the stars that fill Taehyung’s eyes and the way they make petals churn in your stomach.

“Sorry, I just got lost in thought.” For all the wrong reasons. “What’s the question?”

“The calla lilies,” Jimin repeats, gesturing to the table in front of you. “Do you like them?”

You follow his gaze to the said table, where the florist is arranging the calla lilies into a flourishing bouquet of flowers. With the way the blossoms are set against the baby breath and the daffodils, they’re gorgeous, yes, but though they are the embodiment of purity and innocence, the simplicity of their beauty does not charm you, does not capture your heart, not in the way that Taehyung does.

I can’t stop thinking about him I need to stop thinking about him why do I keep thinking about him?

“They’re nice” is all that you reply.

Jimin is as unsatisfied with your answer as you are, so he asks the florist, “Do you have any more selections to choose from?”

“Let’s see… we do have some unconventional options that are not necessarily popular for weddings, but beautiful, nonetheless,” she responds, momentarily disappearing somewhere in the corners of her shop before producing even more flowers. “Might I suggest these? I think they would pair beautifully with the lavender.”

You look at the blooms in her hand and it takes everything in your power to push down the nausea rising in your throat.

That’s your flower.

The brilliant, golden petals that outshine the pearl and the amethyst and the topaz— those are your petals, and you know those are your petals because you see them caught in the locks of your hair and stuck to the skin of your bare feet and strewn across the floor of your bathroom when you throw them up every single night.

Jimin takes the question you would have inevitably asked right off of your tongue. “What are they called?”

“Yellow chrysanthemums. They’re quite pretty, no?”

Yellow chrysanthemums. The two words do not leave your head, repeat themselves over again.

Yellow chrysanthemums. Your flower is the yellow chrysanthemum.

“By any chance,” you ask, “do you know what yel— what they represent? I’d like for them not to just compliment with the other flowers’ appearance, but in meaning, too.” You marvel at how difficult it was for you to choke out the words, at how easy it was for you to let the lie slip from your lips.

“Well, on their own, chrysanthemums symbolize joy, long life, and fidelity, but yellow chrysanthemums specifically symbolizes slighted love.” The florist pauses for a moment. “On second thought, they may not be the best flower to put in wedding bouquets. How about white chrysanthemums? They represent truth and loyal love, which is perfect for a devoted couple such as yourselves.”

As Jimin opts for the white chrysanthemums and moves on to discuss the centerpiece arrangements, you look down to your intertwined hands perched on his knee. The back of your left hand is turned upwards, and you can see how the diamonds in your engagement ring glint and refract white light. They taunt you for the lies festering away in your heart, chasten you for the love that is growing for someone else, mock you until your right hand recedes further into the sleeve of your sweater.

But you accept the torment. This is your existence, after all; you are a glitch, and that’s all you’ll ever be.

Later, when you vomit yellow petals for the fourth time that night, you wish that the chrysanthemums were white.

You shouldn’t be as happy as you are to see Taehyung when he picks you up the next day, but the friendly, generic smile you have carefully painted on your lips does not match the excitement that makes you skip to Taehyung’s car. When he asks you where you think you should go, you mention some of the more interesting areas of the neighborhood, like the downtown area or the movie theater or the coffee shop that you frequent every mo—

“Okay,” Taehyung interrupts, “but that’s where other people want to go, and, frankly, I’m not really interested in other people. I want to know where you think we should go.”

And he looks at you— really looks at you— in a way that no one has ever looked at you before. He looks at you with such wonder and awe that it alights the galaxies in his eyes and sends the stars spiralling. He looks at you as if he has never seen anything so perfect, and for a moment, you let yourself believe that every single part of you— each flawed, tainted, and deformed part of you— is perfect, too.

You are the center of Taehyung’s universe, and you are beautiful.

Jimin has never looked at you like that before.

You push the thought aside and give Taehyung the directions to the botanical gardens.

Dusk begins to make its presence known to the sky when you arrive, the clouds dipped in soft hues of cerulean and merigold. The dying rays of light kiss the peonies and the irises that tickle your feet as they bend to the gentle breeze. You lead Taehyung down the winding path, strolling past the lily pads dancing across the surface of a nearby pond, past the archway woven with blush roses, past the patch of yellow chrysanthemums that you can’t bring yourself to look at.

“Why did you take me here?” Taehyung quietly asks, cocking his head slightly as he looks at you.

“I come here whenever I need a moment to myself, or whenever I need to just think. I like how peaceful it is here. It’s nothing like the rest of the neighborhood.” You pause. Then, “Jimin and I used to go here all the time. We liked to call it our little secret, but we haven’t been here since… well, since—”

Since he proposed to me.

The unspoken words linger on the tip of your tongue. You can’t bring yourself to finish your sentence.

“But why don’t the two of you come here anymore?”

To be honest, you don’t know either, but you reply with, “Jimin became so busy with going to work and getting his doctorate that he just stopped coming.” It’s an excuse you’ve said so often that you’ve become numb to how sad the words make you feel.

If Taehyung can at all detect the automated nature of your answer, if he is at all disturbed by that fact, he doesn’t show it. He only offers you a kind smile in return for your words. “Thank you, then,” he says, “for sharing your secret with me.”

I feel so guilty I deserve to feel guilty why do I feel so guilty?

The petals that threaten to spill onto your feet stop you from saying anything else and make you walk faster.

An ivory gazebo hidden under the canopy of towering trees lies at the end of the path. You guide Taehyung up the steps, taking in the view before you as you lean against the railing. From your vantage point, you watch as the amber rays of the sun bleed into the violet haze of the sky. It is the same sun that watched you and Jimin all those months ago, when he took you by the hand and led you into the field of daffodils, when he told you that I love you more than you know and there is nothing to this life if you aren’t in it. It is the same sun that watched you and Jimin as he asked you to marry him, when you and Jimin became something more than lovers.

It is the same sun that is watching you with the wrong man.

The sound of Taehyung’s contented sigh breaks you from your reverie, and you are only then made aware of how fast your heart is filling with shame. “I see what you mean now,” he comments, propping his head on his cupped palm. “When you said how peaceful it is here. I’d stay here forever, actually, if I had the choice.”

You laugh and tell him how happy you are that he agrees, ignoring the voice in your mind that was about to tell him how much you’d like to stay here with him forever, too, if you had the choice.

Then, you and Taehyung fall into silence, your eyes fixed on the sun as it melts into the horizon. The two of you do not feel obligated to talk; both you and Taehyung feel at ease sitting in this comfortable yet electrifying stillness.

Time passes, and you and Taehyung stay together as the sky deepens to black. Yet, there is an unshakable feeling of wrong that remains constant, that stems in your stomach and sprouts in your chest and blooms in your lungs until you feel as if you might suffocate from the petals scratching at the edges of your throat because this gazebo belongs to you and Jimin; this garden belongs to you and Jimin. This is Jimin’s piece of your heart, and it is not yours to give away.

But an overwhelming, deafening feeling of right drowns out the wrong because you do not feel as if you are giving anything away. It is as if this gazebo, this garden, this piece of your heart was all Taehyung’s from the very beginning.

Months waltz by in a pink haze. More often than not, when you’re not talking with the wedding planner about the potential venues and the ever-growing guest list, your days are spent with Taehyung in the gazebo surrounded by daffodils. In the time that the two of you spend together, he learns of all of your little peculiarities, just as you learn about his. He learns that you love the feeling of freshly-washed hair and newly-shaved legs, that you actually enjoy pineapple on your pizza, and that you particularly— and, admittedly, strangely— enjoy watching mixed martial arts in your free time. You learn that he loves to search for music that no one listens to, that he can only drink one glass of beer before he gets drunk, and that he can climb a tree but can’t climb back down, among the many, many things that make it harder for you not to fall for him.

But these odd conversations sometimes grow into something more personal, something more than it should be, and you find yourselves revealing to each other things that were once untold truths. He tells you of his fear of his future, a future where being surrounded by so many people is meaningless if he continues to become consumed by this paralyzing loneliness. He tells himself that he doesn’t need someone to love to make him happy, that he doesn’t need to be in such a hurry to find love, but maybe the moment that he’ll find his soulmate’s name on his palm is coming a little too slowly and maybe the day when he can call someone his lover to finally ease the hollow pit in his heart isn’t coming fast enough God, I just wish it would come faster.

You tell him of your fear of your future— or, more specifically, your fear of your future with Jimin. It’s not that you don’t love him— it’s definitely not that, because you do, you really do— but maybe things are moving just a little too fast and maybe the word ‘marriage’ is transforming into the word ‘burden’ just a little too quickly and two years was not enough time to decide that being with Jimin until death did you part was the dream you wanted.

You don’t tell him that your love for Jimin is fading with each passing day.

And it is when all of these thoughts are released from your mind in one unsteady breath that Taehyung looks at you— really looks at you— and, after some thought, asks you, “Y/N, why did you fall in love with Jimin?”

You wish you didn’t have such a hard time finding a reason, but you are, so you simply reply with “He’s perfect.”

“Just because he’s perfect doesn’t mean he’s perfect for you.”

Taehyung’s words haunt you, follow you to the next evening, when a text from him— along with several others— lights up your phone screen as you eat dinner without your fiancé for the second night in a row.

[05:13 P.M.] taehyung: Y/N

[05:14 P.M.] taehyung: Y/N

[05:14 P.M.] taehyung: helloOOOOooo Y/N

[05:16 P.M.] y/n: um yes? you rang???

[05:17 P.M.] taehyung: meet me at the gardens

[05:17 P.M.] taehyung: like

[05:18 P.M.] taehyung: right now

[05:19 P.M.] y/n: now? why?

[05:20 P.M.] taehyung: i have a surprise for you

[05:20 P.M.] taehyung: and it won’t be a surprise anymore if you don’t come quick so hurry!!

When you arrive at the gazebo, you find Taehyung nervously pacing back and forth, pausing every once in a while to rearrange the LED candlelights placed along the railing that you know he bought because he can’t trust himself with actual fire. On the wooden floor below him, a checkered picnic blanket is laden with platters of food, and you note that the delicacies— including tacos, pasta, and sushi— are all your favorites; in the sky above him, the golden sun is sitting on its throne, preparing for its descent into the night.

Taehyung catches sight of you and stops his rapid footsteps. “Y/N!” he exclaims, one hand reaching to scratch the back of his neck in anxiety as he takes small, cautious steps towards you. “I know that you told me that you prefer sunsets over sunrises so I— uh… was wondering if you… wanted to watch the sunset together?”

You can only stare back at him in awe. “You remembered that?”

He scoffs, as if you had asked him the most ridiculous question he had ever heard. “How could I forget?”

“Well, it’s not the most important piece of information in the world.”

“But it’s you. Everything about you is important to me.”

You smile, and it is in this moment that you become so happy you almost forget how to breathe; it is in this moment that you realize you haven’t been this happy in a very, very long time.

“So,” Taehyung hesitantly asks, “is that a yes?”

You nod. “Yes, Taehyung, I’d love to watch the sunset with you.” I would say yes to you for an eternity if I could.

Taehyung then returns your smile with that big, beautiful boxy grin of his as he sits down on the blanket, patting the seat to his right in a gesture for you to join him. As the sun dips behind the daffodils, casual conversation quickly devolves into something that it shouldn’t be and suddenly there are words slipping from your lips that no one not even Jimin has heard before and quickly you and Taehyung are breaking off shards of yourselves to give to each other to keep and instantly you have given Taehyung your heart and strangely you are okay with it.

These few moments shared between you and Taehyung have become so intimate, far more intimate than anything you have ever experienced. Not even the memory of Jimin’s proposal stirs that something in your heart in the way that Taehyung does when he murmurs his innermost secrets into your ear, and the fact that that statement does not disturb you as greatly as it should causes the red on your palm to ignite on your skin.

This something that lingers in your heart is a white rose. It is beautiful, alluring, but there is no rose without its thorns.

The sun is beginning to dip over the horizon when Taehyung suddenly whispers, “I’m sorry, Y/N. I can’t call this a ‘surprise’, this is too simple. I wanted to do more than this— no, you deserve more than this.”

“What are you talking about?” you interject. “Taehyung, everything is perfect.”

Just as you’re perfect for me.

The words materialize in your mind unknowingly, just as Taehyung’s name appeared on your skin all those months ago, and you realize that you have never felt that way about Jimin before.

There is no time to register the shock that paralyzes you from that realization because Taehyung’s lips are moving closer and closer to yours and your heart is beating faster and faster and you want to deny how you have been secretly wanting this moment to happen and how long you have waited for these few seconds to come but you can’t and you don’t know what to make of the chaos that are your emotions.

But you look into the galaxies that fill Taehyung’s eyes, and your heart drops because you know.

You are hopelessly and endlessly in love with Kim Taehyung.

The thought is so jarring, so wrong yet so right that you must run from it.

So you do.

Before Taehyung’s lips can meet yours, you abruptly stand and shakily step back towards the gazebo steps, tripping over plates of food as you struggle to form a coherent excuse for your quick departure. Then you’re running blindly towards your car, your senses becoming a blur of tears streaming down your cheeks and wind rushing past your ears, drowning out the sound of Taehyung’s voice frantically calling out your name and Taehyung’s footsteps wildly following yours.

You left with the memory of Taehyung’s eyes, with the stars that you loved to see so much clouded by a black storm of agony.

You cannot count how many times you threw up yellow petals that night.

When you wake up the next morning, your eyes puffy and your muscles weak, the first thing you do as you look at yourself in the bathroom mirror is speak. The words you say are soft, frail, but they are there. It is a miracle that you can find your voice after the hours you’ve spent sobbing.

You need your voice; you need it to tell Jimin that you don’t love him anymore.

You don’t want to tell him, but you have to; he deserves to know the truth, the reason behind the pain you will cause him.

You do not love Park Jimin. You are hopelessly and endlessly in love with Kim Taehyung, and he deserves to know that.

Such a statement is one that needs to be said aloud, and you are about to muster up your courage and leave for your fiancé’s house when you find that he has been waiting for you on your doorstep.

Jimin’s hair is disheveled and his clothes are in a disarray. You can see his chest rising and falling rapidly, his hands shaking uncontrollably. Red rims his pupils; black hangs in circles underneath his eyes. This is not the confident, charismatic Jimin you know, and, before the words leave his mouth, you sense that something is terribly, terribly wrong.

Pushing past you, Jimin stalks into your living room, furiously pacing back and forth on the carpet. With his eyebrows furrowed and his bottom lip bitten, he seems lost within his thoughts, as if he is struggling to make sense of them, of the words he has yet to say.

Then, he turns to you.

“Y/N, why did I just throw up petals?”

You don’t respond.

“And your name… why did it appear just now?”

You don’t respond.

“Why is it red?”

You don’t respond.

“What… what’s happening to me, Y/N? Why is this happening to me? This— none of this is supposed to be happening.” He steps towards you, his eyes desperately moving across every feature of your face, searching for an answer you cannot give him. “You’re my soulmate, right?”

You respond by turning over your hand and showing Jimin the name on your palm, shame written all over your trembling fingers.

Upon sight of Taehyung’s name, Jimin vomits petals onto the living room carpet.

His flower is the daffodil.

Pain distorts Jimin’s face, warps his body until his knees buckle and his shoulders quiver from the force of emptying the petals from his stomach. Kneeling by his side, you try to ease his torment— you rub circles on the small of his back, you comb your fingers through his hair, you hold him with what little strength you have— but to no avail, because no amount of care will change the fact that you are the cause of his suffering, that you are the one person he is reminded of when he throws up daffodils, that you are the reason your name will never appear in black on his hand.

You will that something inside of you to change, to love Jimin for just one moment, to take away his pain for just one moment.

But you can’t, because the name that’s tattooed on your heart is Taehyung’s, not Jimin’s, so you are forced to look away, unable to look at the torture you unwillingly inflicted upon the man you once loved.

An eternity passes before the sounds of Jimin’s heaving fades to silence.

Then, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

You dare a glance at Jimin. His eyes, focused on yours, are brimming with tears, and you realize that they are not from the pain of his vomiting earlier.

It takes you several moments to form your answer. “I didn’t want to hurt you,” you reply.

“Knowing that you don’t love me the way I love you hurts more.”

Jimin takes a deep, shaky breath before he lifts himself up off the carpet, but shame roots you in your place. You hear his footsteps moving towards the door, then stop.

“Y/N,” he whispers, “I would’ve let you go, if Taehyung really was your soulmate. You deserve to be loved by someone, even if that person isn’t me.”

Jimin’s footsteps fade into nothingness, leaving you on your knees surrounded by daffodils.

The next time you hear from Jimin is when he calls you to tell you that he has called off the wedding.

He also tells you that he has scheduled his surgery for next week, when he will inevitably lose all the love he ever had for you.

It is a short, terse conversation, yet the pain of his words— the pain of knowing that you will never see him at the end of the aisle, the pain of knowing that the silver of your engagement ring will never be joined by the gold of a wedding band, the pain of knowing that, in a matter of days, Jimin will forget that he ever loved you— only stings when he hangs up, when you realize that they are the last words you will ever hear from him.

Jimin leaves you in silence. And you let him go without a word.

A part of you hates Jimin. Hates him for not giving you a proper goodbye. Hates him for being so cruel even in your last moments together. Hates him for not returning the piece of your heart he took two years ago.

But another part of you misses him so, so much. Misses the warmth of his body pressed against yours on cold, sleepless nights. Misses the crook in his teeth that you love so much about his smile. Misses the feeling of his breath tickling the shell of your ear when he whispered how much he loved you.

Loved. He doesn’t love you anymore. He will forget that he ever loved you.

Loved. You once loved Jimin, fallen out of love with him months ago, and yet, you can’t help but mourn what has been lost.

Weeks pass in painful, heartbreaking, mournful silence. You try to suffuse your life with white noise, distract yourself by catching up with old friends you never liked talking to, drinking until you forget when the day starts and the night ends, sleeping to avoid feeling the throbbing heartache in your chest, anything to keep your mind off of the memory of Taehyung’s anguished eyes as you ran away that night and the feeling of yellow chrysanthemum petals scratching your throat and the sound of Jimin hanging up the phone and the sight of the wedding dress you just can’t bring yourself to return.

It is still achingly silent as you exit the bathroom after vomiting bright yellow flower petals for the fifth time that day when a knock on your door resounds throughout your entire apartment. You shuffle to the front entrance and wordlessly open the door, thinking that it’s either your landlord trying to haggle you for your rent that you swear you paid three days ago or the food you ordered thirty min—

Taehyung.

Taehyung, the man that you are hopelessly and endlessly in love with, is standing at your doorstep with shaking hands and widened eyes, as if he was sure you weren’t going to answer the door, as if he was sure you were just a shadow in his memory for all these months, as if you surely don’t exist right here and right now.

“Y/N,” he breathes. You flinch at the way he makes your name sound so beautiful on his lips, at the way each syllable stirs the petals in the hollow pit of your stomach. “I—I came to see if you were okay. I… I heard about the wedding. I’m sorry about that, by the way, really. I don’t think saying that will help at all, but I know Ji— I know he meant so much to you.”

You can’t respond.

“I also came because… because I couldn’t wait any longer to see you. I don’t like not talking to you. I don’t like not being around you. I don’t like not knowing if you’re okay.”

You can’t respond.

“I understand that this isn’t the best time for me to be here right now. You need time, I get it, but I just wanted you to know that I will wait for you as long as you need to. I would wait forever for you if it meant that, at the end of forever, I could be with you.”

You can’t respond.

“I—I’m sorry, Y/N. I don’t know what I’m doing here. I shouldn’t have come,” Taehyung hurriedly mumbles, and turns around to leave.

“Wait,” you exclaim. “Please… please don’t leave. Don’t leave me alone.” It is enough to make Taehyung’s footsteps stop moving.

Suddenly, tears start to prick the corners of your eyes and words start to pour from your mouth in waterfalls. “I’m the one who should be sorry. That night… I shouldn’t have left the way that I did. I’m not afraid to be with you, Taehyung— God, if things were different, I would have kissed you right then and there and I would have stayed with you from the very beginning and I would have chosen you every single time.” You loosen a shaky breath. “I’d always choose you.”

Taehyung turns around to face you, but his focus is directed on what lies behind and below you. When you follow his gaze, a breath hitches in your throat at the sight.

A trail of chrysanthemum petals leads its way into the bathroom, each petal a ravishing, sickening yellow. Petals cling to your bare feet, stick to your skin like golden thorns.

You have never felt uglier in your entire life.

You try to avoid Taehyung’s eyes, but they ask you, plead you for an explanation, so you quietly show him your upturned palm, baring the name on your heart line in all its horrifying beauty. Your fingers twitch as he gently holds your wrist, the skin of your hand itching to pull away from Taehyung stop showing him how much of a freak you are but the pad of his thumb runs over the red letters of his name and you are a stone alight in flames under his touch.

“How long?” he whispers.

“Since the engagement party. When we first met.” The day is still vivid, bright, wondrous in your memory.

Taehyung is silent for far too long. You will him to let go of your hands, will him to let you go, will him to spit in your face and tell you that you’re nothing more than a glitch and a defect of destiny and a cursed flaw and just get it over with already—

“I should’ve told you sooner” is his only response.

You’re taken aback by the simplicity of his words. “Should’ve told me what?”

“I should’ve told you sooner that I love you, Y/N.”

Destiny watches the sun and the moon and the galaxies of the universe come to a standstill, makes time stop for the two soulmates formed from the stars.

“You… you love me?”

“Yes, Y/N, and I should’ve told you that and more because I knew that I would love you from the moment I first saw you. I should’ve told you that I love you with every single breath I have and that I will love you until I forget how to breathe and I promise you that I will never cause you so much pain again. You have my word, now and forever.”

Then, Taehyung kisses you, and he kisses you with such hunger and passion and warmth and love that it is enough to make you forget the yellow chrysanthemums, to wither the petals that suffocate you, to turn the red that mars the palm of your hand into a beautiful black.

Falling in love with Kim Taehyung— it is not the love you dreamed of having two years ago, but it is the love that you were destined for, the love that you were made for, the love that Fate had given you, now and forever.

[ichigopanhpff]

BNHA Fic: Blink! Ch. 20

We’ve reach chapter 20! Does anyone really read this thing though? lol

SPOILER ALERT: This is leading up to the Redemption Arc, so there’s a bit of spoiler to the main story here. This one is a much shorter chapter compared to the last one.

Read. Ch. 19 | Masterlist

With November coming to a close, winter was in full swing. There was always something about the cold in Japan that made Ren want to bury her body under a kotatsu and hibernate. She lethargically emerged from the her warm cocoon of her bed to get ready for class. The chill of the air made her shudder aloud and rubbed her arms furiously to stay warm. Putting on her designated “home hoodie,” she grabbed her belongings to wash up downstairs. Even after fully clothed, 1-A’s resident advisor found herself moving much slower than she liked. And her monthly visitor’s cramps did little to help. She saw Asui coming down with half-lidded eyes and yawned aloud.

“I’m sorry, ribbit,” the amphibian girl apologized and rubbed one of her eyes. “Winter is always hard for me.”

“You’re preaching to the choir, Tsuyu-chan,” Ren agreed and proceeded to boil water for some tea. “Would you like some? Maybe it’ll help wake you up.”

Asui slowly nodded and let out another yawn.

Leaning her head on the refrigerator door, the pink-haired girl found herself drifting asleep, only to be rudely woken up by Bakugou.

“If you’re gonna sleep, don’t do it somewhere where people need to grab stuff,” he exasperatingly refuted and pinched her cheek hard to get her to move.

The stinging from the pinch woke her up halfway as the electric kettle turned off automatically. Heaving a heavy sigh, she wobbled over to the other counter and made English Breakfast tea for herself and Asui. Adding a splash of milk and half a spoon of sugar, she stifled a yawn before sipping the hot beverage. She then handed the second cup to the napping frog girl, to which she thanked her for. Heaving a long sigh, she grabbed two pieces of toast and munched on it like a turtle.

Class went by in a blur and Ren managed to halfway wake up just as the day ended. The classroom door to 2-A suddenly slid open and revealed a very excited Ito with something in his hand.

“Everyone! The photos from the festival have been printed!” her classmate announced.

“About time!” one student chimed.

The class crowded over Ito as he opened the album and flipped through until they found the group shot of their class.

“Whoa! We look out of this world!” Tomoe exclaimed.

“I do have to say, the costume team did a wonderful job,” Seri commended. “My dress was so comfortable to move around.”

“And thanks for adding that last minute train to mine,” Ren sighed out. “It was much appreciated.”

“You’re still sensitive ‘bout that?” Tomoe asked with a tone of surprise. “Dude, let it go. Flaunt it.”

“I absolutely refuse to,” the pink-haired girl deadpanned and blushed. “I don’t want it to be bodysuit-gate all over again.”

“Speaking of your costume, Takahiro,” Ito interjected with a sly smile. “Your photo was one of the top three most requested for reprints next to Hadou-senpai’s.���

She blinked stupidly.

“I’m sorry, what now?”

“This one.” He flipped to the page where her photo had the full page spread of a mid-action shot from when she jumped off of the swing. She let out a panicked scream.

“It seems the audience was quite entranced by your wisp character,” Hayasaka remarked, staring at the photo. “Maybe it was a blessing in disguise I injured my ankle and helped backstage instead.”

“Your quirk would’ve made the wisp freakin’ legendary!” she reasoned. “I did what I could while running on 3 hours of sleep and barely remembered half the shit I did!”

“So?”  Akiyama huffed. “ I was on energy drinks and was awake for nearly 36 hours making all the costume adjustments.”

“Well no matter,” Miyake disregarded. “What’s important is the festival was a huge success and we were able to pull off the performance thanks to your help, Takahiro.”

Heading back to 1-A, she found Aizawa with the Big Three and Eri-chan sitting on the couch. She overheard Aizawa saying U.A. was now in charge of her well-being. Before Ren was able to go over to say hi, Togata and Aizawa waved her, Uraraka, Midoriya, Asui and Kirishima out the door to talk.

“It seems like Eri-chan’s parents abandoned her,” their homeroom teacher revealed. “And her closest blood relative is the boss of the Hassaikai, who is currently in a coma. So she has no where to go.”

“You may have heard this from sensei, but her horn is the source of her quirk,” Togata chimed in and tapped the left part of his forehead.

“We heard it shrunk and everything was good though...” Kirishima replied.

“The horn seems to have grown a bit recently,” the third year blond revealed.

“So… we need to make sure “that” doesn’t happen again?” Ochaco asked, thinking back to what happened to Midoriya after Overhaul was taken down with Eri’s quirk.

“That’s why her transfer was U.A. rather than a foster home,” Aizawa summarized. “I’ll be watching over her in the teacher’s lounge to monitor her situation. Hopefully, we can find a way to work out her power.”

“Aizawa-sensei, it seems like you’re taking on a lot of work,” Asui said with a tone of worry.

“This is where, I, friend of Eri-chan and student-on-hiatus, come in!” Togata shouted happily with both hands on hips hero pose.

“We’ll be busy but you can visit her every once in a while,” Aizawa finalized to which those present agreed to.

“If Eri-chan’s mind and body are stable then maybe...” Amajiki clasped a hand on Togata’s shoulder. “The return of the fearless hero could be soon.”

“That’d be nice,” Togata replied with a dry laugh.

“Third years, this is sudden, but can I leave Eri with you for a bit? I have something do.”

“Of course!” Togata enthusiastically agreed.

The first years were asked to return to their dorms to receive some guests. Ren followed them back in and saw the Wild Wild Pussycats talking with the class. She remembered from the report Aizawa gave her they were there at the training camp when the villains attacked. The resident advisor politely greeted and introduced herself to the idol heroes, noticing a small boy bashfully standing with Midoriya.

Talks of their return to the spotlight and the JP Hero Billboard Chart came about; the list of heroes aggregated twice a year based on their level of contribution to society, approval ratings, popularity, etc.

The following night, everyone tuned into the official announcement of the top 10 heroes. As expected, Endeavor was in the number one spot, with Hawks moving up to second. The R.A. glanced over at the bi-hair coloured boy, unflinching and expressionless watching the ceremony. His back almost felt distant from everyone. She wanted to ask how he was feeling about all this, but didn’t want to pry into something that’s not her business.

The next day, everyone was doing their own thing in the dorms. The TV could be heard in the background as several 1-A students hung out in the common area; Ren was huddled on the corner of a couch knitting. Some of the guys were talking and joking around with a few of the girls.

Kirishima, however, was entranced and emotionally invested with how fast their R.A. was going through the yarn, trying to figure out how she was creating something tangible from a thread like magic. Stopping momentarily, she counted her stitches and clicked her tongue. Muttering under her breath, she immediately removed the needle and unraveled a row. The spiky redhead exclaimed loudly as she did it, catching her attention.

“Did something happen?” she looked up and blinked in surprise.

“Gah, you worked so hard at it and you’re taking it apart?!” Kirishima groaned out. “Just leave it!”

“It’ll be uneven if I did. Besides,” she looked down to smooth out the yarn thread before starting again. “One row is nothing. I can remake it in my sleep.”

“What are you making anyway?”

“Something for Eri-chan,” she answered mid-stitch and picked up the rhythm after figuring out where she went wrong. “Christmas is coming up and I figured I’d give this to her as a present.”

“Oh that’s right!” Ashido chimed in. “We should all do something as a class!”

“We can’t exactly go off campus to have a party,” Kaminari lamented and leaned back on the couch across. “Kacchan and Todoroki still have their provisional lessons too.”

“How about we throw a party here after those two take their licensing exam?” Ren suggested and looked up. “As for presents...”

“We can do a Secret Santa!” the pink-skinned girl excitedly proposed.

“Oh, that’s a great idea!” Hagakure agreed and clapped her hands together.

“Looks like we got a plan!” Uraraka eagerly said. “I’m getting excited!”

“Mina-chan, I’ll let you take care of the Secret Santa details then, budget and everything,” Ren directed.

“Roger!” The alien queen saluted with a wink and toothy grin before heading up to her room.

The TV suddenly turned to a breaking news screen, showing part of a city in ruins somewhere in Kyushu with the headline “Endeavor, Number One Hero, Fighting Engineered Nomu.” The camera then pans into a bloodied Endeavor laying on top of rubble. The once vibrant common room fell silent with shocked eyes on the screen. Midoriya grabbed the remote and turned up the volume to hear the newscast. Ren dropped her knitting needles and clasped her hands to her mouth.

Feeling a new presence, those sitting on the couch turned to see a shocked Todoroki staring at the TV. It was like time suddenly slowed down and all the noise faded away from the loud beating of his pulse in his ear. Ren could only look on at the boy with extreme worry.

“Todoroki!” Kirishima called, with Midoriya following right after.

“The scene here, is sadly reminiscent of the nightmare from three months ago...” the caster presented.

The camera zoomed in at the Nomu beginning to walk away, with Endeavor immediately getting back up and rushed the monster with his flames. The scene then cuts to civilians panicking and screaming as they’re trying to escape from the disaster.

“This is society without a symbol of peace!” the live voice over strongly stated.

The main entrance of the dorm bursted open, revealing Aizawa running to them.

“Todoroki...” he panted. “You already saw what’s going on?”

“You’ve got to be kidding me...” the red and white colored haired boy uttered out nervously.

“Stop saying that crap already!” A voice from the TV abruptly shouted, revealing an angry young boy on camera. “Open your eyes before you say that crap! Especially at a time like this! You still see those flames up, right?! Endeavor’s still alive and fighting! So don’t give up just cus the other guy’s gone!”

Panicked pedestrians were still pushing the boy, but he wasn’t giving up.

“He’s still out there risking it for all of us! Can’t you see?!”

The camera changed back to the aerial view they have of the fight. As the broadcast continued on, everyone watched on with bated breath, hoping for a good outcome for Todoroki’s sake. Endeavor’s flames discharged with intensity out of his body and at the Nomu. Hawks then came from behind to assist him with his feathers. By now, the newscaster had changed her tone.

“Dad...” Todoroki’s voice quivered out with strength. “I’m watching!”

All they could see on the screen was a blinding exploding supernova in the sky on the screen and in that instant, two falling figures dropped from the sky at an alarming rate. After the smoke cleared, the victor was clear.

There he was, Endeavor bloodied and beaten up holding a victorious pose with his right fist up in the air and a super crispy Nomu on the ground.

“It’s Endeavor! He’s standing tall in victory, no! Standing tall for his beginning!” the newscaster shouted in elation. The once panicking crowd then erupted into screams and cheers. The other students jumped off of their seats and ran to over to him. Any energy Todoroki had was completely zapped when he squatted down and breathed a sigh of relief and placed his hands together over his forehead. But that peace didn’t last long as the surrounding area was engulfed with blue flames.

“It’s him!” Aizawa stated. “What’s he thinking being out in the open like that?!”

“The League of Villains is here! It’s league member Dabi!” the newscaster announced. “He’s surrounded Endeavor and Hawks with a wall of flames!”

The three got into a confrontation and a fight started breaking out, but was soon broken up by Mirko’s powerful kick.

“You’re one of those League of Villains bastards ain’tcha?!” she proclaimed. “I’ll kick your ass till kingdom come!”

As fast as Dabi came, he disappeared with a black essence coming out of his mouth. And moment of silence filled the void, with only the TV caster announcing the fight was won. Heaving another soul-leaving sigh, Todoroki gathered the strength in his legs and slowly stood back up. Aizawa took him to the side to talk one-on-one. All Ren could do was look on like an outsider.

After a quick discussion, 1-A’s homeroom teacher gave special permission for him to go home for a few days. With the rest of the students retreating back to their respective rooms, Ren decided to stop by Tororoki’s to check on him. She stood in front of his room door and swallowed hard, her right hand freezing mid-air.

What kind of face would he show her?

Would he even want to talk?

Was she here as his friend, the R.A. or something else?

Gathering what courage she had, the door opened just as she was about to knock. She met his hetero-chromatic eyes expressing surprise. All she could do was stand there in stupor, unable to move.

“Ren-senpai...” he softly greeted. “Did you need something?”

“Huh? I, er, uh…” she stammered out at a higher pitch than she liked, feeling her cheeks get warm and looked down at her now fumbling hands. “I-I just wanted to see how you were d-doing and–”

She cleared her throat and calmed herself from her botched words.

“I came by to see how you were doing, that’s all,” she managed to get out and looked away.

Todoroki merely blinked at her slowly. It took him all of his willpower to not pull her into his room and embrace her. He wanted to feel her warmth to comfort him, but he had to hold back. Anyone could come out of their rooms at any moment and would misunderstand their relationship.

But… what was their relationship exactly?

He wanted to say more, but all he could default to was, “I’m fine. Aizawa-sensei’s letting me go home tomorrow to see my siblings and my dad.”

“Oh, right. I’ll… leave you to it then,” she said with a look of distance in her eyes.

Watching her small form walk away from his door, Todoroki felt that sensation bubbling up again. The tinge of pain in his chest she’ll disappear if he dared look away for one second. His hand instinctively grabbed a hold of her wrist, jolting her muscles and turned her head. He looked at her with loneliness reflecting off of his glassy gaze.

“Todo-kun?” she questioned.

Realizing what he’d done, he immediately released his hold.

“I-I’m sorry...” he whispered and grabbed his hair by the roots, looking away with shame. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

Ren slowly walked back and stood in front of him with a softened gaze.

“Just remember it’s okay to not be okay,” she gently spoke with an encouraging smile, making sure to keep a moderate distance from physical contact in case anyone saw. “You have people on your side to help.”

[blossomdriver]

Title: Lines that Burn Author: Ambercreek Characters/Pairings: Fenchurch/Zavala Warnings: None Fandom: Destiny Summary:  The Obelisk at the Tower is meant to bring lost Guardians home. What happens when it attracts exiled Guardians?

[AO3]

The Obelisk at the Tower is meant to bring lost Guardians home.

What happens when it attracts exiled Guardians?

+++

In the time before Fenchurch was exiled. He never lingered around the Tower and City for long. 

The Warlock was curious (as most warlocks are). Always searching for things to unearth from the time before Guardians - whatever remains of the Golden Age that has gone untouched by Time and other third parties. 

Fenchurch's favorite part was always bringing his findings back to the City. Showing them off as his Trophies. Looking back on it now, Fenchurch could pinpoint those small moments were the start of his undoing. A ticking time bomb ready to go off that led to exilement. 

But the past was in the past and there wasn’t anything he could do about it now. The lingering stung had vanished a few decades ago. 

And just because he isn’t allowed within the City walls, doesn’t mean he was completely in the dark about what happens at the Tower. Tess does her best to keep Fenchurch up to date, though some details slip through. You can only write so many words on a postcard before things become too cluttered and illegible. 

Where he sits now, he is hovering just outside of Earth’s orbit. Able to see the floating shape of the Traveler from here. 

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Neville asked, floating to rest in the spot behind his Guardian’s head. His single optic following the path that Fenchurch was staring off to.

“If I’m going, to be honest here, no,” Fenchurch says, shifting slightly in his seat. Suddenly over aware of the uncomfortable leather that pressed against his back. “Though when was anything I did ever a good idea,” He adds on. But he can’t deny the weird dry feeling at the back of his throat. 

The worst thing that will come from this is that the Vanguard might do something to Tess. Either exile her from the City as well or perhaps going the extra mile to find any way to shut down the Eververse shop. It was Fenchurch’s remaining tether to the Tower. And that is something he isn’t thrilled about losing or worrying about his niece being caught in the crossfire of his mistakes. 

However, from what Tess has told him. The Vanguard has become laxer when it comes to exile guardians after the Red War. If Osiris’ was able to get his lifted for the most part, why shouldn’t the same be done to him?

Fenchurch isn’t in a hurry to plot a course for the City. Soaking up the view for just a little bit longer. He had been on Europa for the last few months and he’d forgotten what other colors besides white, off white, and various shades of light grey looked like.

The hum of the ship could only do so much to help soothe his anxious thoughts. 

Turning his head to look behind at Neville, he gives his Ghost a soft smile. The Ghost turning itself to stare back in turn at the guardian. 

“You ready?” The Ghost asks and The Warlock lets out a quiet sigh as he looks once more out the window of the ship. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

+++

A knot had been forming in Fenchurch’s stomach ever since he broke the atmosphere. He powers through his worries and does his best to brush it off like nothing is the matter. 

The Warlock wasn’t the one to get overly anxious over things. His mind keeps being brought back to the negative outcomes of him doing this. So he swallowed thickly around the coils in his throat and kept his attention drawn to the window.

It won’t be much longer till he reaches the Tower - able to see the silhouette of it a few miles out (not like it was a hard thing to miss after all). Adjusting a few of the settings so he is flying at the correct altitude, not too close to the City, and not too high enough that the ship wouldn’t have enough time for it to descend to park in the hangar bay.

When Fenchurch parks his ship and enters the Hanger. There aren’t many people to be seen, mostly maintenance works finish any last minute things and Frames going among their route.

Taking his time to stroll through the Hanger, eyes lingering over anything and everything. So much was new to him, and if this was to be his only ever trip to the Tower, he might as well do his best to map out the layout. You never know when it might come in handy.

However, it felt with each step he took, the nervousness that rattled his body grew worse and worse and it was impossible to pinpoint if it was his own or Neville.

“We really should turn back now, while we still have a chance.”  The Ghost said as he began to climb the first set of short stairs.

“We’ve made it this far,” He tells Neville. He rarely was a helpful one.

“That’s because no one has seen us yet!” Neville snips back in return. Fenchurch could practically taste the worry that radiated off of the Ghost. But regardless, all he does is venture forward, ignoring the Ghost pleads about leaving.

Fenchurch steps into the Plaza, halting in his place as his eyes fall onto the Traveler. Tess wasn’t joking when she had told him of how the Traveler freed it’s from its cage, braking itself in the process. From the lowering sun casts a glow on its shell, making it look more otherworldly than it already is.

He continues to glaze his eyes over everything. His eyes first land on the Eververse shop that is to the left of him. He smiles a little. From where he is standing, he could see that it was closed. And here he thought he was finally going to be able to see Tess face to face after all this time. 

There was always another - if he is ever allowed it.

The second thing his eyes fall on is the object that lays out in front of him. Four glowing runes circles around on their own personal platform. He is quick to come to the conclusion that this must be what the Obelisk device Tess had mentioned was. Yet it was hard to see from where he stood, catching glimpses of something purple tied around the base of it. Perhaps ribbons. 

The third and final thing that grabbed hold of Fenchurch’s attention was the figure standing all the way on the other end of the Plaza. He doesn’t even need to squint his eyes to know who it was. Fenchurch could recognize that silhouette anywhere. The all familiar armor plating to how he was hunched over the railing, looking over the City. 

A found smile spreads over his face.

Ignoring a familiar bitter sting in his chest, he starts walking again. This time crossing the Plaza in the direction of the figure. 

“Zavala?” The call of his name startles the Vanguard Commander, quick to turn himself around to face whoever called for him. Though as soon as the Titan’s eyes fall upon Fenchurch, he freezes. Hands curling inwards as he draws them to his side.  

“Should I inform Ikora?” Athena asks through the shared bond. In any situation, he would tell her, yes. Because Zavala was always quick to action, never lingering on what was going on before springing into action. 

Yet here, he didn’t feel the rush to tell the Warlock Vanguard that 

“No,” He replies, though the tone in his voice contradicts his words. 

“Fenchurch.” The Vanguard Commander greets - though it isn’t a pleasant one. “You do remember you are not allowed within the City’s walls.”

Fenchurch turned around and pointed over to the Obelisk. “This thing was created, to bring lost Guardians back to the City, correct?” He says as he turns to look at the Commander once more. 

In the gram scheme of things, perhaps he should have consulted with the Vanguard first before showing up unannounced. Though that would have ruined the surprise of it all. But perhaps it would have also saved him from his current situation.

The Warlock clasps one arm behind his back, using his other to do a sweeping gesture in front of him. “Yet you aren’t so quick to do something to make me leave?” He starts, aware of how thin the line he was treading had become. 

“Unless in the aftermath of this Red War that my exile has been lifted or your reaction time has gotten slower Commander.” The moment those words left his mouth, Fenchurch realized just how much he had just screwed himself over. 

So bringing his other arm out from behind his back, he coughs into his hand before tucking his hand into his elbow.

Zavala pushes off the railing and comes towards Fenchurch. The Warlock could taste electricity in the air - at the back of his throat. 

He doesn’t have to tell Neville to be on standby for revival, the Ghost is already well prepared.

But a disintegrating punch never lands, Fenchurch doesn’t die, all Zavala does is just stare at him. Arc flickering in his eyes that makes the Warlock bite back any other words he has to say.

The two stand there for a while, staring at each other. Zavala has a million words running through his head but he doesn’t dare to speak any of them. So instead all they have to keep them company in this unbearable silence is the ambient noise of the City below.

Zavala turns his back on Fenchurch as he returns back to his post at the railings, leaving enough space to the side of his as a silent open invitation for Fenchurch to join him at his side. And the Warlock was more than glad to take it 

The fleeting sunlight paints the backdrop. The cool metal of the railing pressing into Fenchurch’s back as he leans against it. Keeping sure his eyes are fixed on the Vanguard Commander. 

Fenchurch throws a smile at Zavala and the Titan has to suppress his urge to mimic the gesture. 

Zavala’s hands are resting on the railing. Lips pressed into a thin line, keeping his head turned. He can just feel Athena’s disappointment from the back of his head. And the Titan keeps pushing it further and farther back til all it becomes is white noise to him.

Zavala opens his mouth to say something, though slowly closes it again. Unsure on how he sure breach the subject.

“Looking back on it now,” Zavala eventually says, “I had a lapse in judgment and I regret going so far as to exile you,” Fenchurch opens his mouth to say something but Zavala cuts him off before he can utter a single thought. “I have grown with the City, for better or for worse, and I want to tell you that,” A pause. 

“I’m sorry.” 

All Fenchurch can do is stare at the Vanguard Commander with big doe eyes, blinking a few times. In all his lives, never once did he think that Zavala would actually end up apologizing for his mistakes. Perhaps he didn’t know the Titan as much as he thought he did. Maybe Zavala really had changed over the decades in their separation and this was a Zavala he wanted to grow closer with.

Another part that will become Fenchurch’s undoing is that he is far too bold and adventurous. Able to throw caution to the wind and simply wing it without thinking a plan through. 

He inches his hand closer to Zavala’s, doing it slowly as not to startle the other man as if he was a wild animal. When Fenchurch gets his hand close enough to brush against the other Awoken’s hand, he reaches his pinky finger out. Looping it around the other’s pinky.

It was a sign that Fenchurch didn’t overstep his boundaries since Zavala himself hadn’t moved his hand away at the gesture. So he was in the clear for right now.

The two of them fall into comfortable silents after that. The sky had gone dark a good 20 minutes ago and here in the silents did Fenchurch finally have time to take in everything. The Tower and City had gone quiet, but it wasn’t eerie or terrifying like how it was in the early days.

Fenchurch throws his head back as he laughs. Not the sort of deep belly rumble, but a light feathery kind. But he leans far to back when he does that, feeling himself giving way.

The only thing Zavala can do is watch in horror as Fenchurch’s body goes toppling over the railing. Seeing as his body falls all the way down to the City Ground. Zavala should have felt numb to the feeling, after seeing so many Guardians in the past fall over the same exact railings.

Neville is floating next to the Commander, not even a second later. Though the Ghost seems more annoying than worried about his guardian’s safety. 

As another second passes, Fenchurch’s body reappears. The man looked equally annoyed as his Ghost did. The Warlock brushing off the non-existent dirt from his clothes while all he can do is stare dumbfounded at Zavala.

“I felt that was the Traveler trying to tell me something.” 

And that gets a chuckle from Zavala. 

[madamslayyy]

Imprint (Erik Killmonger x Reader NSFW)

Pairing: Erik Killmonger x Reader

Words: 3.5K

A/N:  Sorry it took so long to put this out but just know i threw everything except the kitchen sink into this fic! This is an Erik Killmonger Imprint AU. If any of you have seen the Twilight Saga movies, there’s this ability that the wolfs have to know their soulmate just by making eye contact with them. I usually do not like Soulmate AUs (like I don’t like that whole name on the wrist or glowing heart shit) but I actually am a fan of this because I like the devotion and carnal aspect of it. Anyway I hope you like it, I worked super hard on it. 

Warnings: NSFW (+18)

You were running late for work yet again. This was the third time this month and you doubted that your boss’s leniency would extend as far as a third infraction. You couldn’t help it however. You were still completely overwhelmed by your urgent move to a completely alien environment.

You had grown up in the city of Luxor your entire life and happily so. You were content until you lost your steady job at the Luxor City Museum. You spent the better part of three weeks filling out applications and submitting your resume to every industry you could think of that would value a degree in History and Architecture before getting a call from the Tanzania Humanitarian Museum saying they’d reviewed your credentials and were offering you a position as  Director of Small Projects. Your position, however, was anything but small as you were charged with overseeing some of the most precious and rare pieces you could have ever imagined.

You arrived to work only to notice that the museum was quiet, unnaturally so. Of course at 6 a.m. it was usually quiet as the doors did not officially open to the public until 10 a.m. but there was at least a small hum of activity from the staff.

You hurried towards the direction of your office only to pause at the sight of broken glass on the floor. This immediately set off a red flag in your mind and just as you turned to make a quick exit, you noticed three figures rushing straight for you. They all wore Tanzanian military uniforms, with heavy firearms strapped across their torsos. You immediately throw your hands up in surrender.

“What business do you have here?!” One barks at you, his assault rifle pointed directly at you. You feel your heart plunge. You’re too frozen to speak. You had never had a weapon of any sort aimed at you before, let alone a gun.

“Answer him!” A different one yells, reaching for his weapon as well.

“I-I’M THE DIRECTOR!” You spurt quickly. The one in the middle, whom you assume is the one in charge, nods in your direction and the other two immediately seize both of your arms dragging you away.

“We’ll take her to M’Baku,” The middle one grinned as they dragged you into the main exhibit entrance. Your heart sank at the sight of how the pieces had been thrown about, broken from their glass cages and tossed without thought or care of their historic value.

“Chief, it looks like one managed to worm her way in, what should we do with her?” A rather large man turned around and trained his eyes on you. He was utterly huge, you could tell even from where you were standing, and you immediately cast your eyes down.

“Where is the Agnew Amulet?” He growled in a voice so deep is seemed to physically bounce of the walls.

“I-It’s s-still in s-storage,” You emitted softly. Another man entered the room, the crunch of glass under his boots announcing his entrance. He was even taller than the first man (M’Baku you assumed was his name) just not as bullish. The man also wore the mask of a ram, intricately carved of variant woods.

“Have any of you laid eyes on the Amulet?” M’Baku asked referring to the militants that brought you to him. They all silently shook their heads no.

“Erik?” He turned to the masked man. The man nodded once.

“Go with her then, to ensure what she presents to us is indeed the amulet. And if she tries anything, kill her.” The man in the mask (Erik?) did not appear to be listening to M’Baku in the slightest however he stalked towards you nonetheless. The men let go of your arms as he approached and you instantly recoiled at his presence. His stature alone was so intimidating.

Realizing he was waiting on you to lead the way, you sprang into action leading him to your office to retrieve your key to the storage room. One you obtained the key you went down two flights of stairs to the basement floor of the building used for storage. The further you two traveled from the others the more vulnerable you started to feel. Of course it was just as dangerous upstairs as it was here, however you were completely at this man’s mercy and here there were no other eyes to witness and judge.

Once finally inside the facility, an enormous ice cold room kept at a firm – 8 degrees to better preserve the artifacts, you led your captor to a small black box, opening it to reveal the amulet but never laying a single finger on it. Erik took off his mask for the first time to better inspect the authenticity of the amulet and what it revealed shook you to your core.

He was strikingly handsome with beautiful smooth skin, full lips, a keen nose and strong brow. You gasped at his appearance, taking his attention away from the amulet for only millisecond but that was all it took. The moment his eyes met yours, it was as if a light switch had been turned on. You felt as if you knew everything about him and you’d never even heard him speak. There wasn’t even a meter between the two of you, yet it felt like you were fields apart. You needed to be close to him, touch him, be as one in body as you felt in soul. The look in his eyes told you he felt the exact same way but was trying to fight it.

You took a step forward and he simultaneously took a step back. He was shocked at his own seemingly involuntary movement and stormed off with the amulet. You remained frozen where you stood.

“C’mon,” He barked over his shoulder once he had put some distance between the two of you. This was the first time you’d heard him speak and it instantly overwhelmed you. His voice was so deep and languid, it felt more like it was being poured into you. You rush to follow him out of the basement area.

Upon making it back to the rest of his party, you could see M’Baku was growing impatient. Erik nodded once to indicate he had the real amulet which unfortunately meant you had outgrown your usefulness.

“You’ve done well, and for that you deserve an honorable departure,” M’Baku said as he drew a machete from his waistband and started towards you. You closed your eyes in pure fear only to open them at the sound of a rushed “Stop!” You, M’Baku, and the three men dressed as army officials all paused to stare at the source of the command, that being Erik.

“We’ve made it through this operation without any casualties, we’re not about to change that.” Erik said as he approached M’Baku.

“She’s seen our faces,” M’Baku growled in his face. Erik stood his ground, looking down at M’Baku with a barely concealed emotion that you couldn’t make out.

“Fine! She’s your responsibility Killmonger. You deal with it,” And with that M’Baku made his exit, his band of faux militants behind him. Once he was sure they’d left the building he turned to you with a look of pure anguish. For some strange reason , you felt it too. Like he was within you, his emotions becoming your own.

“Let’s go, we have a plane to catch,” His deep voice rumbled. His accent was so bizarre. You couldn’t quite place it but you knew for sure it wasn’t Tanzanian or even coastal for that matter. You quietly followed him out of the building, to the back where a motorcycle lay waiting. He picked up his helmet, handing it to you before mounting the machine.  You stared at it in amazement for a moment, before sliding it on. You plopped yourself down behind Erik before tentatively wrapping your arms around his waist. The second you made contact it was like a bolt of physical electricity shot throughout your body. You could tell he felt it too as his body tensed at your touch and he ceased to breathe for a moment.

The two of you sat in what felt like frozen time for all of maybe a minute before Erik roared the motorcycle to life, ending the incident. He drove much too fast for you, leaving your vision a dizzy blur. You elected to close your eyes the remainder of the drive which consequently led to you resting your cheek against his back as he steered.

While your eyes were closed, every other sensor in you was in high alert. You were aware of every breath he took, every muscle he flexed. You were subconsciously committing his strong body to memory; the hard, sculped back, steel torso, even the slightest brush against his powerful thighs were driving you nuts. Unbeknownst to you, you’d began nuzzling your face into his back, taking in his heavenly scent.

Suddenly the two of you came to a halt and you opened your eyes. Before you stood a small black jet, sleek and precise. He got off and you followed behind him through the entry way of the plane which was being guarded by two men wearing bulletproof vests with assault rifles in hand. Upon entering the jet, you realized by it’s small, beige interior that there was no way this plane was ever intended to transport M’Baku as well as his henchmen.

“Sit,” Erik said, and you did. He settled himself directly in front of you, eyes watching you with silent intensity. That feeling was beginning to stir inside you once more, that feeling of being drawn to him. It was stronger than ever now that you two were alone and you subconsciously felt your face heat up.

You crossed your legs and Erik instantaneously inhaled sharply. One look into his now predatory eyes let you know that this barely contained magnetism was mutual.

“Let me explain something to you,” Erik said, glancing out the window as the plane took off down the runway.

“I’m from one of the oldest lineages in Wakanda. Believed to be direct descendants from certain distinguish animal species. Some derive from Panthers, my family, however, derived from Jaguars. Being from this lineage has certain advantages, especially in terms of strength and stamina but it comes with certain disadvantages as well.” He watched you carefully to see if you understood where he was leading the conversation but he could see you did not.

“Have you ever heard of Imprinting Miss……?”

“(Y/N), my name’s (Y/N)”

“Miss (Y/N), tell me what you know of Imprinting,” His velvet voice making it hard for you to really recall anything in that moment.

“Isn’t it when newborn ducks become attached to the first maternal figure they perceive?” Erik chuckled and shook his head slightly. You could see the shine of gold in his mouth as his bottom fang grills caught the light.

“No, it’s a little more complicated than that and it has nothing to do with ducks.” He sat up straighter now and you knew whatever he was about to tell you was going to be serious.

“Imprinting for me as well as my people and the other noble families of Wakanda is a means of insured continuation of that lineage. When we imprint on a particular person, it is effectively the person we are deemed to be with for the rest of our lives.” Erik paused but upon seeing your further confusion, he went on “Some believe it is all based upon biology: health, durability, genetics, etc. However others believe it is an act of fate, destiny. That they have found their one true soulmate through the power invested in our old Wakandan Gods. Even though I’m more inclined to believe the latter, I always assumed I was too far removed from my people and our customs to be susceptible for such a phenomenon. I see I was wrong.”

You could do little more than murmur a small “oh,” as you tried taking it all in. Was he saying what you thought he was saying? Was he insinuating that you were supposed to be his mate? Well he really wasn’t describing it as a mate, it sounded more like a breeding machine to produce his babies. The very idea of it didn’t sit well with you.

“It seems I’ve imprinted on you. An act I can not say I regret it.” His intense eyes did not leave you for a moment as he slowly licked his lips, his bottom fangs more visible than ever. That seemed to be the final straw for you as you suddenly stood up, only to be pulled back down by his strong arms wrapping around your waist, guiding you to lap.

His lips crashed into yours, impossibly soft as the hair from his beard tickled your face. Your hands immediately found his shoulders to steady yourself as you felt the muscles tense beneath your fingertips. His lips made their way from your own to your neck as he began ravishing your pulse leaving dark purple bruises in his wake. You could feel him nipping at the tender flesh of your neck with his fangs, making you wet instantly.

You released a high pitch moan as he cupped your breasts through the fabric of your dress. His head shot up, looking at you with a wild expression in his eyes before he ripped the dress straight down the middle, exposing your black bra and panties. You slid the remaining fragments of the dress off your shoulders and quickly unhooked your bra before it suffered from the same fate. Your panties, however, weren’t as lucky. Erik tore the thin fabric clean off your body leaving you utterly exposed before him.

The look in his eyes alone was almost enough to end you right then and there. He looked at you like no man ever had, like you were perfection, something he couldn’t believe had quite literally fell into his lap. You cupped his face in your hands, bringing your foreheads together. You heard him whimper slightly beneath you, as overcome with emotion as you were.

“Take off your vest,” you whispered in his ear. His eyes suddenly shot open, as if your voice broke him from the trance that engulfed you both. He lifted you in his arms as he stood up, laying you down across the row of empty seats before breaking free of his bulletproof vest and shirt. What you saw before you rendered you speechless.

The entirety of his back, arms, and chest were covered in tiny intricate keloidal scars. His eyes narrowed slightly, gauging your reaction carefully.

“They’re beautiful,” you uttered. You could see Erik visibly exhale in relief at your approval. He climbed on top of you, nuzzling your neck once more before making his way to your chest. His tongue enveloped your nipple, bringing you to arch further into him. Your entire body was overly sensitive to Erik’s touch, undoubtedly a side effect of the imprint. However, Erik was relentless in his teasing of you and you decided it was time to play fair.

You brought one leg up between his own, brushing mercilessly against his member. He was impossibly hard and one stroke of your foot against the fabric of his groin sent him reeling. He accidently bit down on your shoulder in the moment, causing you to cry out. He pulled back and began undoing his belt, looking down at you with his eyes glazed over with lust.

He pulled down his pants to reveal his large, pulsating member. It was the most beautiful specimen you’d ever seen. All of a sudden, ensuring the continuation of his lineage didn’t sound like a bad idea after all.

“Ready?” He growled, jerking himself lightly above. He was such an exquisite sight before you that all you could manage was a meager nod of the head. He slowly entered you, with one hand gently rubbing the side of your thigh, encouraging you to take it all. He gave you a few moments to adjust to his size before you began to squirm under him. He took this as a sign to continue and slowly began to pump into you.

His stimulations were incredible however, you had to admit from all the passion displayed earlier, you were ready for him to pick up the pace. You could tell he was afraid that he would hurt you, if not for his strength then for his mere size alone.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and brought him closer, whispering as seductively as you could manage “Get on with it.” He paused momentarily before going full throttle into you. He tightened his grip on your waist, pulling you towards him to meet his strokes. You could feel his length stretching you out he as he slammed against your cervix in an almost animalistic way.  You arched into him and began clawing at his back as you felt your orgasm quickly approaching.

Erik was biting his bottom lip, his eyes laser focused when he began rubbing quick rough circles into your clit. You couldn’t contain the loud, involuntary moan you uttered at his new administrations. You knew you were being loud and that the pilots, along with whomever the men were guarding the planes entrance, could probably hear you loud and clear but you couldn’t care less.

You were almost to your breaking point when Erik began pounding into you even faster and more sporadically, growling “Cum for me, gorgeous,” in that ever so deep baritone. This sent you over the edge, as you cried out, beating his chest lightly while your orgasm washed over you. He shot into, filling you completely until his seed began to spill out onto the seat beneath. You felt immobilized, every ounce of your energy gone. Naturally, you had had orgasms in the past but none could even hope to compare to what you had just experienced. It was absolutely earth shattering, you felt as if he was within you, coursing through your veins. You could physically feel him and with him inside of you, it was as if the two of you were one.

He stayed inside you, hovering above with his forehead pressed against your own. Finally the silence was broken by him uttering a raspy, “I’m sorry,”. Still too entranced to speak, you simply raised an eyebrow inquisitively.

“I should have pulled out,” He said stoically as he began removing himself from you, and standing up. You propped yourself up on your elbows, watching him as he zipped up his pants and slipped into his shirt. When he went to grab his bulletproof vest from the floor, he saw the remnants of your dress and the thought that you had nothing to wear now dawned on him.

“Wait here,” He exited down the aisle, only to come back a few minutes later holding a folded light blue uniform. Upon inspection once he handed it to you, you came to the conclusion it was a flight attendants uniform. You began to get dressed quickly, however was stopped by Erik wrapping his arms around you from behind, kissing your neck tenderly. You were dressed only in the skirt and your bra and wanted to finish dressing as soon as possible, the realization that someone else could walk in at any moment finally sinking in.

“Erik please,” You giggled as he continued his assault on your pulse.

“I can’t help it,” He mumbled into your throat as one hand slipped under your bra to massage your nipple. You could feel yourself getting worked up again so you turned to face him only for him to capture your lips in another searing kiss. You’d realized resistance was futile at this point and surrendered to his actions when a blue light pinged above you two.

“It looks like we’ve arrived,” Erik said, looking out the window.

“Arrived where?” You asked taking this opportunity to put on your shirt.

“Home,” Erik beamed, his smile so bright it made you week in the knees.

[ikke-secret]

Make Me Relax (#2)

Pairing: Calum & Y/N

Warnings: Swearing and smut

Word count: 3050+

Requested: Yesss

Send requests here

-------------------------------Read part 1 here-------------------------------

I’ve been writing this over a couple of days, since someone is visiting me, and it’s hard to find time. I originally hadn’t planned on doing a part two, but I did, so here it is

“Y/N?” A muffled voice sounds.

My brows furrow together as I stretch out my exhausted limbs. Heavy, warm hands squeeze my hips, holding me tightly against a naked body. A complaining groan pushes out of Cal’s mouth, when the voice speaks again, knocking a little harder on the door this time.  

“The brunch is in twenty minutes, and you better be there.” The voice warns, which instantly correlates with my newlywed sister Bianca.

I don’t reply and neither does she knock again. Though I can’t stay in bed with Cal all day – even though I’d very much like to – because Bianca would find some way to get in here if I don’t show up.

“Calum?” I speak, trying to wake him up.

I can only slightly see his eyes as they open only a fraction of an inch. “Yes?” he replies, his voice raw and hoarse.

My fingers absentmindedly begin drawing small patterns on his chest. Instead of saying what I know I should be saying I get lost in the way he looks.

His dark hair is messy and flopping onto his forehead, while his chocolate eyes twinkle at me. I move onto my elbows, so I can lean up and press my lips against his. Maybe it’s just to ensure myself that what happened last night wasn’t just some wonderful dream.

I simper against his lips when he returns my kiss, deepening it with his hand cupping my cheek.

He rolls over, hovering over my body, while his hands run freely along my side. I feel him against my leg, and I know – despite how much I’d rather not – that I’ll have to stop this. “Cal –” I begin, but I’m interrupted by a sudden sensation coursing through my body, as Cal’s rough finger strokes over the most sensitive part of me. 

If he keeps this up I’ll be screwed – literally.

“We need to get ready.” I breather, as he circles my clit, making me whimper.

“For what?” he murmurs into my ear, without stopping his sweet torture. He slowly pushes a finger into me, keeping the slow pace. I let my legs fall open to him, mentally urging him to continue.

“Brunch.” I push out through clenched teeth.

He ignores me and nips at my shoulder, adding another finger to my heat.

“Cal.” I almost wail, causing him to grin – obviously knowing that he’s making me lose my better judgement.

Then I do the only thing, which I know will get his attention. My hand wraps around the length of him, causing his fingers to stop what they’re doing.

“We need to get ready, so I suggest a cold shower to you because no matter how bad I want to continue, we have to go.” I say dropping my voice to some demanding girl I didn’t even know existed.

Cal pouts at me as he removes his fingers and rolls off me.

I follow him and give him a soft peck on the lips, “Maybe another time.” I suggest, and wink at him, before getting out of the bed. 

“You made it.” Bianca announces in a bubbly voice as we walk onto the open pavilion. I smile at her and take a seat across from my parents. The table in front of us is filled with all sorts of different foods, making my stomach rumble – especially the pancakes right in front of me.

“Calum, was it?” my mom questions and points a fork with a piece of sausage on it. Cal redirects his gaze from me to her and sprawls the most handsome smile in existence, “Yes it was.” My mother plops the sausage into her mouth. “Where’d you meet?” she asks. Cal’s eyes shortly catch mine, when he obviously sees the burning red color spreading into my cheeks.

‘Don’t you dare’ I think for myself, looking anywhere but at my mom.

“We had a class together in college.” He tells her, and I sigh in relief. My mom nods, and glances over at me with an odd look on her face – clearly not understanding what got me so embarrassed.

“Which class?” My dad interrupts, making my eyes shoot up to his – well, fuck.

Calum’s hand lands on my leg, making me jump. I still the bobbing motions in my leg, which I hadn’t even noticed. He gives me a reassuring look, as if to tell me that what he’s about to say won’t even matter. My eyes narrow at him, silently flipping him off – mentally, that is – as he doesn’t know my family.

“Sex ed.” He says, and I feel like face planting onto the table. I hadn’t planned on telling them about my sex ed classes, even though it was for scientific reasons only. Though all it had led to was a hell of a lot of sexual frustration, since that’s mostly where I’d see Cal, before we really became friends – not that it’s been any less frustrating afterward.

I catch my sister’s gaze, who’s looking at me with a smirk playing on her lips, like when she would tell on me when we were younger.

My parents both just nod synchronously, not seeming particularly faced.

Cal squeezes my knee, as if to tell me ‘I told you so’.

Deciding I’d rather draw the attention away from how I know Cal, I grab the tray with toasted bread, as it passes by.

Throughout the dinner, Cal doesn’t remove his hand from my leg, and once in a while it draws a little further up my leg. Each time I glance around at my family, making sure that no one notices my heated face nor Cal’s hand on my knee – or mid-thigh at this point. I probably should stop him, but I relish in the small jitters he gives me.

He keeps up a conversation with most of my family, seeming unfazed by the small jerks he receives from me. I might be fooling myself, but I’m pretty sure that if he keeps up doing what he’s doing, he’ll soon reach the territory, which isn’t child-friendly – nor family-friendly.

He makes one extremely bold move all of the sudden, grazing the edge of my underwear – wearing a skirt was definitely the worst and the best decision I made today.

“Y/N?” A voice breaks through to me, snapping me right back to reality.

My eyes refocus on my mom, who’s wearing an impatient look on her otherwise soft features. My brows knit together, “Yeah?” I answer, as Cal’s fingers peak under the hem of my panties, making it almost impossible for me to stay still.

I cross my legs in a pathetic attempt to remove his fingers, but instead I get them stuck between my thighs. I can already picture the smirk on his face, before I even glance over at him from the corner of my eye.

“Do you remember this place?” she asks me, for what might as well be the tenth time. My eyes skim over the pavilion and the wide garden, then over the white building with small mosaic windows, before shaking my head.

She looks halfway disappointed with me as Bianca breaks in and yell whispers to me, “Mom and dad got married here.”. My eyes widen, while my parents chuckle at my sudden realization, I do sort of remember this place, but it’s been at least twelve years or so.

“Maybe you want to go for a look around the park?” Bianca suggests, “Spark your memory.”

I don’t get the chance to speak, as Cal does so first, “I’d love it if you could show me around.” He tells me, and grins broadly, flashing his perfect teeth.

Bianca points at Cal and nods, seeming to love the idea.

“I told you that I barely remember the place.” I tell him, and discard the idea, too nervous – or scared – to be alone with him again.

“Then you probably need to see it even more.” Bianca urges me by pushes out my chair from under the table.

Cal’s warm hand slips away from my skin, instantly leaving me cold without it.

‘Go’ she mouths.

 I push myself up from my chair, and reach for Cal’s wrist to pull him up with me, but he grabs my hand instead, and doesn’t let go – not that I mind.  

We walk around the white building, Cal leading me more than I’m leading him.

The moment we turn the corner he presses me against the brick wall, with his lips coming down on mine instantly.

My mouth opens to him immediately, letting his tongue into my mouth. He entangles his fingers in my hair, while using the other one to curve my body into his, so I can feel every inch of him – including the bulge growing in his pants.

His teeth nip my bottom lip as he pulls a few inches away from my face, “I’ve needed that since you sent me to the shower.” He hums.

I suck my bottom lip into my mouth and smirk at him, when his hand moves up the side of my thigh, lifting my skirt, sending jolts of electricity through my body.

“Not sure you’re allowed to grope your tour guide.” I joke, and duck under his arms, swinging my hips a little more than necessary as I walk away.

He’s quickly by my side again, and ignores my earlier statement, as he interlaces our fingers.

I try to figure out where we’re going, but with Cal’s thumb drawing circles on my hand, I find myself quite distracted.

“How about in there?” Cal suggests and points over at a small building about fifty meters from the main building. He doesn’t wait for a reply as he tugs at my hand, already going in the direction.

“You don’t want to see the rest?” I ask, but let myself get dragged along.

He turns towards me and grabs my other hand, walking backwards. He shakes his head, while a small grin tugs at his lips.

Inside the small building is two bathrooms in the entrance, and a third door, which Cal opens. We slip inside another small room, which is decorated with a couch, an old TV and a bunch of videogames and board games along the wall. In the middle of the room, taking up a lot of space is a pool table.

I figure that it’s made for the children who get bored at weddings or other parties thrown here.

My eyes return to Cal, when I hear the sound of a lock being turned. His eyes are filled with a hunger that I’m feeling too, but I don’t make the first move.

Instead I patiently wait for him to close the short distance between us, as he meets my lips with a feather like touch. I return his kiss much harder than he started it, curling my hands into his soft hair and hold his lips to mine, while coaxing his mouth open.

“If you don’t want this, you need to tell me right now because if this takes one step further, I don’t think I’d be able to stop.” Cal mutters into my ear, before he kisses a path along my jawline. I shake my head, “Don’t stop.” I tell him breathlessly. I feel him grin against my skin before he closes his lips over mine again. 

He works my lips roughly and I can barely keep up with the amazing sensations his body against mine is giving me.

His hands move up under my skirt, gripping my panties and pulling them down my legs - slowly.

“Hurry, I need you right now.” I state, stepping out of my underwear as quick as possible - my throat goes dry when he puts the lacy material in his pocket.

“I’m not going to hurry, baby.” he tells me, “I’m going to take my sweet time because you’re not just some other quickie.” 

His burning tongue trails a path over my collarbone, making my breath hitch.

Unexpectedly he steps away from me, leaving me flustered. I look at him with confusion written all over my face, but I don’t speak. Instead I watch him as he closes all the curtains and switches on the lights.

He backs further away until he’s resting against the pool table, with his long legs stretched out in front of him. His eyes gradually travel down my body, causing goosebumps to spread on my skin. 

A mischievous grin settles on his lips, as his coffee brown eyes meet mine once more, “Can I ask you to do something I’ve wanted to see for a long time?” He questions, the challenge thick in his question. I swallow the lump, which has formed in my throat, as I mechanically move my head up and down. “I’d like for you to take off your clothes while I watch.” He dares.

My lips curl into a smile as I nod enthusiastically. 

I have definitely not done my fair share of stripteases, and maybe it would help a lot more if my body wasn’t so ridged around Cal. I pull my shirt over my head and shimmer out of my skirt, leaving me in my bra. I reach behind me and unlock it before letting that fall down too – maybe that didn’t count too much like a striptease, but from the look on Calum’s face, he looked more than pleased with my short show.

He pulls his shirt over his head, and motions for me to come closer, which I willingly do. His lips devour mine, while his hands glide all over my heated skin, careful not to come close to the places where I actually want him touching me.

I’m lifted off the ground, as he sets me down on the pool table and steps in between my naked thighs. With ease, I unbutton his pants and push them down his legs, alongside with his underwear.

“I need you now.” I admit, my voice raw, and not caring if he wants to take his sweet time because that isn’t going to happen.

He reaches down in the pocket of his jeans, pulling out a small golden wrapper, which I remember from the drawer of condoms. I grin at it, and take it from his hands, “Optimistic?” I comment, not the least bit annoyed that he expected this. “Maybe a little too optimistic.” He replies, “I brought a couple more.”

I can barely keep the smile off my face as he throws another two wrappers on the table. I don’t mind at all. 

His big hands cup my cheeks as he pulls my face to his and slips his tongue inside my mouth, flicking it over the roof of my mouth. I take one of the wrappers and smooth it down over his erection, feeling the small spasms in his body when I do so. 

My legs wrap around his hips as he moves me down until I’m lying flat on my back against the table. His lips suck a path down my throat and down my body, while using his hands to massage my breasts. My legs tighten around him, urging him to enter me. 

His dark eyes lift to mine, as he grazes an eyebrow at me, “Please Cal.” I whine and dig my heels into him, and moan when I feel him against my entrance. 

He smirks at me and runs the tip of his head through my folds, causing me to whimper out in disapproval - I need him inside of me.

“I guess if you say please, I bet...” He doesn’t get to finish his sentence, as I murmur another please and push him about halfway into me. 

We both groan in unison as Cal’s strong arms land beside my body, shaking with what seems like self-restraint. 

I need more. 

I pull his head down so his lips are hovering over mine, as I whisper, “Please just fuck me.” My words are barely above a whisper, but he seems to get the memo and pushes in the rest of the way, stretching me out.

He doesn’t waste a single second before he pulls out of me, followed by slamming right back into me. My back arches off the table, while small incoherent words leave my mouth with every delicious thrust. 

His lips ghost over the skin of my neck, sometimes granting me a small kiss when he hits a particularly nice spot deep inside me.

His hands are digging into my sides, tightening and molding into my skin every time he moves just slightly.

A tight ball begins building deep inside me, and it makes my body grow ridged. 

Cal suddenly pulls all the way out of me, and I whimper, wanting him right back to where he was. He quickly flips me over so I’m no longer on my back, but I’m instead lying on my stomach, while my feet are touching the ground. “Spread your legs for me, baby.” He orders, and I instantly do as I’m told.

I’m pulled further towards him with his hands on my waist, as he enters me once more, deeper than before, making me cry out in pleasure.

He drives into me while small moans leave his lips.

The ball inside me is throbbing for release, as I feel Cal’s fingers on my clit, circling them around. I feel my body begin trembling, as I’m suddenly thrown into my orgasm. My body falls flat against the table, but Cal holds my lower half up as he keeps thrusting deep inside me.

Calum stills inside me as his orgasm crashes down on his. His hard, sweaty stomach lands flatly against my back.

He stays momentarily inside me kissing my shoulder blade softly.

Slowly my breathing returns to normal, and when I turn around, Cal has only pulled on his black boxers.

I grin at him like a fool, enjoying as he takes in my still naked body. I begin pulling on my clothes, catching his eyes as he watches me get dressed.

He hands me my underwear as I pass by him. I pull his face to mine and fold my hands behind his head. He returns my kiss, coaxing my lips open.

“Round two when we’re back in the room?” I question, and feel his lips curl into a grin against mine.

Thank you for reading, it means a lot :))

Masterlist

I was thinking about doing like a final part 3, with something “unpredictable”, which is really predictable - so tell me if you want that.

- Calla

[junkpoetic]

We are writing a novel as we go. This is in the moment unedited. It’s probably a horrible a idea but why not? This is a story of friendship and the ties that bind Elliot and Paulie. Let’s have fun creating something in the moment.

                                                 Cheers. -K.P.

 Swimming Into View by K.P. DeLaney

 One.

Paul Buchanan.

The peculiar thing about time is that you think you have it until you don’t. This was especially true for Elliot Knox, who now in his late forties, still hasn’t accomplished most of his goals in life. Sure, he went to college, but he never graduated. He dropped out to work at a party supply store before moving away from the northeast to North Carolina to work at another party supply store before realizing he in fact had no money and no future in Carolina. He moved back home and went back to community college before dropping out again. The wave of life carried him along through his twenties and he okay despite what he would tell you. If Elliot were telling this story, it would be heavily self-deprecated and depressing, so I am not going to let him do that for the sake of the story.

    Elliot began running at quite a young age. It’s foggy when he actually began taking it seriously, however it’s safe to say it was sometime during adolescence. He was never the fastest but kept a pretty good pace and won a few events for the South Hinder Lions, his high school track team. He kept running right on through his twenties, but on and off cigarettes, and a healthy drinking habit kept him out of shape. He would go months without running until something happened to trigger a startup. Triggers included breaking up with Louise, which he did several times in his early twenties, much less in his later twenties until he married her months before his thirtieth birthday. Other triggers included one-night stands during the days he and Louise were not together. Also, nights when the alcohol took over and he felt incredibly awful… running always made the awful better. If not for Louise, I am not sure if Elliot would have made it out of his twenties. In fact, I am sure of it because I saved his life. It’s the only reason he agreed to let me document his marathon but let’s not get ahead of ourselves.

    Every year, for probably last fifteen or so, the two of us took a trip to Boston and spent a week fucking around. It was the one week a year we would become unhinged. We had pact. What happens, happens and that was the end of it. No matter what, never spoken of again. The early years we dubbed “The Larry Bird Years” because well, Larry Bird was a fucking problem, and the city was electric. We happened to be there June 7th, 1986 when Bird posted a triple double and shot down the Rockets giving the Celtics their sixteenth title. We weren’t at the game, but we were at a pub on Causeway Street doing shots of tequila with women we hardly knew. The game wasn’t even close, but Madeline and Carol were… the devil is in the details and hopefully by the time Louise reads this it’ll folklore. I had never seen Elliot unhinged. He’d never tell me, but I am pretty sure it was the first night he ever tried cocaine. See Madeline’s nickname was MadeLines. I still can’t get him to admit it, but he would never deny it either. He kept in touch with her every year when we returned, but the trips sobered as we grew older. When we were younger, we’d a share a hotel room. Now we like our own space but let’s not get too far ahead of ourselves.

    I became a writer while Elliot was fucking off his twenties. I am novelist still trying write a best seller. In the meantime, I do freelance work. I am happily married to the same Carol that we met years ago the night the Celtics took the title with two children of our own. Elliot is my daughter’s godfather. Life is comfortable and completely okay. The trip to Boston is probably the most exciting week out of my year nowadays and I am okay with that. I don’t want to digress; this is Elliot’s story.

    Somewhere amid the blur that was last year’s trip, Elliot and I had a conversation about how we used to be and how we are no longer the same men that were years ago. Time and evolution have eroded us into shells of what we once were. To me that’s life and I don’t have a problem with it. I am okay with being a forty-seven-year-old fading into obscurity. But Elliot wasn’t. He grew upset with himself that he no longer could stay out all night. He no longer could eat the foods he used to it. His libido had diminished… well not his, but Louise’s. His belly flab had gotten out of control, and he hadn’t run a mile in at least six years. So, after a few drinks, he came up with the crazy idea that he would run the Boston Marathon. I called this idea bullshit, and ridiculous but here we are.

    The thing about Elliot is he doesn’t ever take the time to master something. Sure, I believe if he really wanted to run a marathon he could. If he changed his diet and trained properly, why not? Elliot’s year of training consisted of zero training. He maintained the same diet and drank. He even snuck a cigarette here and there when Louise wasn’t home, or out behind his garage when she was home. Even the days before the marathon, he turned back time. He vowed to stay out late like we used to. I tried to keep up but sleep beckoned. He reconnected with Madeline who never really opened up about her personal life. She had an indent of where a wedding ring would go, otherwise the only jewelry she wore was a gold crucifix around her neck that hovered just above the small amount cleavage she revealed. He could not help her attraction to her. She was so magnetic, and he was a paper clip. Elliot kept her mostly to himself. They’d meet up after I would call it a night. She’d meet us for brunch usually once every trip and Elliot made it sound like they were only friends. He played it off like they hadn’t spoken other than when they’d reconnect on our trips, but I am not an idiot.

    We arrived in Boston on October 6th, four days before the race. Elliot bought a pair of red Asics from a local sporting goods store then ran seven miles the first day and three miles on the second day. He rested on the third day and by rested, I mean that he ate pizza, drank Sam Adams, and fucked Madeline once before bed, once around three in the morning, and once more in the morning. Thankfully he refrained from smoking as far as I know. I had to shake my head when I heard her leaving his room about an hour before he had to report.

    The deal was that he finished the race, it did not matter how long it took him. I wired him so he could talk to me throughout the duration. That’s how I took my notes and then afterward we would sit down and go over my notes and he could add to them. For me, I wanted it to be Elliot’s story. His brain. His journey. I am just the vehicle putting the ink on paper. I spoke with Carol briefly before meeting Elliot for eggs and toast and then I proceeded to set up my computer at a Starbucks a block from the finish line.

    The thing I admire about Elliot is his willingness. He simply believes things into reality. I do find it hard to believe that you can just get up and run a marathon. But he believes it and that’s really all the training he needed. To be honest I think he got the idea when he saw a feel-good story about a dog that followed its owner running a marathon and finished. He figured one mile was no different than twenty-six point two and if a dog could do it, he could too. He figured seven hours of sleep and two jugs of Pedialyte, and a light breakfast would suffice…

    I mentioned before that I saved his life. I think since then he’s always felt like he owes me for that. He has always tried to help me come up with the perfect story to write and become published because he’s known that has been my dream since we were kids in English class. He hated English class, so naturally I let him copy my notes and helped him cheat on tests when I could. That’s what friends do… whatever it takes. I have a small suspicion that he is running the race in attempt to give me a good story. I think a small part of him wants to prove to himself that he can do it but if he truly wanted to do it for himself, I think he would have trained at least in the slightest.

    It was a warm October morning. Much too warm for October, but probably perfect for running a marathon. Once I booted up my computer, I put my headphones and suddenly could hear the rustling of the microphone against the inside of Elliot’s shirt. His breathing was calm. We ran a microphone check and then it was all systems go.

    “Can you hear me E?”

    “Roger that, Paulie.”

    “You sure you want to do this pal?”

    “Born to run baby.” He laughed.

    “Alright, I am going silent. We’re recording now, anything you say can and will be used against you.” I teased and pressed record.

    “Remember when we beat that school from Syracuse for the state title?”

    I kept my promise of silence.

    “We’re going to do it again today Paulie.” He continued.

    He proceeded to laugh and clapped his hands together twice in order to hype himself up.

    “You remember the night you lost your virginity Paulie? The whole town caught wind of it within the hour… only victories today.”

    I laughed although I am incredibly nervous for what he is about to put his body through. Why I am I the one who has the anxiety?

Elliot Knox

    “Jesus, it’s a fucking ocean of bodies, I can hardly jog without stepping on someone else’s rubber soles. Remember that scene in Titanic when the boat just sank, and it was arms and legs flailing on top of one another? I think that’s what this is like only on land of course.  I think I already have to take a piss. Way too much Pedialyte. Fuck. You remember that day we pissed ourselves to get out of school? Epic idea on your part. I remember I was sitting next to Alice Templeton. I think she may have had a crush on me, until that moment of course. Was that the same day Mikey Porter got beat up? I wish you would answer me… I can literally hear the room you’re in. Dishes clanking, fuck, I really have to pee.”

.73 miles- Stops off to urinate in neighborhood shrubbery.

    “Ahhhh. Much better.”

    “Jesus E, you haven’t even gone a mile.” Paulie laughed.

    “I thought you were radio silent?”

    “I’ll make exceptions.”

    “Hey if you put music for me on will it fuck up communication?”

    “Probably.”

    “Well, that sucks.”

    He shook his dick in the shrubbery before putting it back in his shorts and resumed running.

    “Smooth sailing now Paulie.” An empty bladder took care of a lot of things. Not to mention a lot of runners passed him while he was stopped so he had much more room to run. Much more room to breathe. Space is an incredible thing.

    He talked about how fresh his legs felt. That first mile was the most important one to him. Sometimes you run and it’s really evident that you’re running. And then sometimes you run, and the feeling is weightless, which of course, is why you run in the first place. That fresh feeling is something he was able to maintain. He was always the same through the years. No matter what age we were, he was the same. Like your old childhood bedroom… it never changes. No matter, it will always smell like you. It will always your room. Time goes on yet the room stays a tattoo in time. The fingerprints on the walls. The dents in the sheetrock. The accidental paint splatter from when the steady hand slipped onto the ceiling. Even the dust remained the same. I think about the things that have happened in my world since I left my childhood bedroom. That room still sits patiently holding everything that made me. It’s comforting and sad simultaneously the way things never stop moving.

1.34 miles- Sneezes twice. Stops and looks at the road behind him.

    “I am feeling strong Paulie. You still doubting me?” Elliot teased.

    “You still have almost twenty-five miles to go.” Paulie could not help but join the banter.

    “Don’t do that. Just like last night when you commented on my fourth Sam Adams. It’s very poor taste.”

    “Oh, I’m sorry. Hard to watch my friend drink a brewery before running a marathon.”

    “You’ve always looked out for me man. I appreciate you.”

    “Let’s not get mushy; long road ahead.”

    “Ten four, roger that, rubber ducky.”

    “Asshole, save breath for words that actually matter.”

    “By the way, has the Sox game started?”

    “Almost… you really going to bet on it while running a marathon?”

    “I need something man.” He laughed. “They play Toronto?”

    “Yeah, the Blue Jays are favored.”

    “Put a hundred on the Sox for me. No way they lose today.”

    Paulie laughed and then made a phone call and placed the bet for Elliot.  

    He began humming a song because the silence and the sound of his footsteps slapping the against the pavement became so monotonous. I had a hard time deciphering the song at first and then it clicked that it was Fleetwood Mac’s Go Your Own Way. Around noon I packed up my things and made way for a bar. I wanted be able to watch the game while talking to Elliot.

2.3 miles – first sign of cramping.

    “I have to stop for a second Paulie.”

    I guffawed “It’s been two miles!”

    “Relax. I got this.”

    I would be remiss if I didn’t acknowledge Elliot’s problems. He emphasized how real he wanted this story to be. He said zero restrictions and that he was okay with me exposing flaw. He was always so interesting in the sense that he accepted his flaws so freely, yet never wanted to put anyone out by asking for help. He was strong to acknowledge flaw, yet too weak to fix them. The way he saw it, we all have flaws and there’s no escaping that. So why not embrace them? He liked to gamble. He drank too much. He loved the art of fucking so much I have to wonder if that was an addiction too. But what’s the point in putting him under a microscope? Life is short. He’s fucking happy. Or at least I think he is. He seems like he just to wants to live until he dies. It’s really quite refreshing seeing him in the wild. These annual trips to Boston are just that. Wild. He is running the God damn Boston Marathon on zero training just for the fuck of it. As I am writing this I am realizing what I love most about my friend. He does what he wants and celebrates every day that he is alive. That perspective is incredibly dangerous for orthodox living, and I completely envy it. Every year, the moment the wheels hit the freeway, he comes undone, and we are seventeen again. And I fucking adore everything about that.  

[multi-fandom-oneshots]

Hi there!! Could I get a Marvel ship please? I'm a 5'10 girl with blue/green eyes and curly brown hair (and a Cancer and Slytherdor). I'm an ambivert, funny (I think) and a leader, and I can be the life of the party before I run out of energy. I love working out, music, and cooking. Even though my stature can make it seem like I'm tough, I really want someone to protect me. Thank you sm!!

Hi, thanks for the request! I made this a soulmark ship. Hope that’s okay. My brain kinda does what it wants and my fingers follow.

I ship you with: Bucky! 

You met Bucky at a Stark Gala. He was standing over in the corner slightly swaying along to the music and something in your heart twinged when your eyes met. Despite the fact that your energy was waining, you wanted to at least offer the beautifully sad man a dance. 

-pov switch-

Bucky stood in the corner people watching. Steve was on a mission but he had promised Sam that he would be his wingman (he sucked at it and Sam had abandoned him for Natasha), so there he was standing in the corner trying not to creep out the pretty dame that his eyes had come to settle on constantly throughout the night. She was tall, athletically built and had long curly hair that reminded him of chocolate. He froze when he noticed her heading in his direction. His hands fidgeted, eyes looking around for an out but there was none. So he stood there, gritted his teeth and pretended not to notice the woman heading towards him. 

“Would you like to dance?” 

Bucky heard those words and his breath caught. He had heard that sentence a million times but he knew this time, that you were it. He merely nodded and smiled as he held his hand out to you. You took it and you both shivered at the jolt of electricity that traveled through your connected hands. 

One dance turned into two, which turned into three. You two were silent but it was amicable, both just enjoying being near each other. All the while Bucky was trying to think of what to say. After Hydra, he hadn’t been the smooth talker he once was, and he knew that this would be the most important sentence of his life, needless to say he didn’t want to screw it up. The third song ended and he opened his mouth to finally say something and was then interrupted by Sam. 

“Excuse me Ma’am but I gotta borrow tall dark and handsome.”

“Of course. Thanks for the dances.” you replied, a genuine smile lightning up your face. 

Bucky was fuming, leave it to Sam to screw up everything. 

“Sam you better have a good reason for interrupting.” Bucky was close to slapping the bird brain upside his head. 

“Sorry man, Cap didn’t show up to his extraction point. We’re worried.” 

Bucky’s mood instantly switched, the Winter Solider close to the front. His metal arm whirred “When do we leave?”

“Wheels up in ten.” Sam replied. 

Bucky just nodded and prepared for the fight to come. 

--

Your life continued as usual, you went to work, went to the gym, and then home. Throughout your days your mind would often drift back to encounter with the handsome man at the Stark Gala. For some reason you couldn’t shake the feeling that he was important. You looked for him around work, it was a Stark Employee Gala only, but every time you thought you saw him it turned out not to be him. But life went on, and you stopped actively looking for the man. If you two were meant to meet again, you would. 

Three weeks later you found yourself still stuck at work even though it was half past seven. You were one of the only few people still on the R&D floor, you could've left a while ago but you were eager to finish up the schematics you were working on. It was around eight when you saved all your files and headed to the gym. You didn’t usually go to the gym this late but you looked forward to your workout every day, so you weren’t gonna miss it. 

On the way home you were regretting your decision to stay out so late. You had pushed yourself really hard, and were exhausted, and you had forgotten how sketchy your neighborhood could be at night. You loved living in Brooklyn but it wasn’t the safest place to be alone at night. You noticed that the man walking behind you had started to trail you. You started walking aimlessly, not wanting to lead him to your apartment building. At the time it seemed like a good plan but now you were lost, and the man had sped up, now only a few meters behind you now. 

You were just about to turn around and fight when a figure came up on your left and wrapped their arm around your shoulder. 

“It’s okay, keep walking. I’ll protect you.” the soothing voice said. It was a voice you hadn’t heard before but you instantly felt safe with this person. You moved as if to throw your hair over your shoulder and caught a glance of the man’s face. It was the man from that night, and then it hit you. He had said your words. You wanted to talk, ask so many questions, why he hadn’t said anything, where he had gone, why he was here now, but all you could do is nod and keep walking, chatting about nothing, as if he was meant to join you on your walk. 

-pov switch-

The creep left soon after Bucky’s arrival. But the image of the man was burned into his memory, he would be following up. But for now Bucky was just focused on the woman under his arm. She was shivering, from fear or the cold he didn’t know but he wanted to get her home, safe and sound. 

“Where do you live?” he asked hoping he didn’t sound too forward. 

She just spouted off an address and Bucky was thankful that it wasn’t too far. They arrived fairly quickly. He was going to leave her in the lobby but she just grabbed his hand and tugged him along with her. They entered her apartment and Bucky tried to hide his smirk as she just kicked off her shoes and instantly fell on the couch. 

-pov switch-

“What’s your name?” you asked, smiling at your saviour, your soulmate. 

Bucky ducked his head shyly. “James.” he replied sheepishly. 

“Well James, you owe me an explanation.” 

“It’s a long story ma’am.” James replied with a laugh. 

You tapped the open spot on the couch beside you. “Well, I’ve got all day.”