#it tastes like roasted sludge

[eemoo1o-animoo]

I vaguely remember an advert from years ago, advertising marmite, wherein people get “DNA Tests” as to whether they’re a lover or a hater, and there’s this section in which this pregnant woman starts crying, hugging her stomach, about how “I’m a hater? Oh, god, my baby’s going to be a hater!”.

anyone else remember when ut ate fucking marmite

[ricochetyears]

NEW CHAPTER

jegulus How To Lose a Guy in 10 Days au

Ten Days to Ruin / Chapter 3: Lingonberry Roast Duck

by ricochetyears

As he chews the sad, soggy grains, his mind drifts back to the roasted duck James had prepared earlier. Glorious, golden, crispy-skinned perfection. The memory alone makes his stomach twist with regret. It looked heavenly. For one fleeting moment, Regulus’ whole soul had screamed for just one bite.

But the impulse came—sudden, sharp, and irresistible. The devil on his shoulder whispered: ‘Make him squirm.’ And Regulus, being who he is, couldn’t resist.

So, he lied. On the spot. Told James he didn’t eat meat, right to his face, and watched the poor bastard scramble to rearrange the entire night.

The absurdity of it is almost too much. All that effort, all that careful planning, and James trying so hard to impress him, only for Regulus to knock the whole thing off balance with one tiny, ridiculous lie.

Now, as he sits in this dreadful excuse for a restaurant, chewing on vegetables that taste like wet earth, all he can think about is the burgers Mary makes. Thick, juicy, perfectly grilled beef patties stacked with melted cheese and dripping with sauce.

Regulus’ stomach rumbles quietly at the thought, and he has to hide a grin behind his napkin. Christ, what he’d give for a burger right now.

Instead, he pushes another forkful of green sludge into his mouth, biting down hard on the strange, fibrous asparagus. Across from him, James looks like he might genuinely be sick, and that’s what almost sends Regulus over the edge. He clenches his jaw, fighting back the laughter bubbling dangerously close to the surface.

James makes another valiant attempt to swallow a forkful of what looks like overcooked barley, and his face contorts into a grimace so tragic it’s almost poetic.

Regulus swirls his wine around in his glass, watching James with the air of someone serenely enjoying the moment. Every bit of this is torture for James, and Regulus is basking in it.

God, the lengths James is willing to go to just for a chance at winning him over. Regulus doesn’t even have to do anything. He just has to sit here, pretend the food isn’t horrifying, and watch James slowly unravel.

It’s perfect. It’s beautiful. It’s exactly what he wanted.

And the best part? James has no idea Regulus is loving every second of it.

[psychosomaticdeicide]

Information about coffee I've learned after trawling through several recipe sites and Reddit:

Coffee is more acidic and caffeinated when not/less roasted, therefore a white/medium roast will have more caffeine than a dark/espresso roast. Additionally, the difference in taste will transfer with a difference of brewing method.

(Inverse correlation btwn caffeine/acidity and roast)

Cold brew coffee is less acidic than hot-brewed coffee.

People on r/Coffee know the exact specs of every machine they use and a lot of coffee-related chemistry/biology. With the way my eyes keep skipping over the words, they might as well be explaining the finer points of rocket science BUT AT LEAST I CAN COMPREHEND PHYSICS.

Everyone has their own cold brew ratio but they never specify what type of coffee they're using so aggregating data based on several recipes will not work unless they mention what type of roast they're using.

(1:2 might actually kill me, tbh.)

Coffee can actually be brewed like Japanese Royal Milk Tea (brewed with milk instead of water and with sugar).

The only issues that crop up are how the particular roast may interact with the type of milk is being used because while whole milk is recommended, the way the sugars and lipids break down or bind to specific parts of the coffee are dependent upon which milk or coffee someone may choose. And some choose nondairy for completely understandable reasons, but it will not be the same as the dairy.

(I really want to try this one day because I like Royal Milk Tea and lattes.)

Quality of the water will also affect the taste of the coffee.

(People in New York who drink tap water are drinking microscopic crustaceans and I still can't get over that.)

Lots of people have specific ways they like their coffee down to the machines/brewing methods used. Most of these coffee lovers also advocate for grinding your own beans to a coarse texture.

(There is at least one bean-grinding implement in this house [likely older than me] but there is no telling whether it will work, or if it's broken and lost, or so covered in spiderwebs and dust that it will never be truly clean again.)

There are several ways to grind beans that do not require a bean grinder. These include: mortar and pestle, food processor, spice grinder, and other food processor with a different type of blade.

(I get my coffee pre-ground because I am not at all prepared for the amount of cleanup I need to not kill grandpa who is on several blood pressure medications [yes, all at once] and has been drinking decaf for multiple decades now. On a related note, this is why I can't use the coffee maker.)

Some people do coldbrew by putting the grounds directly in the water and others use a filter like a tea bag. Direct water is kind of gross looking and comes out with sludge.

(Note: I don't trust the woman who secures her filter bags with rubber bands and puts the whole thing in the water. Is it so hard to get butchers' twine or something????)

It is also recommended that cold brew be done in glass containers (specifically mentioned: pitcher, mason jar). This is likely due to staining, but I didn't really read why they were recommending glass containers.

[thedarkivistwrites]

‘I thought you despised coffee.’

Ferdinand hunched over the plate. “I do,” he said quietly as he reached for the mug. The smell alone made him scrunch his nose, but his mind was made up. Nobody could say he didn’t make an honest attempt to compromise. “Quiet, please, I cannot talk to you with so many people around. Someone might notice.”

‘It is hardly my fault you keep trying to have the last word,’ Hubert pointed out smoothly.

He washed the retort on the tip of his tongue with the first sip of hot coffee and gave a shudder. The taste was vile, like boiled mud. He could almost feel the sludge corroding his insides and-

‘Oh, this is an excellent roast.’ -and burning off his tastebuds. Hopefully, his own sense of taste wouldn’t be permanently damaged.

[steamtasticvagabond-blog]

Why Can’t I Just Like The Sludge?

Written by Steamtastic Vagabond,

Growing up, I used to drink sludge. When I was young, I didn’t really know anything else because I never tasted anything else, simply because there was nothing else.

As I grew up, I drank the same sludge as all the other kids. They would run around outside playing “drink the sludge” and I’d play along with them as was only natural. We drank our sludge at home, enjoyed a good mouthwash of sludge, then ran around outside, pretending to drink the sludge just as we had learned.

Day in, day out, I drank the colourful, tasteless sludge. It was as thick as it was colourful. I was happy with the sludge.

But then one day, walking slightly off the beaten path, I ran into some older kids, hanging out and having a good time. They noticed me and shouted, “hey kid, are you still drinking the sludge?”

It seemed like a stupid question, I was frankly confused by it. What do they mean by “still” drinking the sludge?

“Yeah?” I shouted back, unsure what the answer was. Was it a trick question? Were they making fun of me?

“Hey kid, come over here for a minute, you should check this out.”

So I walked over to see what they wanted. “Here, try this,” they said, handing me a cup of an alien fluid. It was clear, smooth, not nearly as viscous as the sludge was supposed to be.

“What is this?” I openly questioned. 

“Trust us kid, this is WAY better than that sludge,”

“I- I think my mom is calling,” I lied, trying to worm my way out of this crazy conversation, but the teenagers were quick to surround me.

“Just one sip, okay,” 

“NO, YOU’RE TRYING TO POISON ME!”

“Kid… just trust us.” they said drinking the abominable not-sludge, demonstrating that it wasn’t poison, whatever it was.

Hesitantly, slightly trembling, my pants slightly pissed, I took the cup from them, staring at the liquid glass within, trying to make sense of it. I could feel the gaze of the teenagers looming over me. I knew there was only one way out of this.

I held the glass up to my lips, and drank…

…

…

…

Delicious, a taste unlike that of any sludge I’ve ever drank before. It was like drinking the feeling of huddling up with your favourite teddy bear. It was a taste like pure inspiration, it was nothing else I had ever tasted before.

I went home that afternoon a new person, knowing taste other than the sludge at home, the sludge served everywhere. My mom called me down from my room for dinner. Roast sludge with sludge sauce and sludge for garnish. I took my first bites like I always did, but something was wrong.

The sludge… tasted bland. It was truly like nothing. There was no taste whatsoever, just empty viscosity trudging itself down my throat. I tried to eat more but something was just wrong.

“Sweetie, why aren’t you eating your roast sludge?” my mom gently prodded. “It's the same as it's always been. You liked it yesterday, you liked it last month, you liked it four years ago.”

“I don’t know mom, is there… anything else,”

My mom gasped like a spaceship airlock attempting to suck all of the air out of the room, “GO TO YOUR ROOM, IN THIS HOUSEHOLD WE EAT THE SLUDGE AND WE LIKE IT,”

Not bothering to fight a battle I knew I couldn’t win, I went up to my room and sat on my bed, looking out the window, seeing the entrance to that side walkway where I met those teenagers earlier.

I thought about the strange not-sludge they made me drink. How wonderful it tasted, the fact that it tasted at all.

The next day I went downstairs to get ready for school. My mom had breakfast ready for me, it was the leftover roast sludge from last night. My mom watched me like a prison warden, I knew there would be no way of leaving the house without eating the sludge.

So I sat down at the table, idly poking and prodding the empty tasteless roast sludge with my fork, my mom all but literally held my hand, shovelling the thick empty goo into my mouth. The entire time I thought about what those teenagers had given me. I wanted more of it, an exciting new taste to break up the monotony of the taste-forsaken sludge.

After fighting to slide the sludge down my throat, I took my backpack and left for school. It was a short walk away, but I just so happened to pass right by where I met those teenagers earlier.

Deciding I was early for class, I went to see if the teenagers were still there, and to my luck, there they were.

“Hey, were you the sludge drinker we met yesterday?” they shouted.

Trembling, I nodded my head.

“Are you back to experience some real taste again?”

I nodded so hard I could feel my brain bouncing off of my skull. They waved me over to sit down next to them, and passed over a glass of that amazing clear liquid. They almost had to restrain me from gulping down the entire thing at once, glass and all.

Once again, the taste was incredible. The palpable lack of taste clinging to my throat was washed away with the drink they gave me. I knew I wanted more.

It became a daily habit of mine to hang out with my new teenage friends. Everyday after school, I would sneak off to the same clearing of trees and bushes to meet with my new friends and to drink the incredible not-sludge they would give me.

I would go home, and pretend to enjoy the sludge my mom cooked every evening. Roast sludge, sludgeloaf, sludgenoff, sludgeghetti, sludge cakes, sludge on the cob, sludge on the rocks. It was all the same, empty, bland, tasteless, viscous shit day in and day out. Everyday I pretended the sludge tasted good to make my mother happy, but with every passing day, it became harder and harder to lie.

I would think about my friends in the bushes, they didn’t just have the same not sludge everyday. One time they came with a red not-sludge that was sour and tangy. A blue not-sludge that was fresh and clean. An orange one, acidic and coppery.

I think my mom started to notice something was wrong. She saw how I clearly just didn’t like the sludge anymore. She grew concerned and called a doctor right away. The doc practically bust down our door mere moments after my mom whispered “he doesn’t like the sludge” into her phone. Words she whispered like a dark secret.

The doctor gave me a VERY thorough examination, not long after he started, more of his doctor friends started showing up in our home. It was like I was the star in the doctor’s makeshift operating theatre. They all watched, eyes wide, mouth agape with every poke and prod of the doc’s thermometer.

Eventually the doctors all collectively turned to my mother and said, “your son is completely fucked in the head and we don’t know what is wrong with him,”

Going to school the next day was a strange experience. It felt like I was living in a different world than the rest of the other kids. I watched them play drink the sludge. They tried to include me but I really just didn’t want to play. It was “sludge this,” “sludge that,” it was all just empty sludge. 

I tried, I really tried, but I just couldn’t bring myself to play with any of them. All they would talk about was the sludge, the same sludge every time. It would sometimes have another name, but it was all just sludge.

Quickly, I became an outcast at my school. Not even bullies would go after me because they saw it as “beneath them,”

I sometimes wish I never found those teenagers in the bushes, I sometimes wish that the only taste I had ever known was the sludge. I wish I could just fit in with them, drinking the exact same sludge as everyone else, playing the same sludge games, watching the same sludge shows and movies. But I can’t.

I have to have something else.

Everyday, alone after school, I would go back to the clearing of bushes with my teenage friends, sharing whatever not-sludge we found. We would laugh, play new games, come up with new things.

All the not-sludge we could want.

[chrysolipsist]

Recipe for 11/11/2023

Today I got stoned, spent over $200 on groceries, and then I made a really fucking good beef stew, and I also whipped up a batch of chocolate chip cookies while it was simmering. It would be nice if all I had to do to have enough money to live nicely was just get high and fuck around in the kitchen.

[SKIP TO RECIPE: look immediately below this line]

Better-than-Usual Beef Stew, Mashed Potatoes, and Chocolate Chip Cookies

3-4 lbs (1.5-2 kg) chuck roast, cut into 1-inch (3 cm) cubes. Cut around the gristle & fat somewhat

some olive oil or whatever oil you got will do

4 good size carrots, chopped at an angle

An onion cut into eighths

Two celery stalks, chopped

1 tbsp tomato paste

a good 5-6 cloves of garlic, minced

several bay leaves

salt, pepper, thyme, basil, oregano, coriander, paprika, etc. (adjust according to preference)

1 tbsp flour

about 1-2 tsp worcestershire sauce

few splashes of white wine along the way

1/2 of a bottle of red wine (375 mL)

about the same amount of beef stock. Except that I did not have beef stock so I made the equivalent using this old concentrated beef bouillon paste that I had on hand.

5-6 medium sized yellow potatoes

six bulbs of garlic

few tbsp of olive oil

more salt

2 sticks of butter (1 cup = 240 mL; apparently this is 1 lb or 228 grams worth of butter. OK you are going to have to metricate the rest of these yourself)

3/4 cup of white sugar

3/4 cup of brown sugar

1/2 tsp salt

1 tsp baking soda

1-2 tsp vanilla extract (according to taste/budget)

2 large eggs

2.5-3 cups flour

1 bag of chocolate chips

2 tbsp butter

1/2 cup of milk

more salt, pepper, and other seasoning you like to have with potatoes

About 45 minutes before cooking, ingest an edible gummy with psychoactive ingredients according to your preference. Preheat your oven to 350°F Fahrenheit (180° C).

Take half of the large bag of garlic you bought at the warehouse club store (because why not? It's only like $6! If we bought a measly three heads of garlic, we'd be paying 1/3 of this, and there's like 16 in here!) and cut them in half. Arrange in a small baking pan and drizzle olive oil on top. Sprinkle with salt, put a layer of parchment paper over them, and then aluminum foil over the pan, and put it in the oven.

A Dutch oven works well for making the stew. I have an enamel one that I use for a lot of different things. Put on medium heat, put some oil and lightly sautee the beef cubes and set them aside in a bowl. Do this in batches so as to avoid crowding the pan.

I have a glass top stove and the one burner I use seems to have a problem with the thermocouple or whatever regulates its output, or maybe it doesn't work well with my Dutch oven, because even putting it on the lowest setting causes the burner to crank out heat at maximum power. So I have to manually adjust to avoid burning shit. As a consequence I had more fond in the pan than usual (apparently that is what the French call what's stuck to the side of the pan). I deglazed with a few splashes of white wine that I had nearby. I don't know how much this contributed to it coming out good.

After browning the meat and deglazing the pan add the vegetables (carrots, celery, onion, minced garlic). You could add whatever over vegetables you want. For example you can add green pepper or mushrooms to this if you want. Season with the listed seasonings above or whatever you prefer. Add the tomato paste as well. Cook until the onions are starting to soften. Return the beef and any liquid in the bowl back to the pan.

Add the Worcestershire and red wine and allow to simmer while you look around for the beef stock. After realizing you don't have any, remember that you have this concentrated bouillon paste in the fridge that you bought... a LONG time ago. Dissolve a spoonful of this in about 1.5 cups (350 mL) of water. Pour this into the stew and notice that a lot of it didn't dissolve very well and hope that it does not ruin it (maybe the Flavor Sludge is actually what made it so good). Give things in the pot a stir and add the bay leaves, push them into the liquid and cover things up.

Move the stew to the burner that isn't malfunctioning and put on a setting between low and medium.

At this point the edible will probably be hitting pretty good. Go ask your wife if she feels like fooling around which will kill some time while you wait for the stew to simmer and your garlic to roast.

About 30 mins to an hour later, check on things. The garlic will be ready to come out when it is a nice honey brown color, it might need more time.

Take two sticks of butter and soften them in the microwave for 30 seconds. Put them in the mixer with the sugar and brown sugar and mix. Gradually add the other wet ingredients (egg and vanilla extract) and allow to thoroughly mix. Add the baking powder, salt, and permit to mix in thoroughly. Gradually add the flour. You will need between 2.5 - 3 cups. Lastly add the chips. Make into 1-inch diameter balls and arrange on baking sheet and bake for 12-13 minutes each. If yours are a little on the large side you might need a few more minutes. There will probably be 2-3 batches of 12 cookies. Remove the garlic you have been roasting when putting in the cookies.

At this point, remember that you need to have something to eat the stew with, so get the potatoes and wash them off and cut into cubes. Prep this while the 1st batch of cookies cooks. Put into a pan of salted water and bring to a boil and then simmer on medium heat. This will be happening around when you are pulling out the 1st batch of cookies and putting in the 2nd batch. Boil the potatoes until the 2nd batch is done.

Boil water on the better burner because it cooks more consistently. That means the stew has to go back to the fucked-up burner. Put on some heat now and then, but only leave it on for a minute so as to avoid burning the stew. The liquid should have reduced significantly. At this point, sprinkle about 1 tbsp of flour onto the stew and mix in a little. This will cause the stew to thicken. If your stove works properly I would probably keep the heat on a good low-to-medium while everything else continues to cook.

Drain the potatoes and return them to the warm pan. Add 2 tbsp of butter, salt, pepper, and whatever other seasoning you think would be good. I used the same stuff I put in the stew. I also added about 1 bulb's worth of the roasted garlic. I used a fork to extract some of the soft roasted cloves and mashed them up on a plate before mixing in with the potatoes.

At this point you can announce that dinner is done. I believe this will serve about 5-6 people. Serve with a nice crusty bread and an $11.99 bottle of red wine.

[phoebe-delia]

the taste of hope

For the @drarrymicrofic prompt: feast. Rated M. CW: lack of self-care, depression, grief (but no character death), mention of disordered eating, hopeful ending.

Rosemary chicken, golden brown and fresh from the oven. Mashed potatoes, smooth and melt-on-your-fork creamy. Crisp, well-seasoned roasted vegetables, and strawberry pie with a flakey crust.

It all tasted like sand in Draco's mouth; like mushy, flavorless sludge.

Pansy had insisted on his attending the Ministry gala. "If you don't you'll only languish in your flat with nothing but a stale bottle of wine and the same worn, spunk-stained romance novels to keep you occupied."

Draco had protested—he was well-practiced at Scourgify, thanks ever so. But both his inability to refute the other accusations and Pansy's forcing him out of bed the morning of the event found him sitting at a table between her and Blaise, pretending to savor the meal in front of him.

His mind kept shifting to images of his father, out of his mind at Janus Thickey. He'd tried to visit him on multiple occasions, but the staff had stopped him every time, their lips stretched into thin, grim lines and their heads shaking, "We're sorry, Mr. Malfoy, but it's not safe. We'll let you know."

Grief and worry were thick in his throat, wet in his eyes, cold in his bones. Only the red wine in his glass could get past his tongue and warm him for a few moments of relief, his eyes finally a bit blurred around the edges and hazy.

He drained his glass and reached for the bottle only for Pansy to take it from him with a disapproving click of her tongue. "That's enough for the evening, Draco dear." She flicked her wand, and Draco scowled at the sensation of a sobering charm coursing through his veins.

He opened his mouth to protest, but Pansy raised an eyebrow, leaned in to whisper, "You'll thank me later," and jerked her head slightly toward the entrance.

Draco followed the movement and felt his eyes sharpen, his throat clear and his body warm.

Potter, still in his Auror trainee robes, was grinning and walking up to where they sat at the table.

Pansy grinned, standing from her seat to accept Potter's peck on the cheek. "Potter, so glad you could make it."

"Thanks, Parkinson. Sorry I'm late, training ran over time."

Pansy let her eyes trail up and down Potter's form. "I can see it's paying off well," she purred, and Potter blushed.

Draco cleared his throat. "Hello, Potter."

Green eyes glittered as they looked at Draco. "Malfoy, good to see you." Potter's gaze flicked down to Draco's still full plate, in contrast to the empty ones of the guests around him. "How's the food?"

Pansy chuckled. "Nearly gone now, Potter—though our Draco doesn't seem too hungry. Perhaps you two could share his plate."

Potter flushed again, glancing at Draco again with a frown, his eyebrows knit with concern. "You feeling alright, Malfoy?"

Draco clenched his jaw. "I'm fine. Just a bit under the weather. In fact," he said, standing up and setting his napkin next to his plate, "I should be off. Good evening, all."

He turned on a heel and walked away, ignoring Pansy's glare at his back until he felt a warm hand wrap around his wrist and met Potter's eyes once more.

"Can I help you?"' Draco affected the best, most derisive drawl he could muster.

Potter wasn't fazed. "How much have you eaten today?"

"Excuse me?" Draco huffed. "What business of yours is it how much I eat?"

"I just noticed—you seem...thinner than usual."

"Notice my body much, do you Potter?"

"Malfoy cut the shit," Potter's grip on Draco's wrist tightened. "I've been where you are," he said, his voice hardly above a whisper. "I heard what happened to your father, and I went through something similar when my godfather died and—"

"My father isn't dead," Draco snapped.

"I know, but our loved ones don't have to die for us to have reason to grieve them," Potter's tone was gentler, and his grip was loosening.

Draco's vision blurred, his throat tightened, his blood ran cold. Potter's eyes widened.

"Malfoy, c'mon," Potter pulled him toward the entrance and Draco went willingly, trying to keep himself upright.

They stopped in the middle of the blessedly empty area outside the building, and Potter stepped closer to Draco.

"It's going to be alright," Potter murmured. "But you've got to take care of yourself."

"I eat, Potter. I'm not starving myself." Draco looked away. "I just forget, sometimes. And when I do remember, the food doesn't...taste like anything, anymore."

Potter nodded. "How's your mum taking it?"

"As well as she can, I suppose," Draco sighed. "She mostly stays locked in her room at the Manor. I tried to get her to move in with me, or to let me stay there with her, but she insists she's fine."

Potter was silent for a moment, letting Draco's admission sit in the air between them. Then, he sighed.

"Let's go."

Draco's eyebrows furrowed. "Where?"

"I know a little pub that stays open late. They've got great fish and chips. Let's get some real food and talk more there, alright?" Potter held out his arm for Draco to take

Draco hesitated, but he reached for Potter's arm, letting the pull of Apparition take him away.

[yandere-society]

The Rabbit Hole

Summary: The Windy City in the mid-1920s is a spectacle of lights and sounds, roaring with the excitement of jazz music and swinging dance moves. Amid the brilliant stars of Chicago nightlife, there is a dark underground of secrets, mainly that being the mysterious Wonderland Ball you've been invited to participate in and be crowned the next "Alice". What you don't know is you may or may not be allowed to leave, per the Mad Hatter and a White Rabbit's desires. So, daring and brave as you are, you decide to take a journey down The Rabbit Hole and come face to face with high society - people - as you've never seen them before.

Genre: Yandere; Historical Fiction/ Fantasy Based In The 1920′s; Smut; Thriller; Alice in Wonderland Inspired 

Warnings: Yandere themes, Mentions of drug/ alcohol use with/without consent, mentions of “gangsters”, light talks of selling your soul/ the devil/ religious “themes”?, sedative drugs used non-consensually, vivid dreams/nightmares, maybe light profanity? Smut: Non-protected sex (twice), creampies, oral sex (f and m receiving/giving), slight nipple play?, spanking, marking, bruising, slightly rough sex, use of a sex swing/ sex swing intercourse, f and m orgasms. I think that’s it. 

Pairings: Jeon Jungkook (White Rabbit) x Reader (Alice) x Kim Seokjin (Mad Hatter), Side Pairing of Johnny (Jonathan) Suh from NCT x Reader, Johnny x Jung Jaehyun from NCT.

Author’s Notes: This is not going to be a historically accurate piece. As much as I am an advocate for research and learning about the times of old, I am only human and I am short on time researching in between my full time job. I have grown up and currently live in Chicago and I have never written a story about the Windy City before so here I am, writing to you about the wonderful city I call home. I am doing my best to stay true to my writing as well as make it as accurate as one can, but please forgive me if there are faults in this story! 

We are not doing a collective Valentine’s Day event this year but the contents of this piece have been weighing heavily on my mind, so I asked if I could write this story for a little something-something. I hope you all enjoy it!

Written By: Admin 💖 @therealmintedmango​ 

Also, who do you think the other boys from BTS are from Alice in Wonderland in this story? I’d love to know! 

Stepping out of my very own vehicle my future husband’s family sent for me, I take in the sights and the sounds that Chicago provides this snowy afternoon. 

People waltz around one another and mingle about, snow crunching under their feet. The faint sounds of jingle bells float down the streets in the chilly air, it smells of popcorn and roasted nuts as well as the sludge of gasoline tainting the snow. A cold breeze gliding across the buildings nearly knocks me off my feet as I look up to my new place of residence, a new high-rise Michigan Ave. The stars above my head seem to sparkle in the dark sky, or are those just the electric lights from the grand buildings surrounding me? 

Curious, I think as I continue to have my sights set above the horizon. I’ve certainly strayed very far from the corn fields of back home. Inhaling the sharp, bitterly cold air around me, I feel a sense of dread almost wash over my senses. I knew what I was signing up for when I came here. Jonathan and I discussed it in great detail over the wire. 

The reality of the situation is finally sinking into my layers of clothing. 

Jonathan Suh, the grandson of Suh Realtor Industries Incorporated - which owns about one third of Chicago - has asked me to marry him. It was seemingly out of the blue too. I was going to spend the next years of my life trying to marry into the best livestock or vegetable farmer in town, not the filthy rich grandson in a large city. It felt like a dream when he called me and begged me to come as soon as possible. I suppose it pays off to be kind to everyone, especially when it felt like it was yesterday we were both in grammar school together. 

I drink it all in, the busy sounds, the cold night air that leaves me feeling bitter and raw standing in the street while snow begins to descend from the blackened sky. It feels foreign to me even though it’s only about two hours away from the farm. The breeze blistering in from the west sends a chill up my spine. 

This is a new beginning, I ponder to myself as I stretch upwards in the middle of the sidewalk. This is my chance at a better life, this is way better than being some poor, sad farm girl. That’s right! I’m going to be the wife of my childhood friend who just happened to be some rich playboy who has more money than he knows what to do with.

I’m going to be a Suh!

...Even if the whole arrangement is a sham...

“Miss, you are going to freeze to death outside!” Jonathan’s maids rush to usher me out of the cold quickly, but not before I accidentally bump into someone on the busy sidewalk. 

“I beg you to pardon me,” I mumble as I set my sights over my shoulder on a man dressed in a long coat with hair as white as the snow currently blanketing the ground. “You’ll have to forgive me, I am just enraptured with how bright Chicago seems to shine at night.” 

The man’s seemingly red eyes expand with my excitement, then soften. “No pardon to beg, Miss…?” He queries, a bloom of warmth spreading across his face.  

“Suh.” I smile as the men shout from my car they have finished unpacking. “Well, I am the future Mrs. Jonathan Suh. For now I suppose I am still Y/N Y/L/N.”

“Strange, I didn’t think he… Well, never mind that now.” His eyes linger on mine. “Johnny’s got good taste.” I hear him mumble under his breath in a deep tone, slurring his words together in a string. “Well, I can’t wait to see more of you, future Mrs. Jonathan Suh.” He says as he swings his coat behind himself and takes off down the street, the crowd and the night dissolving him like a pill in warm water. 

Curious and curiouser this night becomes, I think as the maids finally have enough of me standing about in the cold. 

“Do you know who that was?” I ask the hoard of them, hoping someone has the answer to my bump in the night with a rather odd fellow. My heart is beating but I’m not sure what for. I know my place. I know why he called me… My fate was sealed as soon as I got the wire from my future husband.

The collective flock shake their heads and mutter polite “noes” as they lead me up grand staircases of marble and through dim corridors at this time of night, leaving my brain a drifting piece of snow in the blizzard that will surely accumulate outside overnight. 

“Right this way.” A young redhead coos as she parades me up what must be my twentieth flight of stairs I’ve climbed this evening. “Master Suh will be so happy you are here at last!” They lead me into a beautiful room with the most lavish furniture I’ve ever seen in my life! Magazines and pictures certainly don’t bestow such fine items with quite the same honor as seeing such beauty in person. 

“Madam Suh has a full schedule for you this weekend.” One of the elderly looking women dares to swoon as she says, “Wedding planning, I’m sure, no doubt.” My coat is taken from me and I am given house slippers to wear. 

The flock - or really I should call them a herd of lemmings - all agree once more as a butler leads us through a hallway with objects of fine art, pottery, and paintings. Each item is so uniquely wonderful that it would make my brothers’ and sisters’ heads spin if they saw how perfect and polished everything is. How ornate and lavish! Am I to spend my life with fine, intricate pieces of art from all mediums? I wonder if Jonathan has created any of these himself? Would he allow me to paint? I wonder...

“Master Suh,” I inhale, realizing I am right at the threshold of a beautiful oak door. “Miss Y/N Y/L/N has arrived.” The butler announces. 

My body feels all fuzzy and nervous for some reason. It’s been many years since I’ve seen my dear friend from when we were still learning how to hop on a bicycle in the country where his family had a small house and property that butted up against my family’s by the little lake in the middle of a corn field. 

“Y/N!” A deep, refreshing voice purrs before he embraces me in a tight hug. “How was your ride? Did the car fair well, unlike the weather?” He chuckles as his tall frame dwarfs mine in comparison. The scent of him is most definitely cinnamon, scotch, and leather, which I’m not surprised. All fine things to smell of for certain. 

The maids all giggle and mumble their approval and the butlers look away, anxious to gaze upon a woman in another man’s arms. I suppose his gesture of a greeting is very rude, but I don’t mind. Being smack-dab in the middle of my siblings, I feel like nothing phases me anymore, even the hug Jonathan wraps around me. 

“Jonathan Suh,” I simper, pulling out of his embrace, “The ride was not too terrible, and my, how tall you’ve grown! And so dapper too.” I sigh earnestly. “It’s a pleasure to see you again.”

“I hope you say that every day you wake up and I am there beside you.” Jonathan’s brown eyes seem to daze in the glow from the lamp lights in the sitting parlor. 

There’s nothing more I hate than an arrogant flirt, not to mention an arrogant flirt with money is all the more trouble. Is this really going to be the rest of my life? Living with Jonathan like this? So contrived and fake… it makes my insides twist. 

“I am rather weary though from a day full of travels.” I pretend to yawn, shifting out of his arms bit by bit and heading toward the door. “May I have the delight in seeing you tomorrow?” 

“Oh yes, you must be quite tired. I always get sleepy on car rides.’ Jonathan muses as he extends his hand to the door and the staff scramble into place. “Mr. and Mrs. Alan would you please escort Y/N to her room? I will be here but on the other end of the house until we are...you know-” 

“Goodnight, Jonathan.” I say almost too quickly after that, leaving almost as swiftly as I’ve come. 

Once my hair is down and I am dressed comfortably in my nightgown, I feel like I can take a deep breath again. It feels odd with my hair unpinned, sitting in a brand-new nightgown, overlooking the rocking waves of the lake and the snow that drifts down from the sky. Basking in the sill of my window from the beautiful lights and moonlight shining through my velvet curtains, I hope and pray that every night I spend in Chicago is not as forced and fake as this one has been.

-

I’m chasing something odd in my dream. 

I move between pictures hanging on the walls, through the bellies of grandfather clocks, I emerge through the darkness every time, chasing a little white rabbit with a cottontail through or around objects of grand design. I have never had a dream that felt so vivid and real, like I am actually flying through my thoughts, time of the utmost essence for some unknown reason. I can’t seem to escape a dark feeling looming around me and I feel slightly frightened that I will not catch the little thing. 

When I reach for the little dumpling covered in pretty white fur, it lurches forward, propelling my desire to catch up to the little beast. 

I descend deeper and deeper, the spotlight in the darkness focused solely on the bunny ahead of me. I can’t reach him, I’m not fast enough, my feet do not carry me quick enough. I call to the animal but it doesn’t hear me, instead it flies between two large velvet curtains. 

“Please!” I beg the animal as I pop through the hole in the curtains, shuffling through on my knees. “Where are you taking…me…” My question dies in my throat as I look up to find red eyes, his curly blonde hair waving at me from under a gold top hat, a gold mask from that of a masquerade celebration covering most of his face. 

But, I know that soft smirk well now. I’ve replayed it several times already in my mind like the fool I am. 

This is the man I met on the sidewalk. I gasp. But, why is he inhabiting my dream?

“Welcome to Wonderland, Alice.” A soft voice wafts from high above the two of us, making me shiver. “We’ve been waiting for you.”

Why am I frightened? Surely this is not a nightmare. I was only following a rabbit and now I am here with these two men. 

Slowly, my eyes trail up the large mahogany platform, showcasing a very large, ornately plush gold and maroon seat which houses a man in an all green suit of the finest quality. He is also wearing a mask trimmed with greens and golds, his lush lips pinkened like he had just indulged in delicious raspberry jam pulled into a dark smirk. He sits with the side of his pale face in one of his hands, resting comfortably on the arm of the pretty chair. The man from the street sits on a swing that hangs high from the rafters, silently taking me in. An aura of power and class drips tastefully from every fiber of his being, weighing heavily upon me like he is a hammer and I am but a humble nail. 

“Good job chasing rabbits.” The man’s smile further stretches, his amber eyes boring down upon me, making my skin want to jump from my skeleton. “The next step is to find The Rabbit Hole.”

My eyes fling open, a train's loud horn blaring in the distance, the golden morning haze filtering from the curtains across the room. I jolt upward in bed, cold sweat beading my body, tainting the beautiful nightgown the Suhs have given me. I throw the sheets off my bed and clutch my forehead, musing the words of the man in all green over and over to myself in a frenzy. 

...What a dreadfully vivid dream...

-

I’ve been here for almost a week and I’ve lost count of the tea parties and luncheons I’ve attended with Mrs. Suh. The people and the houses and families they all belong to are getting lost to me in the wake of planning for a wedding. Though, I’m not sure how much I am actually planning. Merely pointing between two colors of table placemats and napkins or choosing between a flower or two. 

Tonight though, it is another snowy evening on the lakeshore, we are attending a jazz concert at the Sunset Cafe to see a wonderful show performed by the talented Cab Calloway and Louis Armstrong who make the most wonderful music. I was practically buzzing when I heard the news that the Suhs would be taking me this evening. As always, Jonathan and his mother have only two options for me to wear this evening and I must make a choice between them. A silver, more A-lined gown that shows off more skin than one should in the winter with a mink-fur cowl or more fluttering, off the shoulder velvet cobalt-blue style of a ball gown with embroidered golden stars falling from the bust in waves of tulle. 

Call me old fashioned, but I choose the one that makes me feel like a princess, not the one that makes me fit in. My thoughts wander between which Suh picked out which dress for me to wear and the dream of me chasing a white rabbit. 

I can never seem to catch that rabbit nor have I seen the two men since my first dream. It relieved me, but it also scared me. 

A shimmering laugh that is made of moonbeams and stars pulls me from my spell of thought that engrossed me.

The Suhs are dotting and cheerful people, always looking out for their only son in this cruel world. They are wonderful and powerful in their own ways, working the men and ladies in the sitting room of the theater with just a glance or smile of their lips. Mr. Suh smokes a cigar and smacks Jonathan on the back as they stand in the corner away from the ladies. Mrs. Suh includes me in all her conversations, never wanting me to feel lost or dissuaded from a million questions by another matriarch of a well-to-do family. 

I can see why Jonathan doesn’t want to disappoint them or the good people of his clan’s name before or after himself.  

The room is hazy from the smoky cigars that the men all drag on in between their elaborate conversations about President Coolidge and his beliefs while the women discuss lighter subjects such as traveling to Paris and Morocco as well as tennis. I find my thoughts up in the cloud of smoke that hangs in the room. 

“Pardon me, ladies,” Jonathan places a hand gently upon my shoulder, “may I steal Y/N away for a few moments?” 

“The concert will begin shortly, Johnny.” Mrs. Suh smiles, casting her charms to her son who smiles with reassurance to his dear mother. 

“Don’t fret, mother,” Jonathan grins as she calls him his nickname, “I want to show her off to my college chums.”

Her eyes twinkle in delightful mischief as she swirls her glass of sweet liquor in her hand. “Just be sure to return her in one piece. Y/N has a long day ahead of her tomorrow.” 

More wedding planning I’m not privy to I suppose? Such is my life now. High society is fun and all but the pressure is unlike anything I’ve ever felt before… No, my brain is captivated once more by the dark aura of the man from my dream, looming and lingering above me, teeth glimmering in the lim electric light of the room from my lucid dream. That was true, pure evil pressure I wish to never partake in the feeling of ever again. 

Jonathan says nothing as he turns from her, ushering me away with his hand placed gently on my shoulder. We move silently and quickly through groups who mingle and giggle, alcohol strong in their glasses and upon their breath as we pass through the crowd of rich socialites. 

We stop at one group of gentlemen, but I am only introduced to one handsome man named Jung Jaehyun who fondly shakes Jonathan’s hand and winks at me. What an odd fellow, I tell myself as we dive deeper and deeper into the crowd of people loitering in the fancy sitting room. 

“I’m glad you wore the one I picked out.” Jonathan says so low that I may only be able to hear his words. Well, that answers that question then. “These men might eat you alive, so stay as sharp as a blade but soft as a lamb, understand me? They will not leave me be until I introduce you to them.” 

“Are they your friends?” I query with a whisper as he pulls me to the edge of the room where young men have beautiful young ladies draped on their elbows. 

I have never seen a lady look like they do, but I suppose it is fashionable and “kept up with the times”. I am not so appealing as these ladies are with their skin on display and their heels high, they attract my attention before the men who hold them up do. Their makeup is dark, yet shimmering in the soft glow from the electric lights from above. The fair ladies’ hair is cut so short, their sideways hats and feather headbands merely slip off their sleek and shiny hairstyles. I am in awe of the way they look and envy them for behaving and chatting so freely. 

“Do not be scared, but they are budding gangsters who run speakeasies.” My eyes widen with his words, but I do what I am told. “Please do me another favor, Y/N, and become the most desirable woman here.” Jonathan whispers to me before we approach the hoard of people in front of me. “I will set you free from this cage as soon as I can.”

I can only nod as my demeanor switches like that of a light switch. 

Walking up to these men and women I’ve never met, I invoke the acting spirit of Jane West for Jonathan. I demand my attention. I am the most beautiful creature in this sitting room, if not all of the world. I did not go to college but I am going to show you how well read and cultured I am. I am going to be a Suh and I command you all to bow down to me in this instant. 

“Suh!” A tall man with coiffed, sandy blonde locks beams as he steps away from his fair darling on his arm tonight. “You dog! I didn’t think you’d grace us with your presence this evening!” They shake hands and laugh at nothing vigorously as I look between the two before the blonde catches my eye. They are pretty amber eyes that remain half-lidded and surely dazzle in the glow from chandeliers above. He’s not as tall as Jonathan, but he is handsome. “This must be-” 

“Y/N Y/L/N.” 

A voice from behind the blonde says clearly, setting to be free from the shadow of Jonathan’s friend. 

It’s the white rabbit! I think as I try to hold myself together. He looks rather dapper in a white and gold waistcoat with tails, a top hat making him appear to be as formal as one can be. This is the gentleman I bumped into the streets, but I cannot press out of my head. I want to tell him to stay out of my dreams, but I fear he will think me mad if I declare such a bold thing without expressing my thoughts further.  

“You know of my future bride, Jeon?” I feel the grip upon my shoulder tighten and breath being held from above me. Don’t fret, Jonathan, I would never tell anyone. I promise. Your secret is safe with me. 

The friend with his hair as white as the fallen snow looks at me passively, eyes rimmed red like he can’t sleep a wink either. “I met her on the sidewalk, John, but we’ve never been properly introduced.” He bows and takes my blue-colored gloved hand in his white ones. He kisses the top of my hand and in this ball gown-like dress I am indeed fulfilling my fantasy of pretending to be a beautiful princess. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, future Mrs. Jonathan Suh.” 

“Y/N,” Jonathan says, exhaling the concerned breath he’s been holding in, his grip returning to normal as well. “These are my friends from college: Mr. Kim Namjoon, whose family owns one third of the city like mine does, and Mr. Jeon Jungkook, who makes up the triangle of the most powerful families of Chicago.” 

“At your service.” Jungkook says with a cheeky grin stretching across his face, kissing the top of my hand once more. 

The way he looks up at me makes butterflies trapped in my body flutter and flounce about. But I cannot swoon or succumb to a young man so openly. Jonathan is counting on me. 

“I’m delighted to meet Jonathan’s friends from his schooling.” I say in the same charming manner Mrs. Suh has produced all week. 

“Forgive me for this is a bold question, future Mrs. Suh, but, will you be getting a gown made?” Namjoon asks me as he sips his scotch on the rocks.

“I think tomorrow I am going for a fitting, yes.” I nod my head, smiling just the right amount. 

“Then it should be crafted by the finest in the Windy City, Kim’s Couture on the corner of Washington and LaSalle Street. Have you heard of the establishment before?” Namjoon queries.

“Indeed! I have!” I exclaim happily, my eyes wide as his stay half-lidded as though he is sleepy, though he smiles earnestly. 

“Then I must insist you have a treasured wedding gown made by my seamstresses.” He hands me a white business card with only his name upon it. I stare at it until he taps it twice. “They will take excellent care of you, I promise.” 

“Oh-ho!” A soft, almost melliferous voice rings out behind me. No... “This must be the infamous bride-to-be!” I know this voice! Fear rattles through me, making me tremble as I look over the shoulder Jonathan is not draped over to look at the mysterious voice. Time is slow as molasses as I face the man from my dream, clad all in a green waistcoat, vest, and top hat, wolfishly grinning at me. 

“Ah, this is my eldest brother,” Namjoon muses as the electric lights flash, indicating the performance will begin soon, “Seokjin Kim.” 

Kim Seokjin...

I feel like I know everything about this man yet nothing at all. He is the type of man who is a brilliant summer on the outside and stormy winter on the inside. The smile on his lips - that is the color of the inside of a cherry tart - is warm, yet cold all in the same breath. He appears to be a powerful man of high class, wrapped in an enigma of grace and power. But there is a scent of something malicious in the air as he closes the gap between us and gets down on his knee to kiss upon my hand. 

I’m not sure what made me do it, but something comes over me, the flight or fight instinct animals possess lurches out of me in this moment.  

“Why is a raven like a writing desk?” I ask, pulling my arm away from him.

Seokjin’s bright amber eyes slowly travel up my ball gown, disbelief and confusion colors his good looking features. 

Mouths open in shock and my heart drops, but I feign a lie, turning out of Jonathan grasp, and quickly say, “Forgive me, for I feel faint.” I run to the bathroom in the hall as everyone piles into the main room of the Sunset Cafe, heart pounding in my chest and cheeks on fire. 

I’m so sorry Jonathan, I did not mean to make a fool out of you. There is just something about the way Seokjin’s gaze is so feral that chills me to the bone. 

A hand rests upon Jungkook’s shoulder while he continues to longingly gaze at the door as if he was willing me to come back with his mind. “Don’t worry, Jeon.” Seokjin purrs in his ear, amber gleam set upon the door. “She is the one who chases you every night, not the other way around.” 

“I know, hyung.” Jungkook whispers as the brass begins to trumpet through the building. “When do we make our move?” 

“Soon.” Seokjin chuckles darkly, guiding the younger of the boys to follow behind him. “Very soon we will have our glorious tea party.” 

-

The subject of marriage has always been an odd one to me, I think to myself as maids and fashion consultants from the Kim’s dress boutique flutter and coo around me.  

My parents married but it was never for love. I knew that, my siblings and myself knew that, yet they both loved us all the same. My mother and father married as more of a “good match on paper” sort of situation, than they were truly, madly in love. Still, they never fought, my father never hit my mother, never drank himself silly, never talked to another woman. My mother upheld the same standard and raised us all with love in her hardworking heart. I knew she was aware that I haven’t spoken to Jonathan since we were young children and that I would soon be in the same boat if I accepted his offer. 

“A lifetime of money doesn’t equal happiness.” She told me. “You should marry for love, not for any green or gold.” 

I agree. I know this full well. I’m not one to be stingy or greedy by any means. I don’t want to be an actress in a picture show or model for a beautiful Channel garment. And though I do want love in my life, I want a secure future. I am the middle child of middle-class farmers. The best match I could have made besides this one was with a cattle farmer or a man who works in the stockyards on the south side of Chicago. 

It’s selfish for me to do this not only for myself but to my mother as well. 

But, I am here and like my family, I will be fiercely loyal to the man I will call my husband. If not, call me a bold-faced liar and take me and my words to the grave. 

Jonathan Suh is not a bad man for who he prefers in the sheets. I know that and have never felt such a way to treat someone less of me if they do prefer the company of one sex over another. I will not break the promise I’ve made to him, but I cannot help but feel like a songbird trapped in a tight, metal cage for the decision I’ve made to help him. 

-

Due to the poor weather Chicago has currently come down with, the wedding has been postponed until further notice. 

When I wired my family to tell them the news, my mother answered. I was a bit more than surprised that she almost sounded relieved when I told her the news. I promised I would wire soon and my younger sisters begged me to take them to the city to go shopping at Marshall Fields. My father sounded passive at first when the telephone wire was transferred to him by my youngest brother after he told me the family cat, Cheshire, had gone missing. 

Truth be told, I am also more than happy to exhale a breath and not worry about someone questioning me about my upbringing. Or having Mrs. Suh and the don of high-class ladies and waist-coated men galloping around every breath I take. 

I can finally relax, I think as I pull out a book in the study as Jonathan reads the Chicago Tribune on the couch across the way from me. We get along well, I realize. Silence suits us both. No tricks, not faking our way through hordes of important people. We have to conserve and save our energy for when we face the people mercilessly wanting to know everything and anything about us, good ole’ Jonathan and I... 

No, not Jonathan anymore… I am to be his wife, and he...my…

I peer at him from over my book on flowers, losing interest in the pages. 

Can I really pretend we are to be an item forever? Will one of us crack or slip up? It seems like we are stuck in a circle now, both of us floating in a pool of choices we will surely drown in.

Tap. Tap. Tap. 

Someone knocks at the door, plucking me from my fever of thoughts. I fully peer over the pages in my hands, pretending like I was in fact engrossed in the origin story of an author I enjoyed as a girl. 

“Enter.” Jonathan says without skipping a beat, not looking up from his black and white ink. His eyes scan the pages, following the drumming beat of the grandfather clock next to the roaring fireplace. But, now that I study him closer, I’m unsure if he was actually reading or just musing to himself like I was moments ago.  

“The post, sir.” Butler James reports as he opens the door, my handmaiden Emily gliding up to us with a silver plate in her hands. 

“Thank you, Emily.” Jonathan gives her a half-smile as he takes the single envelope off the tray, slicing it open with trepidation.  

I look at the blood-red colored wax seal as he flips the paper, revealing a knight chess piece glaring upside down at me. 

Jonathan scans the letter passively at first, his orbs lazily scanning the pages, then suddenly his eyes ignite with rage behind them. “No.” He says softly, red flushing to his handsome face. He rips the paper up into shreds then, aggression and hatred oozing from every pore for some unknown reason. He gets up as he throws the scraps in the fire with vigor as butler James, Emily, and I all stare at him like he’s grown a second head. “Don’t you dare go.” He warns me, irises blaring with unmeasurable loathing. “Those people are dangerous.” Jonathan practically snarls as he exits the room in a fit of rage, stomping down the hall as we look on stunned and slack-jawed at what had just happened. 

From what I can tell, Jonathan isn’t one to get upset easily or lash out so that letter must have set him off. But what could it have been?

It really has sparked my curiosity, that’s for certain. 

Where wasn’t I supposed to go and who was so dangerous?

-

I got the answer the next day as I read a book about traveling the jungles of South America. 

“Miss!” My handmaiden whispers like a hiss as she enters the study. “Miss!” 

“Yes, Emily?” I smile, putting my book down as she flutters to my side in a nervous frenzy. “What is the matter?” 

“I snagged this from the post, miss.” She hands you the letter you saw the previous day with Jonathan, the one that he got enraged over.  “Please open it quickly, miss, before the butler spots it! They want us to destroy anything with this seal on it!”

I do as I am told, opening up the letter addressed to both Jonathan and myself with the odd wax seal to find an invitation inside.

You Are Cordially Invited To Participate In:

THE WONDERLAND BALL 

A Masquerade Party To Determine The Next “Alice”

For Directions Follow Us Down The Rabbit Hole 

Knock Thrice For The Door Mouse To Let You Inside

Cheers, 

                                      The ‘Mad Hatter’ & Company

“How curious...” I muse as my eyes trail over the letter over and over, wondering what has Jonathan all in a panicked rage. “Well, I don’t even know where “The Rabbit Hole” is so I shan’t be going.” 

“Tis’ a speakeasy, Miss.” Emily says her eyes wide as she reads the paper with you. “They say it’s the most fun one in all of downtown!” She giggles. “Shall I fetch you a gown for the ball?” 

“No.” I shake my head with a small smile, hanging her back the letter. “If Jonathan said he doesn’t want me to go, I won’t.” I pick up my book as she slightly deflates, wanting to paint me up for the festivities I was invited to. “Please burn this now, Emily, so you don’t get in trouble.”

“Right away, Miss.” Emily bows a little before she heads out of the room, leaving me to daydream in the middle of the study in peace. 

-

“How long must we wait?” Jungkook pesters Seokjin tirelessly who looks down from his wooden pedestal in the back room of the very peculiar club. “I am afraid a letter and her dreams are not going to cut it.” Jungkook snorts, frustration flashing in his red eyes. 

“Mm, yes…” Seokjin rubs his chin with his white gloved hand, “Johnny boy has been hiding our little Alice away from our prying eyes, hasn’t he?”

“Yes!” Jungkook stomps his foot like that of a child, fists balled into tight fists at his sides. “And I was promised a maiden for all the hard work I’ve done for you!” 

Seokjin laughs darkly then, the sound echoing off the walls of his private chambers. “Jungkook, I’m not sure if you understand that poisoning people and taking out a few smaller families in our beloved city is considered hard work.” He stops then, Seokjin’s usually light voice dripping with malice when he says, “But, I suppose this is one way to end the Suhs and get the last jewel on the crown you are desiring in your attempts to rule the city.” 

“Is everything in place for the ball?” Jungkook grits his teeth as he stares up into the man who could end him in one go, but is choosing to help the young gangster. “Your magic won’t fail us now?”

Seokjin winks at him, spending him a flying kiss as he says, “It's going to be dreadfully delightful.” Ending the Suhs, managing to take out some more people in big crime families in Chicago, and adding one more perfect woman to his growing collection of pawns. 

Sure, he was mad and about to destroy several lives in the process, but hell if he wasn’t half brilliant and good looking while doing so. 

-

“Mr. Jeon!” I gasp as I peer at the man at my penthouse doorstep, covered in white flakes of heavy, wet snow sticking to his black trench coat and bowler hat. Everyone, even most of the maids were out this afternoon which is why I find myself in front of the door to the penthouse. 

“Good evening, Y/L/N.” Jeon Jungkook smiles as he looks down at me earnestly. “Is your future husband not at home?” He whispers as he looks around the empty foyer, red-rimmed eyes glancing over the dim electric lights in the hallway. 

I flush. My mind was hazy remembering my kiss with him and the other man that is never far away, Kim Seokjin, from the depths of my dreams. My dreams need to leave me be or I may turn into a codfish with the way they keep my head spinning. They haunt me so, the way my brain demands my nightmares to be replayed over and over like this. 

“I’m afraid not, he said he’d be out for the night, taking care of something important at the office.” I say with a fake sigh, shaking my head. Truthfully, he’s been acting very strange lately and I can't quite put my finger on the reason for his odd behavior. Ever since he got that letter… Come to think of it, I haven’t seen any post since that strange night. I’ll ask Emily about it in the morning. 

“I see.” Jungkook says softly. The grandfather clock chimes from the sitting room and I am suddenly aware of what time it is. I’m severely underdressed in my baby blue lounge attire, completely ill-prepared for meeting company. Books about faraway lands with princes and kings were the only thing occupying my time this evening and I’m embarrassed to even think that. “In that case, your outfit will just have to do, I suppose…”

Jungkook suddenly steps closer to me in one long stride, closing the gap between me and him. My heart skips a beat, his pupils dilate, my words run dry as he snakes one arm around my back, the other holding my chin with his thumb and forefinger. 

“Mr. Jeon-” I stammer, unable to call for help, now that this man has me in his grasp. 

“I have been willing you to come and follow me, to give into your darkest desires, but still you resist me.” The young man hisses down at me, brows knit with confusion. “You are the only thing anyone talks about and I cannot stand it any longer.” My mouth hangs open. His nostrils flare as he makes his move. “You will be mine. Not locked away in this tower while Johnny is out and about with another man. You will be our new Alice.”

Before I can say anything, he pours a vile from his pocket into my mouth, holding it above my arms so I can’t smack it away. It tastes like roast turkey and strong alcohol and I try to claw and get away but I cannot as Jungkook holds my mouth open; my tongue feels numb and my arms feel like jelly, going limp in Jungkook’s arms. The only thing I can remember before completely blacking out is the little tag on the side of the bottle that says “DRINK ME”, tied with a pink ribbon hanging from the tiny glass and the smell of his cologne which reminds me of musk with a dash of black pepper. 

-

Faint sounds of brass and strings pull me from my unconscious state in a flurry. 

My brain is working hard, producing series and strings of thoughts. Why did Mr. Jeon Jungkook do that to me? Does Jonathan know where I am? In the same breath, where am I? What was that drink? Have I been poisoned? I look at myself on the red heart-patterned bedsheets. I look fine. There is no sign or feelings that I’ve been harmed, no bruises, and most importantly of all, there is no blood. There is no indicator at all that I’ve been harmed at all, which makes me sigh in relief. 

But still, where have I been taken? This surely is not a room in the Suh residence. 

A room with no windows, a giant bed in the middle of the room, large wooden pedestals with various wax candles lit drip down the sides surround me, red velvet curtains drape the walls making the warm room seem even more dim, and a wooden swing all decorate the space I find myself trapped in. 

I can feel the color drain from my face when I realize that I’ve been here before. In fact, I’ve been here many, many times - almost every night. Not in the flesh but in my dreams. The only thing that is missing are the two men I see every night…

All the little hairs on my body stand at alert, worry coloring my thoughts, and I feign a small gasp in the large room. 

With a lump in my throat and my heart thumping so hard I fear it might try to escape my chest, I run from the room. 

My blue nightgown flutters behind me, time seems to slow as my bare feet carry me through the rooms from my dreams - though it’s backwards this time. I dash like a mad person, twirling and twisting my way through the room with mirrors on every side, seeing myself panting like a dog running so hard in the reflective glass. Though, I am happy to see I have no scratches upon my face either. I run through the room with clocks hanging all over the walls chiming and ticking at different times, springing through the belly of a giant, tall grandfather clock. I trip over the hems of my dress in the room with a long table in the middle which appears to stretch on for miles in this long room. There are various tea sets, cups, and pots along with tea cakes and sweet treats placed in a perfectly chaotic mess on the table as the eyes of various animal heads stare at me from their places hanging on the walls. 

As I shimmy through the small door leading to the room with the walls full of water and sea creatures from the ocean, I pause my panting and sputtering as I spot Mr. Jung Jaehyun with his back pressed up against the glass. He is moaning, panting himself, a masquerade mask dangling in his hand, legs wrapped around the waist of a tall man in a vest who is rolling his hips sensually into his. My eyes widen as I figure out what the two of them are doing quickly and avert my attention. My thighs rub together, a strange fire grows in my lower abdomen, and I know I shouldn’t be looking but there is nothing but pure bliss on Mr. Jung’s face.

I can’t stop, I remind myself as my feet continue to carry me through the rooms I know so well. 

Slinking away across a far wall full of lobsters without being caught, I hear Mr. Jung Jaehyun mewl one singular name, “Johnny!” I want to turn around, catch my “future” husband's side profile as he makes love to another man, confirm it’s him, but my mind flashes back to meeting Jaehyun for the first (and only) time and how they touched each other so fondly. Jungkook’s words ring in my words as I hear laughing coming from beyond the rooms filled with tanks and gilled beasts. 

Keep going. I can make it out of this place from my nightmares. 

The next room is filled with more people, though it’s hazy at best in here. There are giant hookah pipes in the middle of floor cushions, people with and without masks on touching each other so unabashedly, some naked, half-nude, or still in their ball gowns all laying over each other in a pleasure-filled party I was slightly jealous I haven’t been invited to. 

“Ms. Y/L/N?” A deep yet clear baritone purrs over the sounds of jazz music and groans of love-making. I  turn my head to his voice, feet skidding to a halt as I look at Mr. Kim Namjoon in his half-naked glory, navy blue silk robe hanging off his shoulders exposing a lovely chest, half-lidded eyes tracing my form like I am a piece of delicate meat he wishes to indulge in. “What are you doing without your mask?” He snaps his fingers, chuckling lightly as he takes another drag of his long silver pipe. “Twins, get her a mask!”

“Where am I?” I query as I feel the presence of two figures slowly approaching me out of the dim haze. “Who are you people?” It feels wrong to be here, to witness this. It doesn’t feel right. I feel out of place and my body is begging me to run and my legs tremble like a fawn. 

His brows furrow as he takes the tube out of his mouth, blowing smoke rings in my face. “Who are you to question me, Y/N?” He snickers as the “twins” catch my arms, placing a mask over my face as I struggle. “You are but another “Alice” to me. Take her to the ball, you two. The rabbit and the hatter are dying to see her, I’m sure.” They tie the mask around me successfully, leading me out of this room into the next one which I know is the one where the floor is a giant chess board. 

“Please,” I plead with the good looking twins who march on like the loyal soldiers to this strange cause, “what is all this?” The music and the chatter and maniacal laughing is growing louder as we prance down the hallway with portraits of people who are dressed in all white and all red. “I just want to know…”

“Suppose we ought to tell her?” The taller of the two says after a moment of silence between the three of us. 

“Suppose we ought not to.” The shorter one shakes his head as he carries on in the quest to take me somewhere. “Boss will be mad.”

“You are to be the belle of the ball.” The taller one says with a viscous boxy grin.

“The new “Alice”.” The short one with fluffy lips nods this time.

“Everyone keeps saying that, but I don’t know what it means?” I say as I hold my breath, about to waltz into the strange chess-board-like room. 

“The most beautiful, wonderful, talented, special, magical-” The taller twin rambles on.

“The most perfect woman at The Wonderland Ball is called “Alice” until the next one.” The shorter one states softly as he inhales a giant breath. They both let me go, pushing me forward as the drapery of the simple heart-patterned curtain gives way and I am standing at the top of a grand staircase while hundreds of people from below all gasp and stare up at me. 

As soon as I regain my footing a spotlight hits me and causes me to shield me eyes away from the bright light bearing down upon me. The upbeat music falls silent and I am acutely aware that I am standing here in my loungewear and not properly dressed to be at the forefront of attention this evening.

“And now the moment you’ve all been waiting for!” The voice that makes my hair stand up on end purrs as his lush lips soothe the microphone on the little stage they’ve set up for the jazz band to play on. Kim Seokjin, my eyes lock with his which dance with mischief, his smile greedy,  dressed to the nines in a rich green suit. “The crowning of the belle of the ball, the apple of all our eyes, the one that shines brighter than anyone in the picture shows, Ms. Y/N Y/L/N!” 

A roar of cheering, clapping, and brass music erupts as a white haired-man with a stretched, gummy smile that doesn’t fade takes my hand and leads me down the black and white staircase. The noises seemingly die in my ears as the man on my arm says nothing, grins like a cat about to catch a mouse in its claws. Time slows, people moving and waving at me become a blur as I see who is waiting at the bottom of the staircase. 

Mr. Jeon Jungkook. 

The man on my arm notices how tense I am and he ever so slightly turns his head and says to me in a deep voice, “They are not going to harm you. Jungkook is infatuated with you.” My cheeks heat up. “Seokjin is helping him accomplish his dreams because he signed his life away to the servitude of others for as long as he shall live.”

“Signed his life away?” I breathe, eyes never leaving Jungkook in a white waistcoat.

“You can’t get something for free in this world.” The cat-like man growls as we are almost there. “You’ve heard of an eye for an eye, correct?” I node slightly. “A soul of servitude so he can produce strange magic, according to him and the Red Witch of Underland.” 

My heart nearly stops realizing what has happened. “The devil?”

“Bingo, babe.” The cat-man chuckles a deep rasp, sliding his arm away from mine. “Have fun.”

“Now you kids have fun chasing rabbits!” Seokjin’s voice crackles through the microphone. “Everyone, enjoy the last few hours of the wonderland ball!” More hooting and hollering echoes in the building as I am exchanged into Jungkook’s strong arms.

“I thought you’d never make it.” He smiles from under his white mask at me. He takes my hand and leads me to be embraced on the dance floor. Seokjin smirks at us as he begins to sing a popular pop song everyone swoons at. 

“Would you like to tell me what this is all about?” I query with a sneer on my lips. “Why am I here? Why have you poisoned me?”

“I have not nor would I ever harm you.” Jungkook grips my waist tighter. “I merely gave you a strong sedative so that I could bring you to our wonderful palace.” 

“Why?” I question as he twirls me around his outstretched arm.

“Because from the moment I bumped into you, you have been the only thing consuming my mind.” He earnestly tells me, sorrow coating his eyes. “I’m not sure what trap Johnny has ensnared or tricked you in but I very much hate seeing him lock you away from the world.”

“You’re wrong.” I state angrily, glaring at him.

“He doesn’t care about you. He likes to frolic about with diplomats’ sons, not farmers’ daughters.” Jungkook smiles at me. 

“That’s not true…” I mumble, my eyes looking away from his red-rimmed ones boring down upon me. “I-I am marrying Jonathan for my own personal reasons.”

“Oh, ho?” Jungkook softly chuckles, leaning over, turning my gaze back to him as he gently caresses my cheek. “Do you really believe that, darling?”

“I do...I do! I-I came here willingly.” I tremble, my facade I’ve been trying to convince myself of  this whole time crackling under the pressure of his words. “I l-love…” My words linger as I look beyond Jungkook, looking up to see, “...Jonathan…” walking toward myself in the middle of the dance floor. 

“Jeon!” Jonathan says, Mr. Jung Jaehyun trailing behind him, eyes wide and scared when they find mine. The male in the waistcoat holding me turns his head to the noise, the brass music climaxing, the gasps of people Jonathan is stepping between couples dancing in the soft electric light from above - I feel like my heart is going to burst. My future husband pulls his arm back, fists clenched, ready to hurt Jungkook, and with an exhale I close my eyes fearing the worst was about to ensue. 

The electric lights in the strange ballroom give out in the same second. 

People scream all around me, a loud thud is heard and I feel like something unexpected is about to occur, the atmosphere heavy and full of invisible pressure. 

“Release the jabberwocky!” A voice echoes as chaos ensues. 

“Come with me.” A voice purrs, ripping me away from Jungkook’s arms. I feel almost empty as shouting and yelling break out in the middle of the dance floor. “I will protect you, Y/N, my crown jewel.”  My stomach pits hearing him say my name, tickling my ear like the serpent that led Eve to eat the apple of her demise. 

Kim Seokjin.

With a snap of his fingers, we are back in the room I started out this evening in and where my dreams always have me end at. I land on the bed in a huff and he ends up sitting upon the swing, looking at me with a triumphant smirk on his luscious lips. There is a certain air about him now that doesn’t seem so threatening, so serious now for some reason. Perhaps it’s him sitting upon the swing like that of a child? I haven’t the slightest clue. 

“Where am I?” I demand, glowering at Seokjin from across the way.

“Curiosity often leads to trouble, my dearest Y/N.”  Seokjin chuckles darkly, eyes roaming my body, a knowing look on his features. “I think before your marriage you are looking for a little trouble, if you catch my drift.” 

Trouble…

My mind completely spirals remembering the scenes of people entangled with one another, their mouths working in tandem with each other, their slippery pink tongues entwined in a passionate battle for dominance. Mr. Jung Jaehyun’s face twisted in pleasure, moaning and mewling as his lover - my future husband - was thrusting vigorously. 

A lightbulb finally goes off in my head. 

“You want me to give into you both then my dreams will end?” My voice shakes as I query to Seokjin who continues to lightly push back and forth on the swing. “Then you will let me leave?” 

His eyes flicker with a hungry vigor to them, gleaming in the dim candlelight. “Precisely.” His soft voice cuts the atmosphere like a sharp blade, leaving me with a chill radiating down my spine. “Let’s have some fun, “Alice”.” 

“As long as you promise I am to be set free from all of...this.” I gesture around the room as he makes a come hither motion with his fingers at me.  

“You have my word.” 

Somehow, I don’t believe him, but I am desperate for any way out of this wretched place I can find. 

So, I will use the body I was blessed with to the fullest extent.  

I am a loyal woman. I step toward the man on the swing, my hands coming up to the ties around my chest and my waist. His eyes spark with a ravenous hunger in the depths of his orbs. I know that I am not doing a decent thing. Seokjin snaps his fingers again, all his clothes disappearing but his green top hat, vanishing before my very eyes. I know I am more than what I am succumbing to right now. But my stomach does feel hot and my thighs rubbing together is making me feel faint for some reason. My garments fall to the floor in a soft patting sound and I lose my breath in the same moment.

Don’t tell me I actually want this…?

I stand in front of him on the swing and I can’t help but bite my lip as my eyes roam his pale figure, tracing down his collarbones to his sculpted abdominal muscles he has been hiding. Did he sell his soul to the devil to become handsome too I wonder?   

“So beautiful.” He revels looking at me unabashed, a wolfish grin spreading across his pretty face. Part of me wants him to touch me, to caress the underside of my breast, to trace the outline of my hips with his fingertips, but he doesn not. 

I have to remind myself this isn’t for me. This is for the man that has been tormenting me. 

“Get me ready for you.” Seokjin commands, smirk still spread across his face. I comply, dropping to my knees to be faced with a large member swinging forth from the middle of his legs on the swing. “And you will address me as “Sir”, understand?”

“Yes, sir.” I respond, biting my lip as I look from his eyes to his member once more.

“Suck.” He chuckles lightly, pointing to his middle and I can’t help but follow this simple instruction. 

I don’t tease him, though I’m not really sure I know what I am doing in the first place. I swirl the flat of my tongue over his mushroom-tipped head several times. He moans in response, his hands coming off the swing’s ropes to hold my hair from my face as I swallow him further down my wet cavity. My middle aches and pulses, empty, missing something as I steady myself against Seokjin’s thighs.

“Good little girl.” Seokjin hums, his sound voice making me feel appreciated. The sound vibrating through to my own middle, making me groan around him.

I bob my head up and down his long length, enjoying the way he hums and gasps in response to my efforts. It’s a little hard to breathe I think as I continue my pace, nose hitting Seokjin’s pubic bone, smelling the most intimate part of him.

My dominant hand grabs his member at the base, working him in tandem with my mouth. Up and down his thick member I go, reveling in every twitch and rumble that flies out of his throat. The swing starts to sway with my rhythmic movements, bobbing him back and forth with vigor, tears climb to my eyes.  The tip of him hits the back of my mouth, making me gag and choke on his wonderful cock. The heat was pooling in the middle of my stomach and I fear I am going to lose my mind. I pick up the motions of my mouth and hand, tears skating down my pinkened cheeks, his grip tightening around the base of my skull, digging into my scalp.

It burns… But, I also enjoy it. This feeling...so wet and tight and I feel so evil and sinful but the pleasure is driving me mad.       

“Baby girl.” There’s warning in his tone as I pop off his cock in an instant, looking up to him with big worried eyes. His head was leaned back, not focused on looking directly at myself, but the feeling of my lips and fingertips. “Up.” He commands once more, head twisting back to a comfortable position to stare at me.

I scramble to my feet, missing the feeling of him in my mouth already, not to mention aching for him in the middle of my legs. I rub my thighs together for some easy friction, knowing that it won’t help me much at this point.

Seokjin moves his hand to stroke against his giant member in his palm and I lock my orbs in place on the slit of his cock where a clear liquid was oozing out. My mind is truly hazy at best, as I just stand there and watch him stroke himself up and down in a lazy fashion. I bite my lip once more. 

I do want this. I am almost ashamed to admit that I want this man. 

“Are you going to be good and let me use you?” Seokjin’s dirty words make my middle pool and contort with more of a raging fire. 

“Y-Yes, sir.” I say again, cheeks hot and damp from sucking his cock moments ago. 

His nostrils flare, his cock twitches in his grasp as he motions to sit upon his middle. “I bet you’re so wet for me.” He chuckles, smile darkening with his words.                          

Seokjin eases me down on his thick member, my hole so wet, so slick, allowing him to stretch my clenching walls in an easy motion. I gasp, eyes popping out of my head. My nails dig into his shoulder blades, back arching with his giant, twitching dick tight inside of me. I wrap my legs around his lean waist, his pale skin flexing in the candlelight with his movements as he stills, letting my hips sink down into the base of his cock.

“Baby girl.” Seokjin purrs, breath tickling my ear as he throbs inside of me. “I need you.” He growls, littering the crook of my neck with sloppy kisses. He positions us just so on the swing, readying us to begin when he deems necessary.

“P-Please use me, s-sir-r!” I mumble in the base of his neck, feeling high on this pleasure-filled pain.��

“I live to serve.” 

I gasp as he starts moving his hips inside of my center, bucking up into my body with a fevered pace instantly. The swing moves back and forth and I feel like the motion is going to make me feel his body sliding in and out of me too well. I cling to him for dear life, my grip surely bruising him or harming him in some way as he slides in and out of my slicked out center at a brutal rhythm.

Tears find my eyes again as he nips at my neck, marking me up with tender love bites. I’m a howling, moaning mess, losing my sanity. I am finally full of Seokjin’s girth, filling me up beyond desire.

Seokjin kisses my lips then in his, melting our mouths together in a hurry. He holds my face in his palms, grunting and groaning for me, and only me. His tongue enters my mouth in search of something unknown, moaning into my lips laced together with his hot mouth connected with my pink tongue. He rolls his saliva coated tongue into mine in haste, need seeping into my senses, consuming my thoughts as he thrusts up in me, using the swing as a propellant to ease us forward and backward.

“Feels...so-o..good~!” I moan in between our passionate kisses. 

Seokjin just growls like a feral animal in response. The tip of his cock kisses my cervix continuously, brushing past a spot inside of me that instantly makes me quake. He rockets himself against me, rutting his body against my core in sync with his hips slamming into mine. Seokjin expels filth from his mouth about filling me to the brim with his seed, seeing my stomach swollen and full of his children, his warm breath hitting my ear making me shudder in response.

I can’t focus, my climax getting ready to pop at any moment. Wet noises fill the dark room, as Seokjin’s rough speed of his length in and out of my molten, wet center continues. My erect nipples swirl on his pale chest, circling quickly as he bounces me up and down his giant cock, swinging through the air like some sexual trapeze artist.

“Are you going to be good to me?” He asks me, smirk present in his tone, pace almost blinding now as he pushes in and out of me with a need so heavy and strong I can practically smell it rising from his skin. “Are you going to let me fill you up, my little doll?” Seokjin snarls into my skin.

“Pleaseeeee!” I practically scream, eyes flying open as he hits my center at just the right spot that makes me see white. 

“Ah-ah!” He tsks. “What do we say?”

“Please, sir!” I mewl and gasp, thighs quaking in his hold, my juices squelching out of me as he continues to thrust into my sensitive molten core. “Seokjin!” I cry while he growls into the scorching skin of my neck inhaling sharply as he slams his hips into my shivering body. “Sir!”

Seokjin grunts, cock spurting his seed into me with a need so raw, so feral he finds his footing hard to maintain on the swing, stilling us from moving about, holding my hips tightly down upon him. He sucks harshly on my skin as he too shudders and grunts, biting down on the crook of my neck, stretching my clenching walls around his member as he fills me with his hot white seed.

My cries of pleasure fill the small room, my pleasure-filled haze coming to a close as Seokjin shifts us - still joined together - to the bed in the middle of the room. I hold onto Seokjin as he keeps his seed inside of me, feeling like I just had the ride of my life on top of him. My climax dies down, my first high fading away, fog around my brain being lifted temporarily as my nails rake over shoulders I’ve definitely marked up. 

A cool, damp towel appears with a wave of his arms, stroking my middle with it delicately cleaning up the mess I’ve made. “How does it feel to be connected with the devil?” Seokjin sneers as he pulls out of me, making my center ache and twitch for him. 

My eyes grow wide and my lips part but before I can say anything Jungkook bursts in the room.

“Am I late?” Jungkook pants as he looks awestruck by me on the bed. 

“For a very important date.” I gaze back to Seokjin who is now fully dressed, smirking that soft, playful smile like he usually does at Mr. Jeon. “Don’t worry, I was just getting her ready for you, Jungkookie.” 

Jungkook eyes him with narrowed orbs, but buys the lie Seokjin is selling and proceeds to strip himself of his white waistcoat. “What is on the menu tonight?” His red-rimmed irises bore into mine and I feel self-conscious suddenly. He circles the bed in the manner like that of a wolf would as he finishes stripping himself of any dressy garments, though his slacks remain on. 

 “The one you most desire out of everything in this world.” Seokjin purrs, stepping up to take his seat on his pedestal high above us. 

Is he going to watch us?

“Fuck,” Jungkook growls, dropping to his knees in front of the bed suddenly. He pulls me closer to him by my ankles, throwing my thighs apart so my center is exposed to him in the rawest form. He stares at my glistening middle as I try to close my legs with a little, pathetic whimper.

“Don’t.” The rabbit-like man moans wantonly, holding onto my ankles loosely. “Fuck, you’re so beautiful, you know that, right?” His hands glide up my thighs achingly slow, holding me in pace for his eyes to ravage as they please.

The fire in my lower stomach has returned, hungry and ready to go for more.

His warm fingertips make it to my inner thighs, kneading the flesh there tenderly, so close to my throbbing core that I almost beg him with a cry to dip down into me, but I refrain, hanging on to every trace or brush of his hands against my scorching flesh.

“What do you want, my darling?” He groans into my inner thigh, lips ghosting my sensitive flesh there, inching closer to my heated skin with his upper body.

“Please.” I finally ask, begging, almost choking out the word, forgetting Seokjin watching us from above.

His dominant hand finally finds my nether lips, tracing them up and down with his two longest fingers but not exactly touching me where I am aching quite yet. “Please what?” He teases, stroking me up and down slowly, holding his feral gaze in mine, amber eyes seemingly on fire.

“Please, Jungko-“

He slaps my middle with little force or malice behind it, but I jolt, mewling aloud, wanting him to secretly do it again.

Jungkook goes back to tracing my lips in the middle of my body, smug smirk seated on his devilishly handsome face. “You are so wet, darling.” He slaps me again, though this time I want it more than I’d actually care to admit.

“Jung-” I choke on my words.

He slaps me again, this time with slightly more force behind his fingertips. I hiss out a breath, staring at him with my mouth slightly ajar, brows turned up, looking down at him with half-lidded eyes already.

“I have to have a taste.” He kisses my inner thigh as he slowly traces his thumb over my slicked out folds.

I let out a wanton cry as he hums into my thighs, growling low and deep. I swear there’s a smile in his voice as he works with his mouth and fingertip in tandem. “Mine.” He breathes, sucking on the sensitive flesh of my innermost thigh, marking me with a throaty growl.

“J-Jungkook..!”

I am a mess. I let loose a series of pants, breathless moans as he works my coil in the pit of my stomach tighter with every brush or groan he grants my hot body. I am melting under Jungkook’s touch, my body feeling sticky, arousal dripping from my middle while he circles my delicate clit.

His thumb was increasing his pace of gliding over my bundle of nerves, still slow, still making my breathing become erratic, but the desire for Jungkook to do more was driving me insane. I’ve had a taste of sex and look at me wanting more. I didn’t know if I could be in the position to ask for more. But I wanted him to place those perfect, beautiful sinful lips on my molten core. Jungkook’s breath fans over my middle as he continues to stroke me down there.

I miss the twitch confined to the middle of his pants from the man watching us from above with eager need. 

As if sensing my need, his tongue swipes a slow stripe through my folds, the cool of his muscle against my exposed center making me black out for a moment, the sensation far too much for me to bear with right now. His snort of laughter brings me back to reality as he swirls his pink tongue at my empty entrance.

Jungkook laps at my folds as if he is a starved man, hungry, desperate for his next meal. I keen, gripping onto the base of his golden torso as laps at me. I’d think grounding myself on top of Jungkook’s head would make me saner, gripping his strands of hair as he goes to town in my middle. But really, it makes me feel completely mad, like I’ve gone insane.

The feral, untamed animal-like noises that escape his throat drive me absolutely wild, my skin on fire with need and want. My nails cling to his scalp, dragging him closer to my middle as he ravages my core. He maneuvers his two longest fingers through the glossy slick, lubing his digits to breach my entrance.

“Jungkook!” I gasp, choking on my words as he makes a come hither motion with his fingers, splitting my velvet walls to open for him.

Jungkook swirls his tongue over my little pearl of sensitive nerves, lapping and sucking my flesh like he's never eaten a thing in his life. He continues his very audible growling and moaning, husk in his voice incredibly thick.

“Let go, baby.” He coos into my middle as I jolt and shake, his digits brushing past the most delicious spot deep inside of my clenching walls. “Give me your release.”

His words finally tip me over the edge.

I tighten my hold on him, gritting my teeth in the process. My head falls backward on the sheets, eyes screwed closed as Jungkook slurps every inch of my middle clean, not leaving anything to go to waste.

“Kookie,” I sputter out, the feeling of his tongue and fingers becoming too much for me. “I-I’m c-c-cumming-!”

As I say the last of my words, the world comes undone around me for the second time today, my tight coil finally popping. Blinding white stars coat my vision for a second, my body shivering and shaking as I drip out onto the flat of Jungkook’s tongue.

He laps up my sensitive hole up with more snarls, more feral noises escaping his body. Tears flow down my face as I unhinge my nails from his silky blonde strands, trying to push him away from my overly sensitive flesh with pathetic mewls of protest escaping my throat.

More. My brian prompts me to continue to sate my undying lust burning inside of me. I need more.

“Jungkook,” I beg while his tongue still explores my throbbing hole, giving my sensitive skin rapt attention. “Jungkookie. Please. I c-can’t.” I tug at his blinde hair gently, trying to get him to stop teasing me with his tongue.

He doesn't stop and I can only think of one thing to ask before I lose my damn mind with him between my thighs.

“Jungkook.” I shudder, high building up once more. “Please fuck me.”

Everything in the room stills, the only sound heard was our heavy breathing. 

He looks up from my sensitive core, brows knit together as he looks into my eyes with such a passionate gaze of uncertainty. My juices were coating the bottom half of his face, his blonde hair is in a state of disarray, as he proceeds to slowly rise to his feet, looking over me on the bed.

“What?” He questions incredulously down at my fucked out form. Jungkook looks at me as if I am the most fragile thing in the world, as if I would burst into flames at any moment. “My darling, my love, there’s no going back if we-“

“I know.” I smirk up to the gorgeous gangster in all of the Windy City. “I want this too.”

His nostrils flare, his eyes widen, and his gaze softens. Jungkook looks down at me with something akin to lust, which makes my heart rate increase...

“Up.” He commands, raw husk pouring out of his tone as he starts to undo his pants, the zipper noise almost jarring in the quiet of the night.

I do as I’m told. I’ve fallen far down the rabbit hole now, I think as I shift on the bed. Standing was a little difficult as he’s just given me one of the best feelings I’ve ever had. I keep my eyes glued to Jungkook. His hands travel sensually down his tiny waist to his slacks he unbuttons. I am gasping, unable to take my eyes off the very beautiful sight of his thick cock bouncing, finally free from the confines of his dress pants. The tip was red and angry, a bead of precum adorning the slit of his mushroom-like head. He was long, girthy, and I want nothing more than it inside of myself at this very moment.

Jungkook grips the base of his cock with his hand while he steps out of his pants, giving his shaft a few pumps up and down while I watch with an open mouth.

“I’ve dreamt of this moment for so long.” He confesses softly, reaching for me with his free hand. I inch closer to him, gliding my hands over his defined body, admiring his lithe, yet sturdy frame. My fingers hungrily trace every ridge, every contour of his golden torso. Jungkook was so warm, so wonderful, and I am slightly kicking myself for not giving into him sooner. “To have you,” he continues, kissing up the side of my neck. 

“Please.” I beg him again, eyes flickering back and forth between his. 

“Turn around.” He leans in to kiss me with passionate need. His lips molding into mine as I cling to him for more. I taste my essence on his tongue which makes me whimper into his strong hold. “I’m going to fuck you now, my love.”

Again, I don’t need to be told twice as he guides me to where he wants me, bending me at the waist so my fingers dig into the unkept sheets below, my backside open and exposed to him.

“So pretty for me.” I hear the grin in his deep rumble. Jungkook slaps my bottom, granting him a hiss to escape my throat. I whine when he does it softly several more times, making my head soar.

I hear him spit before I feel the extra saliva lubricant coat my backside, the cool of his juices combined with mine was driving me up a wall.

“Jungkook!” I gasp.

He groans when I call for him, pushing his fat head of a cock at my aching, empty hole, wanting him to finally join the two of us.

“Darling,” he sounds like he’s straining to hold back. “Baby, please, fuck!” He grunts, splitting my walls inch by agonizingly slowly. I moan as he stretches me wide, entering me like he owns me. 

He thrusts inside of me all the way with one snap of his hips suddenly. A cry leaves my lips along with a strangled one from the man inside of me. My eyes widen as I realize that he’s not going to go easy on me tonight, he’s going to fuck me on his terms. I was in for a wild ride this evening.

Jungkook leans the front of himself over my sticky back, pressing our heated flesh together more, growling to the outside shell of my ear, nipping the flesh under my lobe while sliding in and out of me with a brutal pace he’s set.

“Baby…” he moans in my ear, the deep purr vibrating throughout his body making my breathing hitch and sob. His hips snapping into mine with a rhythm, I swear, no human man could ever achieve. Liquid was flowing down my eyes as the push and pull of Jungkook slamming his giant cock into my velvet folds repeatedly already had me tearing the sheets in two with my nails.

“Jung! Ah! Kook!”

Seokjin glides his hand over his cock from above the bed, matching the rhythm Jungkook’s hips produce, enjoying the wonderful show. 

I gasp this over and over like a prayer falling from my lips. My eyes are squeezed shut, my body hot with the raw purpose to feel Jugnkook inside of my heated center. His cock pushes in and out of me at a fevered pace, making my vision blur, seeing far too many white stars.

My brain is fuzzy as he hits the spot inside of me that blinds me, pleasure swimming in my veins. My third climax was surely on the way. 

“Baby,” Jungkook grunts, one of his arms snaking up my torso, his long fingers finding one of my bouncing breasts. He starts pinching my erect nipple, holding on to me tighter as we slide back and forth off of one another.

My coil was wound so tight, I don’t know if I’d be able to last much longer. Especially not with Jungkook’s fingers attaching to my hardened nipple, his lips to the crook of my neck, and his cock slamming in and out of my clenching middle with a fevered need.

He bucks into me faster, my walls clamping down on him, my coil about to pop, about to burst forth again. I can’t hold myself up any longer, my legs shaking violently. My knuckles are turning white with how hard I am clawing at the heart patterned sheets.

“Jungkook! I-“ I mewl, but I don’t get to finish my thought. 

In a split second, Jungkook pulls out of my middle, flipping me over and letting me fall onto my back so I could be face to face with him. Jungkook climbs on top of me quickly, wanting to resume his feverish pace immediately, hunger and need in his amber gaze. He settles between my legs, pushing himself back into my slicked out center easily, restarting from where he last left off.

I gasp when he enters me, clinging to his shoulders, holding him while the lewd squelching noises in the room continue to grow, faster, louder. He grips onto my hips, guiding me at a blinding speed I didn’t know he could achieve. Is he a victim of the devil as well?

Sweat was pouring off our bodies, my brain unable to produce a sane thought as he grunts and moans my name, his red orbs never leaving my face as he rockets his cock into my folds like it was his job.

It happens again, the very right feeling deep inside of my body, the one that makes me grit my teeth, that makes me see hundreds of tiny white stars.

“Jung! Kook~!” I scream into the quiet room, tears flowing from my hues as I card my fingers through his blonde strands, trying to make a purchase on his roots.

My hands travel down his backside as he snarls, “I’m going to make you my wife! Not some wannabe from the Northside!” Jungkook huffs, his movements slowing down, one of his thumbs finding my folds again, circling my aching clit in hurry - a stark contrast to earlier. “I’m going to claim you as my own.”

Seokjin smiles like he’s just won the lottery, masturbating to the sight of both his clients intertwined, fucking onto each other with unbridled lust. He comes then watching his new toy’s back arch, breasts in the air, Jungkook’s frame pounding into her with hungry trepidation. 

I grab onto the ample flesh of his bottom, feeling the world come tumbling around myself once more. Letting my body shake and quake on top of the sheets, my third orgasm taking me by force. I feel complete - feel whole for some reason. I am so completely taken aback with the storm rippling through my body in pleasureful tremors, one right after the other, I cannot even begin to breathe properly.

He lets a feral snarl rip through his body as he pumps into my leaking middle a few more times, my whole being consumed by Jungkook. He leans over me, sucking my neck colors of purples and dark reds and I scream as his cock swells inside of my velvet walls, releasing his own essence into my womb, holding him there like a vice grip as he spurts his seed deep inside of me.

Once our highs come to a close, I run my fingers through his hair, his throbbing cock still joined inside of my middle. We both pant, holding the other for dear life, finally together, and fulfilled with one other. Jungkook kisses along my jaw, moaning my name, telling me what an amazing baby doll I am as his cock finally softens inside of my aching cunt.

“Bravo.” Seokjin claps as he walks down the wooden stairs. “You both did very well!” He chuckles darkly. I squeak in surprise. I forgot he was there and I scramble to cover myself with the soiled sheets. 

“Okay, Kim,” Jungkook says as he kisses my nose, pulling out and picking up my clothes and handing them to me. He dresses in his undergarments and dress pants quickly, buttoning them up as he turns to the man all in green. “You had your show.” I listen as I dress myself with haste, back turned to the two men. “I’ve done everything you’ve asked: invested the money overseas, gotten rid of the competition and family in this lovely city, got you a new “Alice”, and even let you watch us play ball. I think it’s time to set us free.”

“Yes,” the mad man snickers, darkness clouding his tone, “you both have served me well. But nobody is leaving my perfectly curated speakeasy.” 

I turn around and my heart is dropping to the floor. Shock is written all over Jungkook’s face as I clench my jaw in guilt. 

“But, I’m afraid you both made a deal with me, and I don’t give up my new toys so easily.” Seokjin caresses Jungkook’s face in his pale hand, while holding my gaze with a sense of gentle anger. “You can’t always get what you want. But hey, look on the bright side: at least you have each other.” 

---

A/N: I hope you all enjoyed this trip down the rabbit hole! Likes and reblogs are very much appreciated! 

[zoopzopp]

A post for some BAMF Izuku fics <3 (more of these will be added and the list will be updated as i read them)

Fics i've read:

The Secret Ingredient is Crime- Izuku only had a whole month to further prove himself worthy of Yuuei's golden acceptance, and he was going to do whatever it took to make it in. Yuuei would never truly know what hit them until it was too late. (The secret crime AU in it entirety is fucking amazing and what wouldn't i give to read more stuff with it)

Deku the Villain Hunter: Support Hero - We all know the story: After being told he couldn't be a Hero by All Might, Midoriya Izuku still wandered over to a supervillain attack where he could save Bakugou Katsuki. But what if he had made the other turn? The answer is a butterfly effect that would lead him on a path to paving his own future. A path of revenge, finding his own moral compass, and doing the impossible. (OKAY MANY THOUGHTS. Very cool story and aspects. I binged it overnight and lost a bit of sleep the next night as well.)

The Story of How Midoriya Izuku Asserted His Dominance (And Traumatized Japan) - The Sports Festival was supposed to be a break from stress. Shouta should have known there is no such thing as a break with his class.

making it right (for real this time) - - Izuku is a support course student at UA, and Katsuki's neighbor, best friend, and former bullying victim. After Izuku's performance at the sports festival, Katsuki realizes something. He has to make things right. -

Hero Fall (UA Civil War Exercise) - It's now the end of the first year of UA for our students. Nedzu had decided to bring back the annual Heroes vs Villain fight. The fight shall last 5 days and the villain leader is Izuku Midoriya, with the commanding officer of the hero team being Katsuki Bakugo. But, what happens when Izuku is left alone?

Hero Class Civil Warfare - Heroes lead by Bakugo. Villains lead by Midoriya. Seven days prep time. Three days for Izuku Midoriya to show why they should be glad he's not a real villain.

"I Didn't Know You Had It In You." - Midoriya goes feral rage mode in his fight against Overhaul. The beat down still happens, but with Eri no longer at his back, he gets more violent. One For All reacts in an interesting way and Midoriya commits a terrible and unheroic act - the cold blooded murder and maiming of Chisaki Kai. Shigaraki is there to watch it all unfold.

Plan C meets Plan A - Even if All Might is right and Izuku can't be a hero, Izuku refuses to be useless. So Izuku uses his analysis skills to develop Plan C: Consulting in order to help the heroes. Eraserhead is impressed by this mysterious new consultant but alarm bells in Deku's behaviour quickly have Aizawa recruiting help for Plan A: Adoption.

Q. A. B. - One month after @hawks_unofficial's initial viral post, the blog titled "Quirk Analysis Blog for the Future", otherwise known as "Q. A. B.", has gone from an average of 10 views per post to an average of 20,000 views per post. Midoriya Izuku does not know how to view the impressions analysis for his suddenly popular blog, and only notices that sometimes, people actually comment on his posts now. He does not google himself or his moniker and thus does not see the rise in online articles and speculation. He is unaware that the "kyuu-ei-bee" he begins to hear about in passing refers to his own blog. He does not have a Twitter account. At the time, Midoriya Izuku is 15 years old.

How to murder your father - It's dangerous to be a bad father when you have a life insurance. Just saying.

Negation - Passive Quirks are a bitch. Izuku is reasonably done with the situation.

Thanks For Your Support - Izuku has the talent and the intellect to be the first Quirkless pro hero, and everyone at UA knows it. Unfortunately, his desire to become a hero has long since been buried thanks to the words of his childhood friend and childhood hero.

Policed To Meet You - Izuku takes All Might's advice and becomes a cop.

Vigilante Work And Other After School Activities - Izuku is a vigilante, Aizawa likes cats and therefore kids who help cats, and sometimes breaks must be forced upon overachieving teenagers.

When the Commission Lost Total Control - The hero polls have a small part where one can suggest their own hero. This is done just because of the amount of heroes is to great to name them all. This creates a little problem for the commission because a vigilante is assumed to be a brand new hero by the public- and ranks pretty high. Because of that, this vigilante now is too popular to hide and they can't come out with their mistake either! Think of the chaos that would bring.

Izuku being Badass but like in not that grand of a way but still tearing-people-down-in-some-way kind of way

He Was Quirkless - Midoriya get's sick of discrimination against the quirkless and decides to do something about it. It leads to some interesting situations. A trilogy.

bloody, but unbowed- It's Advocacy Week for Yuuei's hero students and it gives Midoriya Izuku a lot to think about about what kind of hero he wants Deku to be.

Called Out - When Izuku is hit by a quirk that will cause him to call out the first person to be rude to him on the way to school with every mistake they've made in the affected persons presence or have otherwise effected said affected person, Aizawa is in for a rough ride. In other words, with some help from a quirk, Izuku rakes Aizawa over the hot coals until he gives out. (a great fic but i've got mixed feelings on this one because on one hand, izuku is badass but on the other its Aizawa bashing and really like him skhdskdb so yea! Read it as per your tastes!!)

The time when everyone learned that izuku respects Bakugo more than all might. - I didn't like how Bakugo was tied up during the sports festival and so izuku didn't. Badass izuku roasted all might and midnight.

Villainous Sunshine - After an innocent question, Class 1-A learns just how terrifying Izuku's analysis is. Nedzu's along for the ride.

Never understand ( and you can't ) - Midoriya is sick and tried of his classmates bias and prejudice against the quirkless community and finally breaks

Mastermind: Strategist For Hire - Izuku Midoriya never got the chance to save Bakugo from the sludge villain and impress All Might. With his dream crushed, Izuku becomes bitter and angry. It also doesn't help that he faces discrimination at every turn. All he ever wanted was to be appreciated, so when the villains are the ones to recognize his talents rather than the heroes, well, Izuku just can't resist. He might as well help those who actually want him around. Mistakes were made, and now society must face a villain of their own making: Mastermind.

Malignance - Deku is far scarier than anyone gives him credit for.

Fics in my to read list which has/probably has BAMF izuku

Young Midoriya - Izuku Midoriya couldn't help himself when he saw someone in trouble. Even at 12 years old, his instincts drive him to help those in need. So when he sees Kacchan and his goons about to ambush another student, he has to step in, right? It's not like this hasn't happened before. What is different this time though, is that he's never had an audience that consisted of the Number One Hero.

Heroics and Other Things That Don't Require Superpowers - Izuku doesn't have a quirk. That's the long and short of it. After being told his whole life he can't be a hero, General Education at UA is the best he can hope for, right? Wrong. Dead Wrong. So super wrong that his best friend from Gen Ed, all of Class 1A and a whole mess of Pro Heroes are going to prove to him how wrong he is. Izuku has the makings of a hero, and his lack of a quirk only throws those qualities into starker relief. After all, who wants to be as strong as All Might when you can be the cleverest hero in the business?

Cases of More Than - Izuku is known as Deku online. He's an analyst of quirks, sometimes even working with the local detective, Tsukauchi, on a case. He meets new friends, builds a few relationships, and slowly crushes on his best friend. But then he's thrown into the General Studies Course at U.A. It doesn't help that All for One is showing an interest in him at all.

No Regret - In this world there is no hard set villain or hero. No victim and aggressor. Everyone is at fault for something and Izuku, with his own villain group, will make everyone pay. Even the bystanders who did nothing. This is what society gets for abandoning it's people. Deku will manipulate everyone and be the greatest villain, all so the world can be a better a place. With the stakes so high there is no time for regret.

We Are a Different Kind - Mirio doesn’t think he can be a hero anymore now that he’s quirkless, Izuku calls bullshit.

Live a Hero - "You either die a hero, or you live long enough to see yourself become the villain." Or, you're raised a villain, rebel when you're nine, and fight against the odds to become a hero anyway. That's how it is in Izuku's case.

Prodigal - After being convinced to give One for All to Mirio, Midoriya Izuku must rebuild his shattered dreams with bloody hands.

Two Sides of the Same Coin: Vigilante - Izuku is orphaned at the age of four and is sent into the Japanese Foster Care System. After multiple failed attempts at finding a forever home and some unfortunate circumstance, he ends up on the streets. Eventually, the vigilante, Deku appears. Eraserhead must gain his trust to bring Deku back to the right side of the law. If he he does, however, the untrustful but pure-hearted boy may just be a bit more than Aizawa Shota can handle.

From Muddy Waters - - but the sleeve of his tracksuit was bulging, tearing and ripping and a mass of twisted flesh, nearly as big as the boy himself and nauseatingly familiar (the arm of the man that had torn a hole in his side with a grin and left him a frail shadow of himself) swung forward and slammed into the flat face of the giant robot. Izuku wants to be a hero more than anything.

Pieces are easily sacrificed when they're nameless - Nobody ever thought quirkless, weak, weird Midoriya Izuku was dangerous. This perception carried over to his first year high school class, because really despite the super strength Midoriya didn't have it in him to be dangerous. That was their first mistake. And the one that would see them fall.

Not exactly BAMF izuku but i just wanted to rec these fics <3

In the shade of a sunflower - Being biologically quirkless came more with an extra pinkie joint in the toes and a stunning lack of vestiges mutations. It came with smaller things, like extra teeth that did virtually nothing, exploding organs, and weird exposed nerves that weren't designed to feel pain.

Throat Punch - In which Aizawa attempts to teach Izuku how to use various battle tactics and it goes just about as well as you'd expect. At least Shinsou is there with his fantastic commentary. (just a fun lil thing where izuku is really stronk and trains with shinsou and aizawa)

So Be It - He could still do good. Midoriya could show them all what a hero without powers looked like. If he had to break a few rules to do it, so be it. So be it… (as stated not exactly BAMF but its a vigilante izuku so ye-)

Never Enter a Drinking Game with Bakugo or Izuku - Izuku walks in on Kirishima and Kaminari having a drinking competition (no alcohol involved). And it reminds him of an old story.

5 Times Midoriya Taught Class 1A about Memes and 1 Time they Found a Villain that Understood Them - After being diagnosed as quirkless, Midoriya gets into pre-guirk media and finds memes. He shares them with Class 1A. Aizawa doesn't get paid enough for this. (THIS FIC???? FUCKING AWESOME. LITERALLY WHAT I WANTED TO SEE)

Midoriya: JD Version - Nedzu has decided that a play should be put on so that the students can learn how to "go undercover", an idea which Aizawa thinks is utter bullshit. They're putting on Heathers and when Nedzu chooses to cast Midoriya for JD, everyone objects. Midoriya is a much better actor than they thought.

that is a lot!! I hope you have fun reading it!!!

[dizzydancingdreamer]

Persephone's Symphony | Day Two | Persephone

Hey my lovelies a month later here is the next installment! When I was planning my chapters out a month or so ago I wrote at the top of this one "Sunny day, go outside, FLUFFY" (exact words)-- I regret to inform you that this is almost pure angst LOL. I deviated from that but the next chapter should bring some much needed fluff. Thank you all for your patience and support-- it means the entire world to me. All my love, until next time <3

Synopsis: In which he is the bad one— the dangerous one, the clunky one, the one who only knows how to break things— and she is the good one— the fragile one, the soft one, the one who knows how to put things back together— and he has to keep her alive long enough for anyone else— anyone who can do more than kill— to save her like she deserves to be saved— to save her from him. There are no pomegranates, no three headed dogs, and no requirement to stay— that is, if they don’t count an assassin on the loose out for her neck. In that case, three days in a safe house doesn’t feel like a long time— just long enough for Persephone and Hades to remember why opposites attract.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader (third person)

Warnings: Mentions of death, anxiety, PTSD, nightmares, angst things, self-hatred, terrible Greek myth references, this ones big angst but necessary for the plot line

Word count: 5.2k

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Master List

He likes his coffee iced.

Black and iced.

She watches as Bucky lifts the glass— the one filled with more cubes than coffee— to his lips, wincing when his throat bobs. It’s seven in the morning. Sure, neither of them slept that much last night— something which makes her gut twist, knowing quite well that it’s her fault— but still. It can’t be as refreshing as he’s making it look. Iced coffee is meant for afternoons. And meant with as much sugar and cream as she can get her hands on. Never just straight dark roast. She clutches her own mug closer to her, taking a sip of the warm, sweet liquid. This is how it should be.

“Got something you wanna’ say, doll?” He takes another sip and she scrunches her nose, both trying to keep her eyes off his pink lips and trying not to force her own mug into his hands— she would be doing him a favor.

If the slight smirk— the millimeter tick in his cheek— is anything to go by then she would say he knows how hard this is for her. A sadist. His lips pull up a touch higher, as though reading her mind. A handsome sadist. Her face flushes under his gaze and she drags in a lungful of air through her nose, holding it for a moment— one, two, three moments— before blowing it back out her mouth.

She lets the hint of coffee leftover on her tongue carve a syrupy smile across her face. “Nope— nothing at all.”

He nods once, blue eyes creasing at the corners as he stares at her from over the glass. He knows. He lazily swirls the coffee, the ice cubes clinking together. Mocking her. She clenches her jaw, fighting the growing urge to snatch the bitter drink and dump it down the sink. The liquid is so dark that she almost gags, picturing what it must taste like. Bitter. Tangy. Vile. It’s the same color as his hair— brown but practically black. Unlike his hair, though, she doesn’t want to be anywhere near that coffee. He needs something warm. Something soft.

Something like her—

“You sure?” Bucky’s voice is mocking too but lacking the ice— the bitterness— his mocking is sweet.

He’s tilting his head now, his black and gold hand settling on the table between them, glinting in the dregs of sunlight starting to break past the curtain. To think yesterday she had been afraid to meet his gaze— afraid of her own feet creaking against the hardwood and of messing up his lunch. Now look at her, less than twenty-four hours later and she can’t look away from him. She doesn’t want to look away. Forget about being afraid to burn the grilled-cheese— she’s about to spartan kick the glass off the table if he takes one more sip.

“Oh I’m sure.” She simpers, fingers curling a touch tighter around her mug. “Why, is there something you would like to say, Bucky?”

His eyes sparkle, not backing down from the challenge. “Nothing at all.”

In that moment— in the one, two, three moments that it takes for his head to slope to the other side, still tilted but somehow more taunting— it’s almost impossible to hold in the scowl threatening her lips. “I see.”

She doesn’t know what she’s expecting but it certainly isn’t Bucky’s laugh— loud and raspy and rushing over her in a tidal wave of energy stronger than the caffeine on her tongue— as he throws his head back. He had laughed yesterday but it wasn’t like this. It wasn’t so pure. It’s all she can do to hold her breath as his eyes flutter closed, creasing at the corners, and wonder if she looks that wonderful when she laughs too. If she, too, looks like an angel falling from the sun, burning in the inkling of light the curtain allows. Does the kitchen haze halo around her hair as well? Does it make it look like her skin is gold— the same way he looks like a statue, sculpted and frozen from precious metal?

There’s just no way.

“You look like you wanna’ leap across the table—” his hand presses against his mouth, flesh fingers closed in a fist as his shoulders shake— “why— why do you look so determined? C’mon, fill me in please— I’m—” he has to pause, laugh turning silent from the force of it— “I’m dyin’ here.”

Her own laughs come in short huffs, airy and just barely making a noise. Maybe it’s the lack of sleep finally getting her— that would explain both of their laughs actually. She hasn’t felt giddy in months. It kind of hurts, how hard her stomach contracts upon seeing his eyes blinking at her, bright blue and glassy, swallowing his chuckles the same way she gasps for the breath needed to answer him.

She finally caves, finger pointing to the glass in front of him and a smile so wide on her lips that her cheeks hurt. “There’s just no way that tastes good.”

He glances down, looking at his offensive beverage, before looking back up, his eyes brighter than she’s yet to have seen them. “That’s what this is about? My coffee? I knew it.”

Nodding, she lifts her own mug, tilting it just enough for him to see the contents. “This is coffee— not that sludge. That cold sludge. Is there any sugar in there? Like, even one grain?”

“Quit bein’ dramatic—” he snorts— apparently the big bad bodyguard snorts— and it’s cuter than she would like to admit— “just because I don’t load my coffee with additives. S’there even any coffee in yours, doll? It looks more like milk if you ask me.”

Her face flushes hot and she doesn’t know if it’s from the nickname or the fact that he just called her out— so what if she likes sugar and cream?

She meets his smug gaze with her own, narrowed-eyed glance. “Sugar and cream aren’t additives, Bucky— they’re good.”

“But not good for you.” He counters, dark brows quirking.

She scoffs— scoff, swoon, same thing— “Not everything has to be a superfood to be healthy— at least mine isn’t iced.”

Bucky’s eyes glint upon hearing that, picking up his glass and swirling the ice cubes once more before taking a long sip. His eyes never leave hers as he peers over the rim, taking his sweet time to down the liquid. Does he know that even when he’s being arrogant he looks like an angel? Her hand curls tighter around her mug, testing the durability of the ceramic as his throat bobs again. Her palm stings in warning— a little hey maybe you should let go. She doesn’t— somehow shattering the mug seems like a better option than breaking her composure.

Her grip loosens a fraction when he finally sets his glass back down. “What’s wrong with iced coffee— isn’t it a California staple?”

“Not before eight it isn’t.”

“It’s refreshing.” He deadpans.

“It’s cold.” She deadpans back, fingers tapping against her mug— maybe she can hypnotize him into not wanting to finish it. “Californians don’t like the cold. At least not in So-Cal we don’t. Maybe Brooklyn’s different.”

Eyeing his drink, she contemplates the schematics of the mission at hand. It truly doesn’t seem that difficult. She could just reach over and grab it and he wouldn’t even see it coming. He’s already distracted, right? She stops tapping, casually— well, as casual as one can be when actually trying to be— laying her palm on the table. His eyes, thankfully, stay glued to her own, lips parting with a huff.

“New Yorkers just want coffee, no time for all that fancy stuff.”

“Oh yeah?” She drawls. “What does fancy stuff entail exactly?”

She can only hope that her voice sounds interested— her eyes are still locked on his but her attention is entirely elsewhere. She needs to keep him talking— to keep him distracted. His huffs as she crawls her fingers closer, drawing his focus to her shrug, making sure he never glances away. This is too easy.

“All that cappuccino, frappuccino, whatever the hell it’s called nowadays—”

This time she huffs. “Is that what you think we drink?”

She inches her palm even closer to his glass—

“I know it’s what you drin— Hey!” Bucky laughs again, tugging his glass towards him with a cheshire grin— okay so maybe he would see it coming— “keep your hands where I can see them—”

Whatever he says next falls deaf into the space between them, cut off by the sudden rushing of blood in her ears. It’s like his words hit a barrier between them, one hastily constructed of thin glass and terror. Every thought of coffee rushes out of her mind in an instant. She blinks, mouth going dry, heart stopping. A switch flips inside her— keep your hands where I can see them or what?

What did he hear?

He must have heard something.

Why can’t she hear him?

She can see him— see the way his lips form around his sentence, his smile starting to wane but still slightly holding in place— but she can’t hear him. She can see the way his laugh drops but she can’t hear the explosion of it hitting the table. She can only perceive the collision in the fall of his lips, echoed in the creasing of his brows. Her hands catch in mid air, hitting the glass as well— she can’t save it. Him. She’s trying— instinctively reaching for him— but she can’t pull the smile back up or smooth the lines on his forehead. She’s helpless— useless.

He knows— he must know.

What did she say last night?

Why can’t she break the glass?

The wall is too much.

She tries to tell Bucky— I’m so scared I can’t breathe— but when her gaze snaps to his none of the blue that she’s been memorizing for the last day is visible. There’s only blackness— blackness in the now dimming light of the bright room and blackness in his eyes, even the whites, and blackness in her own vision as she, too, drops. One minute she’s there, sitting at the table, watching the confusion pool into his features that were only seconds ago coated in mirth, and then next she’s back. She’s dreaming. She’s in the house that haunts her every night.

She’s not asleep but—

She’s in the coat closet of her parent’s home. It still smells the way she remembers— like sunscreen and lemon Pine-Sol. Her mother uses it to keep the wooden fixtures around the house oiled. Apparently that’s a thing. She’s never really understood why but at least it smells nice— like sunshine and laughter and her mother. Like her home. She doesn’t understand but, regardless, any other time she would be closing her eyes and drawing in as much of the citrus as possible, too content to be confused.

Not today, though— she’s too excited to do any such thing today.

She hasn’t told anyone that she’s coming home for the weekend; she wants it to be a surprise. Her brother always surprises her. His birthday is just around the corner and for once she wants to be the one to do the surprising. Hell, she even bought a cake with an inscription— the very same cake that’s nestled next to her feet as she rummages through the shelves. Happy 29th Birthday! She has a whole plan in place. Have Susan drop her off while her family is out and set up the celebration before they return. It isn’t a hard plan. It’s supposed to be simple— not hard and very simple.

And then the door opens.

Not the closet door but the front door. She hears the familiar tread of her family— her mother’s eco-friendly slip-ons and her fathers clunky, also eco-friendly, sandals, followed by the heavy thudding of her brother’s combat boots. Despite her mother’s pleading— and the fact that he hasn’t been deployed in over a year— he still wears them religiously. Still, her interest peaks— it doesn’t make sense. The only time he doesn’t wear them is when he goes to the beach and she could have sworn one of them had sent her a text earlier today asking if she had wanted to go with them—

“Keep your hands where I can see them, you hear me!”

She freezes, hands clamping around the towel in her grasp as she whirls around and squints through the grate in the closet door. She can’t make out everything in front of her but she can make out enough to know that something isn’t right. There are four people standing in the foyer. Not three— not just her mother, brother, and father— but four. She sees her mother shoved behind her father, his arm curled around her hip, and her brother, his hands held out in front of him towards the fourth person. His face, while slightly distorted from the grate, is terrified. Him— the man who’s faced the worst of the war— terrified.

Something is terribly wrong.

She pushes her gaze to the fourth figure, trying desperately to understand what’s happening. Dressed in all black, their back towards her, there isn’t much to go off of. Their stance is rigid, steps heavy as they slam the front door and lock it. Is her family being robbed? Is that what this is? She knows they’re well off— more than that. She knows her family is rich. But her neighbourhood is guarded— enclosed. She’s never heard of something like this happening—

She bites back a scream as the person shouts at her family, voice staticy as it crackles through what sounds like a modifier. “On your knees— now!”

Her mother’s cry rings through the air, piercing her chest like a bullet. She wants to scream too but something inside her catches the sound before she can. Maybe it’s common sense— her street smarts coming out to play for once in her life. Maybe it’s fear— the scream dissipating into a barely audible huff of air as she watches her brother sink wordlessly to the floor. Solidarity, perhaps. Maybe, though, it's the slab of iron in the person’s hand, pressed against her father’s head and winking at her in the bright foyer light.

A gun— whoever is in her home has a gun and is pointing it at her family.

“Please don’t hurt my family—” it’s her father this time, his hands in the air and voice deadly calm— how he manages that she has no idea— “I’ll give you whatever you want. Money, jewelry, whatever you want, it’s yours— just please don’t hurt them.”

It’s surreal— she’s heard that phrase in movies and shows— hell, she heard it in a theatre production one time— a macabre commentary about something she couldn’t remember if her life depended on it— does her life depend on it right now?— of course it doesn’t snap out of it y/n! She’s losing her mind, her throat is burning and her palms are starting to sting— the point is she never thought she would hear those words said aloud. She certainly never thought they would come from her own father as he covers her mother’s body with his own.

“I don’t want your money!” The intruder growls, their voice so low and grainy that she almost doesn’t understand.

What she does understand is the sharp click of the gun’s safety being released— she understands the way the muscles in her body tense all at once. In that moment the unthinkable happens—

She drops the towel.

It doesn’t make much of a sound at all, only a small thud as it falls, but it’s enough to make her jolt backwards, foot landing heavy in her brother’s cake. The heady scent of the cream-cheese icing melds with the Pine-Sol and she has to swallow the vomit that rises in her throat, not daring to lift her foot let alone move an inch as the hulking figure rises.

They spin around quickly, facing the closet with a covered face and squinted black eyes, and her heart stops dead in her chest. Can they see her? Do they know she’s in there? She had made a beeline for the closet when Susan dropped her off, not bothering to stop long enough to kick her shoes off until inside the small space. She hasn’t even turned the light on— there’s been enough pouring in through the grate to do without. Perhaps there’s a chance they don’t know she’s here.

She holds her breath as the figure steps forward, arms pressed tightly to her chest. Whoever it is get’s so close to the grate that for a moment she can’t see her family at all. It’s only a few seconds before they turn away— logically it can’t be more or else she’d be gasping for air— but it feels like a lifetime, her toes curling in the red-velvet and a steady bead of sweat rolling down the back of her neck. She prays the entire time— she doesn’t know to who— she doesn’t know if she’s being heard— but she prays.

And the figure turns around.

Her hands fly to her jeans immediately, frantically pressing against the material but coming away empty. Fuck— where the hell is her cellphone? She could have sworn it was in her pocket! She wracks her brain, trying to think of where it could be. She hadn’t brought her purse or a coat— why would she, she was only going home. She has both of those things in her bedroom upstairs. She had just slipped her debit card into her phone case and ran to meet Susan—

Fuck— no, no, no!

An image of Susan’s console jumps into her mind, her phone sitting in the cupholder, forgotten as she animatedly waves her hands around. She can’t even remember the story she’d been telling now. It was nothing important— now she knows that. Nothing important enough to warrant forgetting her phone. She never forgets her phone.

She sees movement from the corner of her eye and her gaze darts to her mother whose head is now turned towards the closet, her eyes— the very eyes she’s spent years wishing she could have inherited instead of her father’s because they’re just so lovely— locked on hers. They pierce through the thin opening, softening a fraction, and her heart jumps, restarting.

She sees her.

She knows— her mother knows that she’s there. She’s watching and she knows. It’s both relieving and terrifying, knowing that she isn’t alone but also what would happen if she’s caught. Y/n’s lips peel open instinctively and, ever her persistent mother, she shakes her head. It takes everything in her to not call out for her— to not burst through the closet doors and rush into her arms. But her mother’s instincts have always been better than her own.

So she doesn’t speak— doesn’t move— she just watches.

It all happens so fast— the time it would take someone to blink is the time it takes to watch everything she’s ever known crumble.

She watches as the intruder turns, deciding that the closet is empty and that there are more important matters. Matters meaning her family. Matters meaning the gun in their hand.

She watches as her brother lunges forward, his arms wrapping around the intruder and bringing them both to the ground with a thud that threatens to bring the entire house down around them. It all happens in slow motion— yet another thing she never thought she would experience off the big screen. They roll around for a moment, battling for control. For that moment her chest sags— he’s going to win. He’s a trained soldier and he’s strong and his birthday is in three days. He has to win.

But then a gunshot rings through the air and a cloud of smoke erupts from between their bodies.

And one of them slumps but it isn’t the one in the mask.

It smells like fireworks, the gunpowder. Like the fourth of July or labor day weekend. Like she should be celebrating with the neighborhood and not pressing her fist against her mouth, helpless as her brother’s body caves in on itself. She doesn’t even get time to process the crimson pooling from the corner of his mouth as his head slots towards her before the intruder is back on their feet.

She watches as the monster aims the gun again— matters being dealt with— and she watches as her mother nods ever so slightly, her mouth just barely forming one last ‘I love you’— different matters but she would later come to find that they were also being closed. Her mother has never been one to leave things unresolved.

The second gunshot doesn’t smell like fireworks— it smells like lemon Pine-Sol.

It smells like blood.

No, she’s not asleep but she’s definitely not awake.

In hindsight maybe she should have taken that breath. She would have, had she known. Hindsight is funny like that. No. Funny is the wrong word. Hindsight is cruel like that. Better. It makes her wish that she had just closed her eyes— that she smelled the lemon oil one last time before it mingled with the metal of her family’s death. In hindsight she wouldn’t have left her phone in Susan’s car. Or dropped the towel. Or said no to the beach. Or any other thing that led her to stand in the coat closet. And those are just the things she wouldn’t do.

She still can’t think about the things she would do— not without bile rushing into her mouth.

Bucky clears his throat and— like the towel— the mug almost slips from her fingers.

“You sure you don’t want to talk ‘bout it?” His voice is gentle— well, as gentle as she’s sure he can make it— and that’s all she needs to understand that he really has no idea as to what’s going on in her head.

Surely if he did then he wouldn’t be gazing at her with that look in his eyes.

Shrugging, she keeps her attention focused on her mug— the coffee doesn’t look nearly as appetizing as it had before. She raises it anyway, her lips sealing around the porcelain and pulling in another mouthful of the liquid. Somehow, despite the steam that had been rising from it only minutes ago, it’s ice cold now. She grimaces but swallows it anyway, if only to buy herself a few seconds to think of a suitable answer. Maybe that’s why Bucky drinks it too— as a distraction. As a guise.

The mug thunks off the table when she sets it down, her hand landing much heavier than she intends. Of course it does— gods can she ever do anything normally? She winces, passing him a look she hopes conveys that it was an accident. She doesn’t want him to think she’s angry with him. Not when it feels like he’s the only person she isn’t mad at. These days that’s hard to come by. Thankfully his blue eyes remain soft. Maybe he gets it.

“I, uh—” she twists her fingers together, dropping her gaze to his cheek— this isn’t the kind of thing you say while looking someone in the eye. Maybe she’s just a coward, though— “I had a dream. Erm— about that night. A memory. Kind of.”

Her voice cracks and she swallows, trailing off. She didn’t mean to say the last part but it’s like it forced itself past her lips, her psyche unable— unwilling— to withhold the truth from him. Well, not all of it at least.

It’s not the whole story. It’s not even close. What she doesn’t say is that it’s her fault. All of it. That if she had just acted— if she had done anything at all worth something then she would still have her parents. Her brother. That she may as well have killed them herself because she sure as hell didn’t do anything to stop it. She doesn’t tell him that she’s nothing but a scared, stupid girl who— when it came down to it— froze. A monster— The Queen of Death.

Aren’t queens supposed to save the people they care about?

“A memory?” He sounds confused but all she can see is the grain of the table, her eyes now refusing to look at even his skin.

It’s all she can do to play off the way her chin drops— the way the air gets sucked out of her lungs— as a nod. “Yeah.”

Bucky doesn’t say anything in return and she’s not about to pick her chin up from her chest to demand an answer. She likes him. She doesn’t exactly want him to know she’s a killer. Well, more so than he already does. He’s here, though, so it’s not like he doesn’t know that the people closest to her always end up dead. Mother, father, brother— dead, dead, dead. He just doesn’t know the extent of it— or that she’s the harbinger.

That there’s a little part of her that wonders if he’s going to end up dead too just for sitting across from her.

Would she save him or would she only watch from the closet as his body caved to the floor?

Bucky hums softly— reverently— and she remembers the way his skin had glowed only minutes ago— Icarus meeting the sun— and the way he had laughed— Icarus humming his praise to the sun— and she feels like she’s been submerged in ice.

Icarus falling.

What happens when Icarus hits the ocean? Will it smell like lemon Pine-Sol?

Nevermind, she doesn’t want to know the answer.

Bile pools over her tongue and she swallows it as a tapping sound catches her attention in the stillness, her eyes darting to the cause. Sparkling metal— his fingers. The gold gleams even more now that the sun has risen higher. It’s not raining today— was it raining the day Icarus fell? She can’t tear her gaze away from his metal digits as they thrum a beat against the table, the steady motion mesmerizing. It’s not raining but his fingers could fool her. It’s nothing dramatic— nothing harsh. Just the tap, tap, tap of his index and middle fingers, a little heavier than had it been his flesh hand.

It’s a normal motion— she misses normal.

Tap, tap, tap.

She misses the rain.

It hits her like a truck how much she longs for the grey haze of yesterday’s sky. The sun is too bright— her skin is too exposed. It feels like it’s beaming right through her hoodie, cutting through the heavy fabric and burning the flesh from her bones just to prove that they’re not the ivory they should be but rather charred and black. It feels like the sun is out for her blood— out to watch the citrus ichor drip from her veins through the veiled window. If her feet weren’t rooted to the floor, her toes digging painfully into the harwood, she’s sure she would be sinking below the table to escape the rays. She can’t breathe— her mouth tastes like acid. Like lemons.

She misses the rain.

Tap, tap, tap— it’s not the rain but surely it’s close enough, right?

Icarus would think it’s enough, right?

So why does it make her shoulders tense?

“A memory.” Bucky breaks the silence, repeating his words but this time they aren’t a question— not yet. “What d’you mea—” he stops, sentence dropping before picking up on a new, clearer note— “You were there?”

Maybe because it’s the sound of the puzzle pieces clicking together in his head.

It’s not an accusation— there’s no charge in his tone— but still she flinches, hands pressed together at the wrists, fingers tangled together, guilty. She’s yet to confess but she’s already been caught— she can feel it— red handed in red velvet and wondering if— when she glances past the table— she’ll see her foot still smeared in the cream cheese icing. She had stood in it for so long that she wouldn’t doubt it. It’s a part of her now.

She nods, not trusting her voice. Not trusting herself to not reveal more than she already has. She isn’t being accused but her heart is pounding so hard that she feels like she’s in the interrogation room again. She wiggles her toes— are they sticky or is she just imagining it? Her shoulders burn where the sun has managed to cut through the crack in the curtain. She misses the rain.

Tap, tap, ta— his fingers stop.

Her eyes dart back to his metal hand, the black and gold frozen mid tap.

“Holy shit—” there’s a pause, his fingers flex before straightening, flattening against the table before— “they didn’t tell me that.”

Bucky’s voice is so low that she almost doesn’t hear it— she probably wasn’t supposed to. She has to force herself to keep her gaze leveled below his, her voice steady despite the fact that she’s almost certain the sun has seared through her vocal cords. Her throat burns. Maybe he wasn’t so far off with the iced coffee after all. She wouldn’t mind it right now.

“I wasn’t sure if they would.” She croaks and then winces, swallowing before her throat can close on it’s own— she needs at least the semblance of control.

It’s the truth— she didn’t know. It would have made sense to tell him, though. It would have been polite, at the very least. She’s damaged, they should have told him. Watch out. They should have given him the papers— the records of the month she spent in a hospital bed. They should have told him. Maybe they were trying to help her— maybe they were trying to save him. But they should have warned him regardless.

She’s unstable; she’s liable to shut down in the worst moments.

She doesn’t sleep at night; she just screams and screams and screams.

She’s deadly; she won’t help you, Icarus.

His fingers start again but this time it sounds less like rain.

Tap, tap, tap. Mother, father, brother.

“They should have.” Bucky grinds out, voice thick— angry? “They should have told me.”

Is he angry with her? She squeezes her hands together tighter, her nails digging into her knuckles. Please no. She shouldn’t have said anything— she should have kept her mouth shut. Isn’t that supposed to be the one thing she’s good at? Not speaking out? Not talking? The thought of the dark haired man being angry at her is like poison in her blood. The tension rolls over her bones in a heavy wave, settling like a blanket, suffocating her.

She can’t breathe.

She needs to breathe.

“I know—” she pushes through her teeth, voice finally cracking— “I’m sorry.”

She doesn’t know who she’s apologizing to— Bucky already told her not to apologize to him. She can’t help it though, the words are always on her tongue. Always haunting her.

I’m sorry I didn’t go to the beach— I know I missed a lot of family trips last year.

I’m sorry I left my phone in Susan’s car— I know you’re always telling me how forgetful I am.

I’m sorry I missed your birthday— I just wanted it to be a surprise.

Her skin itches, toes curling against the hardwood and the icing. It hurts. Everything hurts. The sun— the Pine-Sol. The sticky tinge to her skin where the blood had spattered through the grate. She needs out.

Tap, tap, tap. Mother, father, brother. Dead, dead, de— if she doesn’t get out of here right now there’s a good chance she’s going to explode.

“Do— ah— do you think maybe it would be okay to get some fresh air?”

Tag List: @xhollycowx @remembered-license @dumble-daddy @hellotvshowtrash @thesummerbucky @elijahs-wife @cari1bunny @im-just-star-dust @motherofallthesmallthings​ @hazardoushallucination​ @em-august @nuttytani @brown-eyed-babes

[villainess-noble-girl]

Falling in love with the princess

"Ann"(Mary) POV (Based on Chapter 89 of the novel)

The moment I saw her, I immediately understood the thread eyed boy's motive...

Today is my first day serving my new mistress, Lady Isabella. She's currently grilling some chicken in the backyard.

I stared at the lady's golden fluffy hair as she hummed a song while she wait for the chicken to cook. I can't help but smile seeing her so happy.

I looked around and saw the gardener drinking tea on a nearby flowerbed.

This might be the first time ever in my life that I am having such a peaceful time.

Hearing my twin sister's daily hysterics added to my daily dose of stress but now that it's gone... it's quiet. For some reason I still feel uneasy.

"Is it time to put it in the oven?" the young lady broke my train of thought.

Danger. Danger. Everything is so peaceful and calming that it's making me brace myself for the worse.

I continued to watch the lady grill the  chicken.

For a second the roasted chicken looked perfectly cooked but it began to transform in to a sludge, only the burnt skewers remained intact.

"I'm sorry, Ann. I wanted to feed you some decent food."

After the lady recovered from her shock, she immediately apologized to me.

Even the energetic young lady can't hide her disappointment after producing a sludge five times in a row.

What if she's a total failure in cooking? She is a duke's daughter. Also, there's no need to apologize to a servant like me.

Fu~fu~ the lady is still cute in her disheartened state.

She looks like a doll or a fairy, but to me, she mostly looks like a golden (chick) little bird with her golden fluffy hair and quick, short movements.

Although I find it cute, I don't want to keep my cute little bird depressed so I comforted her.

"My lady doesn't have to apologize. It's delicious, so please be confident! It's the only food in the world that has the ability to surprise everyone with its appearance and taste. I love the lady's cooking!"

"R-r-really?" the lady is clearly anxious.

"When I become Ursch's wife in the future, wouldn't he hate me if my cooking is constantly a sludge of surprise?"

I would be happy, but I don't think the young lady wants to hear that.

Based on my prediction, the thread eyed boy would be happy with whatever the young lady prepared.

"I think Master Ursch spends a lot of time making magic tools so the young lady's cooking would be convenient since the food that you cook can be consumed immediately."

"True... but if he finishes eating right away, his breaks will be reduced and his working hours will be longer. Ursch-kun already works so much."

"Then why not ask Master Ursch to cook from time to time? It will be a great change of mood, the lady can set the table and prepare tea and spend time together."

The young lady nodded and considered it.

Oh, wait a minute.

"My lady, can you make some tea?"

"Tea is okay. It can be brewed without any problems. Also, yeah... the juice made by squeezing the fruits is okay."

I see, if it's liquid, you can make it without problems, but if it's a solid dish, it becomes sludge.

"Then how about a soup?"

"The soup melts while I'm mixing it and turns in to a sludge..."

The taste is good but you really can't cook.. I wonder why?

We pondered over it for a bit, but I really can't figure it out so I decided to eat the newly made sludge for the time being.

It's my first time tasting something like this. The sludge is delicious but it doesn't taste like roasted chicken with onions.

What is it? A mellow taste with a little salt. Is it seafood? I also taste butter and a little pepper.

As I contemplated, the young lady tasted her sludge and groaned.

"It tastes like butter-grilled mussels."

If you ask me, I think it's great to be able to bring out the flavor of a shellfish with chicken and onions, but the young lady looks disappointed.

Of all the food I've eaten in my past twelve years of life, the young lady's sludge is the most delicious.

Conpared to what I've eaten so far, the difference is cloud and mud.

By the way, my lady's cooking is the cloud although it looks muddy.

While I was at the Schneiver safe house, they fed me regularly. But I ultimately didn't feel like eating because I found the thread eyed boy really creepy and my lady's dish (sludge) tastes so much better.

I don't ever recall eating anything delicious up until now.

I am trained by the Dark Guild to replace a noble daughter so I was constantly drilled in to raising my level.

Sometimes I was given sweets and decent food on a whim, but my twin sister, who was better than me, kept taking it away from me and I never got to taste it.

As my twin sister continued to take things from me, I couldn't be positive about the role of robbing someone's life.

Eventually, I couldn't get into the training and fell out, and when I wasn't as good as my twin sister, the treatment and my living environment became worse.

How long have you been treated like a princess, my sister, while I'm being scorned?

I didn't want to be a changeling.

Growing up like a normal child, go to school, and get a normal job. I dreamed of such a life.

'You don't have to live a luxurious life because you'll become an aristocratic daughter someday.'

I want to live a normal life without having anything to do with the Dark Guild.

So I have to thank my sister for taking something from me one last time.

You wanted to go back to the dark guild, to be treated like a princess, rather than having an honest job and living a normal life in a protected place.

The thread eyed boy coerced us to switch bodies.

When you replaced me and returned to the Dark Guild, did you think you would be warmly welcomed?

Didn't they say it so many times?

Our ability changes to constant activation once it is activated, so once you have transferred, you will not be able to get out of the body.

You believed the lie he said, 'You two are identical twins, it's like having the same body so it doesn't really count.'

Our replacement ability is a one time use ability.

I was able to escape from the guild without doing anything by replacing my sister.

From now on, I will live the normal life I wanted with my sister's body.

While being healed by my little bird, I will work as her personal maid.

Bye sister, I wish you well.

Fandom: The Villainess Wants To Marry A Commoner!

Photo: Not mine

Credit: Click here

Note: I MTL-ed this chapter so I really can't be sure if this is accurate.

[lionsongfr]

Riot of Rot Cuisine

One day FR will give a us a proper Plague Coliseum venue and I will write up foods more specific to Plague. >:C Till then I shall cobble together  bits of pieces of other venues to make a menu that would make Plaguebringer proud!

Scavenger’s Stew- Picked Over Bones, Dried Jerky, dried Diseased Fungus, and Spicy Meat Sheep with Cinnamon, cloves, cumin, Blacktongue pepper, and coriander, a spicy stew to cover the taste of spoiled meats. Often served with an unleavened flat bread or couscous (made from Imperial Tails or Pampas Grass grain).

Butcher Bars- a fruit leather made of Butcher’s figs and roasted Mire Chestnuts, perfect for that extra boost of protein and energy before hunts.

King Salad- a Rat Tangle roasted whole on a bed of Cindershroom and Luminous Leaf Sheep with a spiced Mushroom Oil sauce and Bell Goat feta, a glistening golden salad that is a rare treat.

Pickled Eye Wrap- pickled Field Watcher eyes with a Bell Goat yogurt sauce and fried ground balls made of Bell Fungus, Moss Eater Moth, and leftover meat scraps, all served on a flat bread.

Giant Millipede Rolls- while most insects are quick roasted and devoured, Giant Millipedes are wrapped in Rotala and slow cooked over the coals. In the morning they are removed from their shells and served with the charred Rotala and fried Dwarf Shelf Fungus on flatbread.

Leech Rings- Wetland leeches are tough skinned creatures; thus, they are often cut up into rings and soaked in a Golden Pepper and Bell Goat milk over the day and then fried in Mushroom Oil. Typically served with a spicy Ashfall Prickler sauce and pickled and sliced Wasteland Pear and Field Watcher salad.

Plaguebringer's Delight- a dish named after the disease-bearing crustacean, it requires the lobster to be boiled, removed from the shell, and then fermented with Leechroot Mushroom and Golden Pepper for a month. The earthy and salty result is eaten as a relish, often with smoked Croaker Leg sausages and onions upon flatbread.

Bloodfly Cakes- swarms of Blood Flies are not uncommon in the Scarred Wasteland, and they are considered a large source of provisions for insect eating dragons. They are caught in large nets, dried, and then packed into cake forms along with Redblood Sapper syrup. Can be eaten as a cake, added to couscous, or made into a simple soup.

Pustulant Pudding- a Bell Goat milk pudding seasoned with a variety of toppings like Wasteland Pear syrup, Sewer Sludge caramel, and candied Wasteland Pauper.

Bone Tea- a drink and a meal, this hearty bone broth made from Picked Over Bones and Boneback Mold is often served with a fermented milk from Bell Goats or noodles made from Black Sea Nettle tentacles.

Mushroom Coffee- coffee is a rare import from The Viridian Labyrinth (though the import has ended after the recent Seed and Sickness disaster) and to extend the coffee supply dried medicinal Ancient Mushrooms are added. The coffee is brewed in a small cup over a pan of hot sand to make a thick and strong drink.

Hemolymph Liquor- while the Wyrmwound is not exactly drinkable, the blood of beasts who can drink the waters provide a potent liquor.  Hemolymph from colonies of Crowned Bonepriests and Corpse Cleaners is carefully harvested and fermented for a year. Sharp and sour, it is used to celebrate the first successful hunt of a Plague dragon.

[whump-town]

Come Down

You know, I have no idea if this is actually good. I find myself combing over it and it’s confusing, no doubt. It makes no sense. I might take it down. For now, I just submit myself to this. I wrote it... more or less. So, lets just ignore how it makes no sense plot wise and just enjoy that I have managed to write words—

Warning for suicidal ideations

Hotchniss

Takes right after Emily’s funeral

---

He buries her in the fall.

Surrounded by the team, he shivers as the breeze picks up the leaves littering the ground and scurries them across the dying grass. Each step that is taken, each uncomfortably cold shift of their bodies, is enunciated by the desolate crunch of the leaves under their feet. Of death in the air.

Emily always said there was a strange kind of beauty in death.

He hates that he can see that now.

“Aaron?”

He looks down where JJ clutches his left hand, her bright eyes searching for something in his own. Something lost, probably. He doesn’t feel very human now, she can see that. In all honesty, he doesn’t even want to hear the sound of his voice. He wishes he could tuck himself into this dirt and die with Emily. To stop feeling and breathing and living because his lungs feel heavy and his life having passed long ago.

So, he doesn’t respond to the way JJ says his name. Even though he can hear the desperation, the pain. She’s afraid they’re going to lose him and he’s too tired to lie to her.

JJ tucks herself into his side and for a moment he just blinks down at her. Something has been off about her since Emily’s death. As tears sting his eyes and he’s forced to look up and away so that they don’t fall, he lets it go. He doesn’t want to push. He doesn’t want to know.

They know everything now.

They know enough.

He’ll keep as much as he can for himself. He knows it’s selfish.

“You shouldn’t go home alone, Aaron.”

As sick as he feels leaving her behind, he can’t stand the thought of them in his home. In the spaces that they shared. The mugs that she touched last and the blankets that only she curled into. Even now, as JJ touches his hand-- he doesn’t want to be touched. He doesn’t want to be perceived.

All he has left are ghosts.  The shampoo sitting on the rim of his tub because she could never manage to remember to put it back on the shelf. The glass of water on her nightstand. The three pairs of leggings kicked under his bed. His flannel that smells of her because she's worn it more in the past few weeks than he has in the years he's owned it.

The ghost of her that haunts his body and lives within his head. Catacombs.

“I would prefer to be alone, please.”

He doesn’t look up but he sees their darting eyes. The way they doubt him, already. What does it say about him that whenever anything bad happens they always assume he’ll kill himself? He’d seen it in their eyes after Haley’s death and Foyet’s attack. Fearful that the moment someone wasn’t around to watch him he’d end his life. Abrupt, right there for them to find.

Were they afraid to lose him or to find him?

A fire roast within his mind. Sickness like thick timber logs, cracking, and popping. The heat makes his skin melt away and his brain browning to slime. His eyes remain open as if propped open by sticks, not by his own accord and not because he wishes it so. Machine more than man. Autopilot.

His heavy wooden legs lift and with head full of sludge, he walks away. Ears deaf to the soft call of his name. The cold no longer stings. His skin no longer feels.

He is numb.

There is nothing.

In his apartment, he expects to find her there. Another cruel joke played out at his expense but there is nothing.

A heating pad still plugged into the wall behind the couch. Her voice in his ear and if he closes his eyes, body swaying with exhaustion, he can recall the warmth of her fingers across his forehead. Her breath on his cheek as she’d leaned over him-- “Just sleep, now. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

What he would give to feel that pain. Something. Anything.

She hadn’t meant to lie.

When he woke on the couch some hours later, brain still burning and skull crackling, she had been long gone. Half-way to wherever it was she thought she could get to. Almost to safety. Ian Doyle had still found her.

Until two days ago, he’d never even heard that name.

Now, it’s all he thinks about.

Ian Doyle.

What else does he have to lose?

“Where are you going?”

He steps out on his front porch, two guns strapped to his body. There is nothing in his eyes, not even a hint of the flickering consuming knowledge of before. All of the edged sharpness, the intelligence has dulled. Absent is the swift movement of his anxiety. The man dressed as Aaron Hotchner is just his murderer.

With Aaron’s voice, the hallow man answers, “for a walk.”

Dave frowns. Yes, he could have safely assumed that answer. JJ had taken his keys at the funeral. Morgan was due to swing by soon and take his guns. They can not bring Emily back but they can keep him here.

“Mind if I join?”

Hotch looks at him. Frowns.

“It’s raining,” Dave points out. “Perhaps you would prefer a drive?” He motions back to his own car, hidden mostly by the lack of street lights and it’s dark color. Night has fallen, even though it is only four. The cold seeps into their clothes but Aaron does not shiver.

“I wouldn’t.”

Dave huffs, his breath measured out in front of him. “Is that so,” he chuckles with a shake of his head. “Alright then,” he caves. “Go on,” he nods his head in the direction Aaron had stepped in. “I’ll wait here for you. Mind if I start some coffee, I assume you’ll be back in time for a cup?”

Hotch simply hums, neither the truth nor a lie.

Dave goes into his house and Hotch leaves.

He doesn’t expect to return for that coffee.

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

Emily Prentiss had not intended to die.

Very few, ever do. Desperate souls, those most akin to the ache of loss like her Aaron, they crave it. There is something about the way the fabric of our lives decay that drives us so eagerly to the edge. Seldom successful. The point is to never focus on the failures. Only what lies ahead or, rather, what doesn’t.

Icarus bounding off the ledge, do you think he had feared what stirred behind him?

Had he longed to be tucked into the waves, nestled by their arms?

What does it matter?

All that matters is that Aaron Hotchner has strapped his wax woven wings to his back and jumped. The back she’d played, fingers digging into the bones and tasting the flesh. Drawing beautiful little sounds from his pale lips. She knows every inch of his body. From the pink flushed scar across his spine or the patch above his right hip, that aches with every rain fall.

He has jumped and expects to find her at the bottom of the ocean.

“Lauren.”

It has been a long time since she’s heard that name. One rooted close to her own. Lauren shivers down her spine, causes her heart to jump in her chest. Lauren is the name the shadows call to her. The corner of her room where only a plant resides but the breezeless room still beckons her closely. A name not quite her own but a part of her. After pretending to be Lauren for so long, she had become her. Quant, lilac scented, curly-haired Lauren.

Lauren Reynolds will always be a better woman than Emily Prentiss.

But, unlike Emily Prentiss, Lauren Reynolds is dead.

“Don’t ignore me, love.” Ian in all of his charm has never been able to shake his anger. He spits that little moniker at her now “love” but it’s bitter and twisted. It’s meant to make her feel possessed. His.

Her lips part to speak, to say something sharp and harsh but she’s beaten.

Rather, someone else is.

She hears the tired cry of pain from his lips. Aaron. It draws on, for as long as Aaron breathes the sound until it’s cut off with a whimper. “Ian!” She cries desperately out to him, to draw her attention back to her and away from Aaron. Raggedly, she can hear their breathes mingling. Breathless, both of them. The sound is plucked, she can picture his back bowed like a sting. His piano keyed spine arched to draw that cry. How long as Ian had him? What has he endured? Men like Aaron Hotchner do not sing for anyone. He requires training and discipline.

Not unlike the cello she had received for her ninth birthday.

Aaron had curled across her body much time and as her fingers had grown rough with the frequent use of her cello, she learned how to play his body. To draw sweet sounds from such big, monstrous figures. Both had bent to her will.

“Tell me,” Ian requests. “Do you think you’ll be fast enough? Will you save him?” He can not conquer her so he will take what she has left behind. With a tsk, Ian lowers his body closer to Aaron’s. There is no reason to fear the other man may catch his bearings. It has been three days and no one at home even knows he’s gone missing. He has lost too much blood, slept too little, and eaten even less. The strength of Aaron Hotchner has long since left his body.

Not that it would be of much use here.

Be it the strings of fate or the silly mistakes of a woman still very much a girl, this has nothing to do with him. Not his mistakes or his guilt, they have no place here no matter how he may fathom to be. This is about the Ambassador’s dead daughter, a woman conceived by the mind, and an Irish mobster.

“No.”

Long ago she had learned how impossible it is to think you can save the world. God, there are times when she found herself certain this damned Earth had condemned itself. Let it, she’d found herself sobbing. For the love of everything, let this damned soil swallow itself whole. He had reminded her of the goodness. Aaron Hotchner in all of his anger had shown her the soft places in her heart. Then she could see it all more clearly.

“No,” she can hear the trembling in her own voice. Love and fear, something she has felt for both of these men. She had fallen in love with Ian and grown to fear him. Aaron had scared her with the amount of love she felt for him. She had never been overwhelmed in her love for Ian and Aaron had never made her fear him. They are not the same.

“I don’t think I’ll save him,” she answers as truthfully as she can think to. “I’m afraid to know what that will be like, Life without him.”

With more conviction than she holds, perhaps with someone else’s body entirely she continues, “but if you kill him if you take him from me--” Her eyes close, as she pulls in a breath through her nose. Within her chest, her heart chips away at thinning ribs. She does not fear what will happen if it escapes. “I will kill you. I will take your reputation, your name, and your men. I will not stop, Ian, until every part of you that has ever been known on this damned planet is gone. I will kill your memory. I will make Ian Doyle a ghost that no one can even name. I will make you no one.” The final threat comes out a low rumble, she’s someone else entirely. Neither Emily nor Lauren. “That is all you have ever been, nothing. Nothing and I will make you remember that even in death.”

For a long moment, there is nothing. Just the truth of her words.

“I had thought us to be the tragedy to endure time,” his voice scoffs. A foul, nasty habit that has always betrayed him. As simple as Aaron’s tightening fists or worrying fingers, Ian’s dismissive noises have always given the true meaning of his words their proper light. As he now speaks with an inflection of dismission but he is hurt. “You, my Persephone in all her vibrant love and youth.” His sigh is wistful, turned mournful. Twisted with the vision he sees lost. “I, your Hades. Dark and jaded but for you, my love, oh by God I could have been life itself.”

He had not been life. In those first days, had Lucifer been life? The snake high in the bows of a tree curled fat and lazy with the sun. Tongue sharp and knowing. Ian had been looking for what was his own. As Lucifer guided that apple to Eve’s supple lips, Ian curled his body to hers. Men seeking their absolution. They’re own pleasure and wants and desires. And now, do we not speak as if Eve had created this atrocity on her own. Her hand did not create the apple and Emily had told them she was in too deep. She begged them to pull her out of the mission.

Time and time again men prove to be the cheapest thing in a woman’s life. Cowards.

Running her tongue against her bottom lip she dares speak. Ian’s silence has spanned long and leaving him waiting will only invoke his rage. “We were a job,” she speaks of their love. As that had been what it was. Not a romance. Not steady and sure but love. The hurricane it often is. “I was a womb and a mole,” her bluntness is unkind but not untrue. He is lying if he refutes these facts. He does not speak. “Lauren loved you Ian, not me.” Now she is the lair.

Ian hums and she understands that he knows what she does: that today makes them both lairs. “But you love him.” Not a question, a statement. “You love his boy as you loved mine but--”

Lauren Reynolds loved Ian Doyle.

Emily Prentiss loves Aaron Hotchner.

“I love him,” she caves. Foolishly, she hopes the truth will save them from the web of lies so artfully created between them. “I love him and killing him will not bring me back. It will not save us.” It will kill them all. She’ll make sure of it. For as long as history stretches, there is nothing but proof of the misfortune that befalls humans. Cain and Abel. Odysseus and Penelope. Achilles and Patroclus.

The last strangles the thought from her brain.

Too cocky for her own good. Ready to let ambition burn its ugly whole into her. Selfishly, she ran from them. Foolishly, she thought this all to be a problem she alone could solve. Ego and pride. As Cain had killed Abel, as Penelope was Odysseus’s perfect match, as Achilles’ pride had brought Patroclus to his doom-- Emily Prentiss will be the death of Aaron Hotchner.

Lauren. Cain. Odysseus. Achilles.

All wrapped into her.

And as she will end her story just as they had theirs. With bloodshed.

“Will you come for me, Lauren?”

Emily closes her eyes, “yes.”

Her arrival had not come with the stench of brimstone and fire but silence. The men that envelop her, do not speak a word. They seem disappointed, perhaps, but are not brave enough to accuse her of what she has done. Love burns a madness into the soul and Ian has become consumed.

“Oh, my love.”

She forces her eyes to Ian. Away from her broken little soldier in the corner. So stupid. So brave. Now, she sees the flickering heat of Ian’s madness. His voice had been wrong and now she can place it for the whine that it is. A child without his milk and cookies.

“Ian,” she greets but not as coldly as she wishes. There is a sadness in her voice. Mourning everything they have lost.

Softly, from the corner, she can hear Aaron dragging himself up. Those deep eyes searching, never sightless but disconnected. “Emily,” he rasps, surprised to find her flesh and bone and not just the haunted screams he has left in his mind.

Ignoring the pained call of her lover, she cups Ian’s stubbly cheek in her palm. Her eyes race between his, terrified to find this some illusion. To find that he has bested her once again and this time she won’t be his only victim. Most of all, she fears what will happen to Aaron. “You will forgive me?” she asks.

Ian nods, thickly swallowing around the thick of his arising emotions. “How could I not?” he asks. He returns her soft touch, brushing a finger across her cheek. “My Lauren… They said you were dead.”

You killed me, she thinks but knows better than to say. “They lie,” she whispers, instead. “I am here, now.” A part of always has been. With him, for better or worse. For whatever that means.

Her broken soldier shirks away from this. Aaron, head bowed, and steadily growing too weak to hold his body up lowers himself back to the cruel concrete. Too tired, too lost to care about the cruel lies Emily now tells. He has been stupid, he knows, but perhaps she will forgive him.

It had been foolish to come looking for Ian. What revenge had he thought himself capable of? Marching in the darkness to death, that is what had done. Searching to do right by a lover and found himself at the end of a gun. Some henchmen of Ian’s. 

Dragged here. Tortured here. 

He doesn’t feel himself drifting away. Dying. Not hopeless but weak. 

Emily will save him, he has no doubt of that. 

Eyes opened to slivers, light brown iris’ darting from left to right as he places himself. Frantically, her palm shifts on the back of his neck. Wet with sweat. More pertinent, he sees the swollen flush of her lips. She kissed Ian. He can’t feel his limbs but he moves them blindly, trusting that his left hand moves. It comes into his field of vision and though it does not feel like a part of him, he swipes his thumb across her lip.

It is better to have some disconnected part of him on her than any of Ian Doyle.

“Aaron.”

He smirks, teeth coated with the crimson of his blood. Aaron. Only for her. “You’re here.”

She nods, smoothing the tear that falls down his cheek. “I am.” 

So she had been what JJ was hiding the cemetery. “I missed you,” he slurs. Eyes sliding shut, he turns his head into her touch. 

“I’m here now,” she promises. “You don’t have to miss me anymore.”

He knows. It is not like before. Once again, he feels pain and underneath all that pain love. The place where Emily Prentiss has curled herself around his cold heart. He feels it all. 

“I’m here, Aaron.”

[crescentmoonrider]

@kakaobiweek2019 - Day 7 Domestic life/Solitude

There are days where Obito doesn’t wake up.

There are days where Tobio wakes up instead. Days where he waits for grandma to show up and help him dress, bicker with him about what to make for breakfast (she will insist on having boiled fish, and Tobio will counter with chicken, and they will continue to argue all while preparing everything else), days where the room feels too big and the house too cold.

It’s the moment he realizes grandma won’t come that really hurts him the most.

He doesn’t like these days. He doesn’t like the other days either, the ones where he wakes up knowing grandma is gone and he has become the kind of person she always despised - the kind of person Tobio always despised too.

It’s getting easier, though, waking up. The house doesn’t feel quite as foreign as it did at first. Not quite as cold and empty.

There’s a radio playing in the kitchen, and Kakashi’s voice commenting whatever news there are (the news are never accurate enough for him, and he always pretends not to know that this is on purpose when complaining).

There’s the smell of soup and roasted eggplants (always eggplants first thing in the morning when it is the season, or whatever vegetable Kakashi finds the rest of the year), but really the strongest smell is that of the horrible sludge Kakashi calls coffee. Obito has never dared taste it, not too keen on poisoning himself, instead he brews his own tea and threatens to pour it over Kakashi’s stupid book when he takes it out while Obito eats.

Obito honestly doesn’t want to know what ungodly hour Kakashi wakes up at, but he knows everything is ready when he gets up, knows Kakashi already ate before him.

It’s fine. It’s different.

There is no bickering about what to eat, no goodmorning kiss, and no grandma, but - this is good too.

It feels like home.

[chococustard]

Hi.. just out of curiosity, do you have favorite fanfic or fic rec for bnha?

first time putting this together my chrome closed and killed all of it=‘D

they’re mostly one shots since on going ones, cause of my shitty memory i can’t remember most of them otl

they’re under the cut and separated into categories//shot sorry i can’t word well;;; enjoy//shot

—- GENERAL (mostly)/ OTHERS —–

you’re a good man midoriya hizashi - deku’s dad is a lawyer and a nerd

no happy endings, just beginnings - eri getting used to civilian live and it’s the cutest fucking thing

nya means i love you in cat - IICHAKO DATE IICHAKO DATE IICHAKO DATE

sleepless - todo sleeps everywhere. that’s it

see me and you’ll know you’re sleeping - baku and todo talks at 3 am

iida tenya is best mom - that’s also it

send endeavor to the shadow realm - a whole series of roasting flaming cheeto man. also deku’s a fucking savage god bless

perfect timing  -  present mic and aizawa visits tensei at the hospital ft fuyusei. part of the author’s 12 days of christmas set, all of it is cute

a riddle to guess if you can - all might has a few words for the new number one hero

heroes’ day off - domestic shit ft tododeku, kiribaku, momojirou and tsuocha

bakugou is human - ft kiribaku

fallen heroes - villain!class 1A and others

looking glass - kidnapped and forced to join the villains as a child, deku got caught by the heroes during the usj attack, and joins their side instead

little, and broken, but still good - momo protection squad

pressure points - todoroki shoto finally became a child at 15

—- TODODEKU —-

lazy day - soft

(all I knew this morning when I woke is) green eyes and freckles and your smile - sleepy. kisses.

count your blessings, not your flaws - deku’s used to getting asked out by people as a joke. the one time it’s not, he laughed

sickeningly sweet - omegaverse au where todo is possesive and deku’s a little shit and i love him?? also  like, no relation, here ojiro’s the dominant alpha of the class and he’s just. so done. i love it

heroes, love and soulmates - what you write on your skin appear on your soulmate’s, also. soft. so soft.

conventional taste - deku won an essay contest and took todo to hero con. as cute as the tododeku stuff was i also like it just as a general fic, like, the con stuff in there i just can’t help but “i feel u”//shot and the uh, the other parts also hits to the heart

cold hands, warm heart - todo likes deku’s hands

reunion - apparently middle school reunions are a thing ft baku being not shit

sweater weather - this. just. this whole thing. i have diabetes from this

get me waken up, shaken up, tangled up - omegaverse au where todo and deku just date and it’s cute

bonded - omegaverse au drame™ also like the only omegaverse fic with all my ship as far as i know thank u op

your biggest fan - ….they buy each other’s merch- im dying, deceased

the five times shouto found his hand in izuku’s hair and the one time it happened in front of bakugou - deku’s hair floof appreciation fic

I’m yours if you’ll have me - omegaverse au where deku tries to get todo to just get a fucking clue ft bakushima 

i’ve tried every hobby, and you’re all that’s left - everyone got todo to try and find a hobby

all your little things - deku wants todo to love himself

Marry The Mole - flaming cheeto man tried to bribe his son’s bf to break up with him

petal steps - hades/persephone au

—- KIRIBAKU —- 

a whole series where kiri and baku are THAT couple

a many splendored things - anniversary fluff

anniversary - ^another one

little words - soulmate au where you’re born with the first words your soulmate directs at you

free at last - omegaverse au where kiri’s parents are assholes

angel’s kiss - FRECKLE. KISSES.

beating in time - vampire!au where some hunter thought baku’s a vampire, while it’s actually kiri, tho baku doesn’t know that either

teach me how to surf and other stuff - surfer au whee as a pro baku pretends to suck so he can get close to the cute surfing teacher

flowers speak louder than words - baku has hanahaki

crystal tears - kiri cries crystals, and he and baku learns how to do relationship

all the make up that MAC can make - kiri tries make up

nothing ever goes wrong at the mall - baku and kiri meets baku’s old middle school classmates

13 things best bros do together (+1 thing they don’t) - oblivious idiot

Next to You - sOFT

Pining and Pinning - quirkless au where guitarist baku has it bad

A Consequence of Constant Explosions - deaf baku and supportive bf kiri

white walls - kiri’s injured, baku’s worried

hold my hand until I feel whole again - kiribaku ft post raid ptsd

tuesday i was through with hoping - ^another one

after the fact - ^^again, another one

sunshine flutters - ^^^^another fucking one but it’s from baku’s perspective

something like an earthquake - another post raid hospital fic

tender loving care - another one this time ft momo

hoodies - omegaverse where baku gets possessive 

a boy & his dragon - fantasy au where kiri and baku date

Soft - omegaverse au where kiri tells baku they’re gonna have a kid

—- BAKU AND DEKU FRIENDSHIP FOCUS —-

baby steps - bakugou’s journey to be a decent human being ft. eri kiri and momo

romantic displays of a barbarian - baku openly showing his love for his wonderful bf

make a spark, break the dark - fantasy!baku went to the canon verse

there’s a space here shaped like you - ^another one

to win back your heart which was mine - ^another one but fantasy!kiri is fucking dead

bakugou’s (wikihow) guide to making friends - baku attempts to amend his friendship with deku ft kiribaku

will I ever be more than I’ve always been?  - baku trying to apologize for his shitty past. part of a series of future fic, they’re also great

—- ANGST CAUSE FUCK FEELINGS —-

white lily - midoriya izuku hates himself

scorpions and chains - hit by a quirk deku’s put to sleep, everyone else ended up seeing the past he never says

out of reach - @garbageisland-0​ ‘s nomu!deku au. it hurts 

for the future - during the sludge villain attack, baku watches deku dies right in front of his eyes, and he mourns

the stars welcome them home - on weekends students go home for the weekend, except satou, hagakure, baku, and todo

the sadness behind their eyes - as a teacher fuyumi wants none of her students to end up like her brother

this sick, strange darkness (comes creeping on, so haunting every time) - todoroki shouto is dead

so big / so small - sads but it’s todo, bday angst

Escape - the sads now ft kiri

the song of a broken past - kiri copes with his feelings with the violin, quirkless au

hit me up if you want the dirty//shot

[lucietope]

Colour Information Collected So Far

Red:

Sound: a loud explosion, the sirens of a fire engine or ambulance, an alarm, a heartbeat, drums

Taste: hot and spicy chillies, tangy peppers, sweet strawberries, sweet, intense, cherries,  blood, metallic,

Touch: standing outside in the sun and feeling its heat, burnt skin

Smell: burning cinnamon, fruity berries, roses

Emotion: feeling embarrassed and your cheeks are blushed, the overwhelming feeling of anger and aggression, the uncontrollable feeling of love and passion, when all your senses are alert, an urgent feeling, grabbing your attention to stop, feeling pain from bleeding, madness and out of control, emotions that make you act out of character

 Danger, anger, pain, embarrassed, passion, love, blushed, red cheeks, alert, urgent, attention, stop, aggression, sex, madness, action, energy

 Experience: They had me stand outside in the sun. They told me that the heat I was feeling is red. They explained that red is the colour of a burn, from heat, embarrassment, or even anger.

 Burn, heat, danger, anger, sun, blood, fire, hot, embarrassed, blushed, red cheeks, spicy, peppers, apples, chillies, strawberries, sweet, intense, cherries,  sirens, alarms, alert, urgent, attention, stop, sex, strength, aggression, madness, explosion, pain

 Orange:

Sound: Neutral, it is neither stop nor is it go, sounds like kids playing, having fun, giggling and laughter, birds tweeting, fire crackling,

Taste: sweet and tangy, tropical fruits and juices, cocktails in the sun, refreshing and light, oranges, crunchy carrots, pumpkins, citrus, peaches, passionfruit, mango, zesty, radiant, sweet potato

Touch: Warm, soft, an orange peel, stingy eyes,

Smell: flames, citrus, tangy, oranges, sun lotion, burning candles, incense,

Emotion: Twilight, as the night begins to draw in on a sunny day, excitement, enthusiasm, encouraging, always on your side, walking down a road and stepping on crunchy leaves as the leaves fall in autumn

Refreshing, sweet, tropical, sun, warm, comfort, content, security, frustration, oranges, fruits,

 Yellow:

Sound: Pulsating energy, Caribbean drums

Taste: Sour lemons, sweet bananas, citrus, creamy custard, butter, pineapple, pina colada, sorbet, tart, sweet icing on a cake

Touch: Banana skins, dry, fluffy chicks, sand, warm skin,

Smell: Flowers blossoming, fruity, the beach

Emotion: Feeling full of energy, you are happy, being friendly and kind, the feeling of cheer, being optimistic and confident, the prospect of new life, bright and intense, it’s intensity can lead to frustration and anxiety, extremely visible, grabs your attention, irritating, feels like summer,

 Lemons, banana, sour, citrus, sweet, nourishing, sun, bright, happy, friendliness, cheerfulness, optimism, confidence, anxiety

 Green:

Sound: Peace, the rainforest, a breeze, a frog croaking, parakeets tweeting in a bush, crunchy

Taste: Cold cucumbers, crunchy green beans, broccoli, soft peas, juicy apples, spinach, salad leaves, brussel sprouts, cabbage, herbs, basil, coriander, thyme, rosemary, olives, limes, bitter grapes

Touch: Holding soft leaves and wet grass, both smooth and crisp,

Smell: Fresh mint, clean air, musty, rotten, green is natural and can smell either good or bad, vegetables, herbal, freshly cut grass, toothpaste, mossy, foul

Emotion: Feeling alive, growth, feeling healthy and balanced, green is clean and encouraging, mother nature, feeling refreshed, suppleness, peace and harmony, feeling jealous or envious, restful, soothing, healing, decaying and poisonous, hydrated

 I held soft leaves and wet grass. They told me green felt like life. To this day it is still very much my favourite colour.

Alive, plants, smooth, suppleness, leaves, life, salad, lettuce, spinach, clean, crisp, earth, bitter, mint, fresh, healthy, balance, refreshment, harmony, environment, peace, disgusting, ew, rotten, zombie

 Blue:

Sound: The sounds of waves crashing, droplets running from a tap, the sound of rain against a window, a gushing waterfall, a river current, light and heavy, quiet and loud, soft and powerful

Taste: Sweet blueberries, artificial bubblegum, peppermint, salty, like the sea, briny

Touch: Running your hands through water, dipping into a pool, wet, laying your head on your pillow, denim

Smell: The dentist or the doctors, medical, men’s aftershave, the salty sea

Emotion: That omnipresent coolness you feel whilst swimming, feeling relaxed, blue is cool and light, feeling intelligent, feels like having a cold, a runny nose, feeling down, icy, distant, isolated, conservative and traditional, tranquillity, secure and orderly, lonely, masculine, unappetising, heavenly, emotional, inspirational

 Cool, water, light, clear, deep, wet, relaxing, waves, calm, nice, intelligence, coolness, serenity, logic, sky

They put my hands in their pool. They told me that that sensation I felt while swimming, that omnipresent coolness, that’s blue. Blue feels like relaxation.

 Purple:

Sound: Owls tweeting in a forest, magic, fictional children’s films, fantasy

Taste: Juicy plums, grapes, berries, parma violets sweets, aubergines

Touch: Velvet,

Smell: Lavender, musky and aromatic,

Emotion: Feeling luxurious, purple is mysterious and sometimes spooky, being aware of spirituality and your dreams, linked with royalty, imaginative, it is rare in nature so it is intriguing, exotic and artificial, regal, sensual, lush, peaceful, a deep daydream, wisdom, unearthly, evokes creativity, stimulates the body, a harmonious balance of awareness and peace, the feeling of escaping reality,

 Spiritual awareness, mystery, luxury, royalty, truth, dreams

 Pink:

Sound: noisy, little girl’s voices, people chatting, giggling

Taste: sweet, sugar, jelly beans, marshmallows, ice cream, lollipops, strawberries and cream, cupcakes, icing, doughnuts,

Touch: soft, fluffy things, light,

Smell: Women’s perfume, bubblegum, candy floss at a fair, smells cheap, fruity and sweet, floral, blossom

Emotion: feeling nurtured, pink is warm and comforting, feeling feminine, light hearted and bubbly, can regulate moods, youthful, good health, playfulness, the feeling of your first love,  innocent and cheerful,  caring and compassionate, the feeling of unconditional love, motherly love, considerate, the feeling that everything will go well and be okay, a sign of hope,  tender, intuitive, comfort, gentle, emotional, takes us back to our childhood, inexperience, naivety, lack of self-confidence and self-esteem

 Nurture, warmth, femininity, love

 White:

Sound: peace, silence, slow music, a piano

Taste: bland, flavourless, simple, vanilla, milk, cream, thick, white chocolate

Touch: can be soft, crisp, fluffy, smooth, snowflakes slowly falling on your face, icy cold, hard like diamonds

Smell: clean and pure, fresh linen, washing powder, soap, powdery, aquatic, lilies,

Emotion: heavenly, a feeling of clarity, innocence, feeling at peace, emptiness, loneliness,  can create space,  sterile, can feel empty and unfriendly, untouched, a blank canvas, a new beginning or fresh start, harmonious, safe, fresh, a feeling of concentration and focus, serious, the opposite of black, light

 Grey:

Sound: heavy rainfall, thunder,

Taste: bland and dull, beans and plain oatmeal, chalky

Touch: concrete, hard walls, dry surfaces, harsh to the skin, a sturdy road under your feet, cold, dead, stones, gravel, cold

Smell:

Emotion: dull, nothingness, it is futuristic, architectural, depression, boredom, feeling tired and lacking energy, has no personality, it is unattached and unresponsive, neutral, indecisive, emotionless, strong and steady, cool, a feeling of restraint, holding yourself back, it is exhausting and discouraging, formal, never captivating, mature and obliging, associated with old age, our hair turns grey, modest, hard working, being ill

 Concrete, walls, pavements, metal, hard, cool or hot, strong, sturdy, road, dead, storm, thunder, rain, sky, dark, depressing

 Brown:

Sound: sludging through mud

Taste: mushrooms, coffee, a rich chocolate cake, dry like toast, crumble, cookies, warm and nutty, cereal, wheat, caramel, chocolate, cashews, roast dinners, meat, pies and gravy, hot chocolate, tea

Touch: walking through mud, dirt, touching the bark of a tree, sandpaper, rough, dry, warm, solid like the earth

Smell: woody, coffee beans, the bark of a tree, landfill, bins, faeces, campfires, vanilla, smokey, decay, smells like baking cakes, cooking bread, food waste

Emotion: disliking something, feeling dirty and unclean, reliability, supportive, can feel cosy but can also feel dull, wholesome, the feeling of being full or bloated, comforting, secure, resilient, serious, duty and responsibility, honest and genuine, organic, the feeling of being outdoors,

 Earth, dead, dirt, crispy, reliability, support,

 Black:

Sound: the roar of engines, bass, screaming,

Taste: liquorice, dark chocolate, pepper, rich and intense, blackberries, charred food

Touch: smooth and hard,

Smell: coal, blown out flames, smoke

Emotion: feeling anxious, like the whole world is about to come crashing down, dark, depressed, gloomy, sad, misery, mourning, grieving, feeling hungry, clear winter nights, sophisticated and glamorous, menacing, oppressive, a feeling of dread, fear, the horrible feeling after having a nightmare, the opposite of white, dark