#luckily the lilac strands are light enough that they look white on their own

[that-foul-legacy-lover]

HIIII WIFIIII<3

I was ab to fall asleep yesterday when I thought about something. Legacy has lots of fluff and fuzz and stuff. It would be all over the house, right? He's going to shed at least a little. Imagine taking his fluff and felting plushies out of it for him. (Also, I think Ajax would be very used to having moth hair in his mouth after transforming. Watch him have to buy a billion hair rollers to keep his clothes decent :3)

HI HI HIIIIII :D you're so right about this and this is also SO CUTE

it really reminds you of a cat, how much he sheds while also being very unobvious. you don't see him shedding- apart from when you actively brush Foul Legacy's hair and fluff- yet his fuzz still somehow gets EVERYWHERE, and it's either ginger or a light lilac color, so it WILL stand out on any dark clothes you wear. you and he have to tell any curious onlookers that you happen to own a longhaired cat, and pray that they don't question the lavender strands sticking to your shirt. you've taken to brushing him at least once a week, his horned head nestled into your lap as he purrs softly and kneads his claws gently against your legs, the brush combing through his thick mane of hair. he trills happily when you're done, fluffing out his fur and shaking his head and taking a few moments to bat around the clumps of fluff you've collected, while you rummage around in your sewing box for your felting supplies

Foul Legacy chitters curiously, peeking over and placing his chin on your shoulder to watch as you neatly weave the fibers together. obviously since it's his fluff, you have the perfect color match to make a little Foul Legacy plush- a mini-Legacy, if you will. his wings begin to flutter when he realizes what you're making, excited chirps slipping from his throat that even out to an awed croon when you place the tiny copy of him in his hands. his claws gingerly cup the small, fuzzy plushie, gently nudging his face against it with a wonderfully loud rumble from deep within his chest. he experiments with holding it in his talons, putting it on his head, setting it on his lap, before his crystalline gaze lands on you. with a delicate touch, he gently places the tiny plush on your shoulder, nodding in satisfaction. it seems even Foul Legacy's plushie version is happiest when he's with you

plus, the mini-Legacy makes Ajax begrudgingly accept that his pants will always be covered in fur. win-win!

[kumeko]

A/N: This is for the Albion zine! I’m making so many assumptions on Arthur’s and Gwen’s ages, ahaha.

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There were some duties royalty couldn’t avoid. Maintaining borders, listening to petitioners, solving the issues of squabbling nobbles—Guinevere Pendragon’s mornings were filled with task after task. It was all she could do to sit on her throne, listening as some petty lord’s son tried to worm his way out of his obligations. The only good part was when she could help the commoners, and even she felt worn after listening to a long line of applicants. It had been six years and she still hadn’t gotten used to it

Luckily, though, she was done for the day. The last petitioner had scurried out, eager to claim his new chicken. The lords had gone home for the day, no doubt to create yet another trouble for her to deal with tomorrow. All that was left were her knights and her. Raising a regal hand, Guinevere gestured for them to leave. “Thank you for your services. I would like to be alone for a while.”

The guards bowed before turning and leaving. The second the heavy, oak doors slammed shut, she sighed and slumped in her seat.

“That wasn’t that bad,” a familiar voice teased from across the room. Even before he stepped out into the flickering light, she knew who it was: Merlin.

“That is debatable,” she replied, smiling as she slipped off the throne. Her long lilac dress flowed behind her as she walked down the dais.

“You sound like Arthur, Gwen,” Merlin chuckled, coming closer. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d heard that nickname—there were so few alive that still used it. “I guess it’s true what they say about couples.”

“Is it now?” Gwen laughed as well. It was strange, that she’d reached the point where it didn’t hurt to hear Arthur’s name anymore. “I like to think I have a little more sense than him.”

“A little,” Merlin agreed.

She smacked him on the arm before hugging him tightly. “It’s good to see you, old friend.”

“You too.” He embraced her back. “I thought queens didn’t hit?”

“Only you.” Gwen grinned, pulling back to look at him properly. As usual, Merlin had that boyish charm to him, with his bright blue eyes and constantly smiling mouth. He always looked ready to crack a joke. “You’re exactly the same.”

“Handsome?” Merlin guessed, his eyes twinkling.

“In your dreams,” she snarked back, chuckling. Talking to him, it was all too easy to forget that time had passed, that Arthur wasn’t outside the door, waiting to yell at him for being tardy. Quietly, she asked, “Is it…”

She trailed off, but he understood. Merlin ran a hand through his hair as he looked away. “Magic? Maybe.” He shrugged. “It’s a little hard to figure out why I still look like this when there’s no one around to teach me. I like to think it’s a perk.”

Gwen curled a lock of her hair around her finger, frowning at the white strands amongst the black. She was thirty now, and she felt it with every fiber of her being. Or maybe that was just loss that made her feel that way. “Will you also live forever, or just look young until you die?”

He scratched his chin as he pondered it for a second. “I’m…I’m not sure actually. I mean, I don’t really feel older either?” He shrugged, before winking. “I’ll be the most handsome corpse at least.”

“Again, in your dreams.” Gwen chuckled. “So you’re back from your journey now? What were the results?”

“Well…” Merlin’s expression grew grim and he clasped his hands behind his back. “Not good, I’m afraid. Well, actually, one good—no one’s getting burned anymore. So, that’s a plus.”

“And?” she pressed, bracing herself. “You don’t have to sugarcoat it.”

Merlin winced. “Magic…” He bit his lip. “Magic is all but gone.”

“Oh.” She had expected that news for years now, but that didn’t soften the blow at all. Turning around, she studied the throne. The gold looked dull in the dim light, the plush reds as dark as blood. It had been years now; she could barely remember what it looked like when Uther sat on it. When Arthur sat on it. A lump formed in her throat. “Was there anything I could have done?”

“I think it was too late for a while now,” Merlin murmured gently, standing beside her. He clasped her hand tightly. His skin was warm and she took comfort from it.

“A prophecy?” she guessed. When he didn’t reply, she knew she’d hit the mark. Steeling herself, Gwen asked, “What else is supposed to happen?”

Merlin still kept quiet. He had always been a terrible liar and she closed her eyes. A sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach told her exactly what was to come.

“Camelot will fall,” she answered for him.

Immediately, he shook his head, denial on his lips. “Prophecies are hard to understand and they’re never—”

“Then what did it say?” Gwen asked, interrupting. She turned slightly, just enough to look him in the eyes. Ruling alone had taught her just how to steel her voice and order someone. “Tell me.”

“…when Arthur returns, Camelot will rise again,” Merlin muttered, looking away. He’d never been good with confrontation. Even now, after it all, he preferred working behind the scenes.

“Rise again,” Gwen muttered, ignoring the first part. She wasn’t ready to consider the implications yet. “So we have to fall then. Do you know when?”

“Not really, prophecies are really vague about that sort of thing.” Merlin squeezed her hand tighter, no doubt trying to be reassuring. She didn’t have the heart to tell him it was anything but. “They’re also unreliable—maybe it’s just a figure of speech. Or nothing will happen.”

“Do you really think that?” Gwen asked pointedly, giving him a look. She was too old for pussy-footing, not when that had led to Arthur’s death before.

He sighed, shoulders slumping. She could almost see the weight of it all on him, the lies and secrets he’d kept over the years. Gwen had never asked him about what he’d done when they were younger, about just how many of those strange incidents had his hand in it. At one point, they’d been fun, and she felt nostalgic for a time long gone.

Quietly, Merlin shook his head and murmured, “Not really.”

“I see.” There was something calming about knowing an unchangeable truth. Maybe it was because it didn’t matter what she did now.

Merlin frowned. “Don’t let it—”

“It’s fine.” She smiled, letting go of his hand to wrap an arm around his waist and side hug him. Their heights were similar and she wondered if in exchange for magic, he’d lost out on a growth spurt. “Did you know that I’m thirty now?”

“I couldn’t guess.” As usual, he had a dry, witty response to everything. “You still look like you’re in your twenties.”

She pinched his arm. “Stop teasing.”

Merlin yelped and jerked away. “Again with the violence. You don’t have to take after Arthur there.”

“He possessed me and made me do it,” she retorted, flipping her long hair. “He wanted to remember just what a beautiful, adoring wife you’re insulting.”

“Okay, that was creepy, you sounded exactly like him.” Merlin shivered.

“Still possessed.” She giggled. Sighing, she stretched her arms behind her as she sobered up. “Thirty…you know, I’m almost Uther’s age now. My brother and Arthur will never reach this age. I might end up even older than my father even.”

“When you put it that way, it’s really weird.” Merlin bit his cheek. Quietly, he added, “You know, I might end up outliving all of you?”

“And you’ll still have cheeks that make aunts want to pinch them?” Gwen replied playfully, making a pinching motion with her fingers. It was hard to think of something that far away, of an older Merlin taking care of their graves. “Make sure to visit.”

“You won’t know if I do,” he replied weakly.

“I’ll know.” She rested her hands on her hips. “And bring flowers.”

He held his hands up in surrender. “Any other demands, your highness?”

“I’ll think about it.” Gwen winked mischievously. She glanced at the throne again. It was too easy to Arthur on it, giving her a cheeky smirk. Curling her hand into a fist, she asked, “That first part of the prophecy—he’ll return?”

“Oh…” A grim expression crossed Merlin’s face and he rubbed his neck. “One day. Maybe. I don’t know when though.”

“So after I die then…” Gwen sighed. Of course, it wouldn’t be that easy. Time had softened the edges of her heartbreak until it was just a dull pain. That didn’t stop it from hurting. “You know, they’ve been asking when I’ll remarry.”

“No,” he said, his tone incredulous as he came closer.

Gwen nodded, annoyance creeping into her voice. “Yes.”

“But…” He wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her close till their shoulders bumped. “You…”

“No, it makes sense.” Gwen rested her head on his shoulder, inhaling Merlin’s herby scent. She’d missed this during his absence. There was no one else she could speak her mind to like this. No one else who really understood everything she’d been through. “Like I said, I’m thirty now. Who knows when I’ll die—if there’s no heir, then Camelot ends with me.”

“Still,” Merlin argued feebly, always using his heart instead of his head. She’d been the same, before her long, solo rule. “They can’t force you, right?”

“No, they can’t. But…I wonder if that’s why Camelot will end. Because of me.” Gwen buried her face in his neck. “If I just don’t…it’ll all collapse because of me…”

“That’s not true at all,” Merlin rejected firmly. He gently pressed a kiss on her hair. “You’re the reason Camelot’s still standing. You can always just name someone else your heir—and you can pick someone because they are a good leader, not just because they’re born into it.”

Now that was comforting. Gwen lifted her head slightly, searching his eyes. Unlike before, he looked confident. “That’s a good idea.”

“You know me, full of great ideas,” he teased.

“I said good, not great.” Gwen laughed, straightening her posture. “Pick our own leader…the lords won’t like it.”

“Since when have you cared what they think?” he challenged, raising a brow.

“Since I became Queen,” she replied, but that didn’t stop the thought from echoing through her head. “Still…I like that. I like it a lot. You’re right. Camelot won’t end with me, not after everything. I won’t let it.”

“That’s my girl.” Merlin beamed, all teeth and she felt like she was falling back in time, to when it really was as simple as wanting it. “I’ll help.”

“Like I’d let you off the hook otherwise.” Gwen grinned.

Perhaps they couldn’t change anything. It was a prophecy, after all. But this wasn’t the first time she’d faced something impossible.

If a blacksmith’s daughter could turn into a queen, she could definitely keep her kingdom from collapsing.

[spectralscathath]

(All I Wanna Know Is) Would You Come a Little Closer? - Lava Lamp Oneshot

There's nothing better on a snowy night then curling up on the couch with the person you love, at least according to Yang and Ilia. Nights like these were what made love worth every adventure.

Commissioned Lava Lamp oneshot for @joethefriendlyponybro,

Ao3 link, fanfiction link.

Yang noticed flakes of white beginning to drift down around her and held out her right hand, watching a snowflake land on her metal palm and begin to melt. She smiled and wiped it off on her jacket, giving Ilia's hand a squeeze.

"Looks like we'll be having a snowy day tomorrow too," she grinned, frost crunching under their boots. "Pretty cool, right?"

Ilia grunted in irritation, pulling her hand out of Yang's as she crossed her arms, scowling up at the sky. "Let's just get home and get today over with."

"Hey, is everything okay?" Yang raised a brow. Had today really been that bad? It was just a bit of scouting, clearing out a few Grimm here and there. The area of Vale that they lived in could be pretty quiet some days, and this was luckily one of them. It meant Yang could spend it all with her girlfriend, instead of one or both of them being away on some sort of mission, or in Ilia's case, White Fang work.

Ilia rolled her eyes. "Everything's fine. Don't worry about it."

Everything didn't sound fine. Yang reached out and placed a hand on Ilia's shoulder. "You sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure. I just want to get home." Ilia started walking faster, her arms wrapping around her a little more. Yang could have sworn she saw Ilia shiver.

Hang on- was it the chill in the air? A playful glint sparked to life in lilac eyes as Yang tried to cheer her cold-blooded girlfriend up. "Yeah, once we're home I can warm you up all night long~"

"Really, Yang?" Ilia looked at her, entirely unimpressed.

"Cause I'm hotter than the sun," she continued, tossing her golden hair with a cocky grin. "Not as hot as you though." She punctuated the last statement with a wink.

Ilia's skin started to bloom an angry red, her eyes shifting to a bright hue before she took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Yang."

"You electrify me, yanno?" She deliberately dropped her eyes down to the whip sword on Ilia's hip.

Normally a pun like that would at least earn a chuckle, maybe even Ilia's scale freckles turning cotton candy pink, but all she got was a scornful glare. "You know what? I'll see you at home. I don't have time for this."

She stomped off, leaving Yang behind in the falling snow. Yang winced as she realised she might have misjudged just how much the cold got to Ilia. Oops.

The rest of the walk home was silent, Ilia only beginning to lose the aggressive set to her shoulders when they walked into their current home, at least until the next missions. "I'll put food on if you get a fire going."

"Can do," Yang gave her a two-fingered salute, her grin softer and less cocky then before. Ilia gave her a tiny smile in return, silently letting Yang know her grumpy attitude was starting to clear up.

It was easy enough to start a flame, she'd done it plenty of times as a kid under her dad's supervision, which had become a useful tool in her Huntress Wilderness Survival arsenal. The smells of food cooking began to waft through the air, mingling with woodsmoke into a homely aroma that matched the warmth of her home.

She wandered into the kitchen and looked at Ilia, her girlfriend putting the finishing touches on their dinner. It looked like Ilia was making pasta of some sort? "Hey, Ilia, can we talk? After dinner? I promise it's probably not a bad kind of talk." She didn't want it to be. She wanted this to work.

Ilia looked at her, considerably calmer. "Okay. Food first. That mission left me pretty famished," she grinned faintly.

"You're in a good mood," Yang observed, crossing her arms as she leaned against the door frame.

"I'm sorry I was so snappish earlier. It was just really cold outside." Ilia shuddered. "I felt like I was on the verge of falling asleep or something."

"And you're cranky when you're tired, I get it," Yang smiled. "Don't worry, no harm no foul, right?"

"Right." Ilia looked like she hadn't expected Yang to let it go so easily. Sometimes things were like that. They were both still working around each other's old wounds. But they were working on it, and for Yang that was all that mattered.

"Anyway, I'm gonna go get out of my combat outfit. Give me a few minutes?" She stretched, her arm whirring with the motion.

Ilia waved her off with a smile. "Go change, you."

Yang shot at her with a set of finger-guns as she left, rolling her neck and shoulders until something clicked. That felt good.

She took a second when she was upstairs to look out the window, watching the snowfall as the world was coated in pearly winter white. It looked beautiful. Romantic too. What a perfect night to be with her girlfriend. She'd missed her so much.

She started downstairs once she'd gotten out of her combat gear, tossing her hair to keep it out of her face. Downstairs was dark, aside from a light in the kitchen and the fire burning merrily in the living room grate.

"Ilia?" She raised a brow as she looked around, holding herself back from activating the combat form of her prosthetic.

She thought she saw movement out of the corner of her eye before she was tackled in a hug, barely staying on her feet. She let out a small yelp in shock before she realised the ebony arms encircling her were Ilia's, the dark colour fading to reveal her grinning girlfriend.

Yang barked out a laugh as she hugged her back, holding Ilia up off the ground. "Sneaky."

"You love it." Ilia teased. "Your eyes are doing the pink thing again." She mirrored the colour in her own eyes, the soft pink much prettier on her in Yang's opinion.

Yang gave her a gentle kiss. "Guess it means I love you."

Ilia pulled back enough to rest her forehead against Yang's. "I love you too, but we need to go eat dinner or it's going to get cold."

"Wouldn't want anything else to get cold," Yang grinned and put her down.

Ilia rolled her eyes with a laugh, holding Yang's hand as they walked into the kitchen. "You're incorrigible."

"And proud of it. So, what's for dinner? Smells good."

Ilia's freckles turned bright pink. "Mac and cheese for you."

"Wait, really?" Yang brightened up. "You mean my signature dish?" If Ilia had added broccoli and bacon she was going to smooch her forever and ever and ever.

"All the bonuses you put in included." More of Ilia's skin began to change colour as she got bashful. "I wanted to do something nice for you, you know? It's been a while."

"Aw, Ilia," Yang smiled at her and kissed her cheek. "That's so sweet!"

"It's not- why you- shut up and eat!" Ilia snapped in embarrassment, not quite able to hide her pleased smile.

"Okay, okay," Yang grinned. "You having any?"

"Nah, I got ramen though. I'm not feeling like anything rich." Ilia began to plate dinner up, handing a massive bowl of pasta to Yang. They settled down in front of the fireplace, Ilia pulling a blanket around her shoulders to stay warm.

"So," Yang asked around a mouthful of food. "How's Fang business?"

"It's going well. We've gotten a lot of good infrastructure going for the faunus in Mistral, and we're finally going to open a Huntsman Academy in Menagerie. I can't believe we've gotten it on equal standing with the other four kingdoms. There's even going to be a CCT Tower," Ilia beamed, eyes shining.

"You've really come a long way," Yang speared some bacon on her fork. "Blake's doing pretty good as leader."

"Yeah, although the Huntsman Academy was Sun's idea. He's volunteering to teach, apparently."

"Sun as a teacher?" Yang tilted her head as she considered it. "That's either going to be awesome or a disaster."

"Those poor kids," Ilia laughed in agreement. "He finally worked up the nerve to propose, did you hear?"

"Trust me, I heard." Yang grinned. "Blake didn't get off the scroll for hours. I got like, sixty pics of her new ring. Looks pretty."

"Yeah, he ran it by me and Weiss first." Ilia snorted. "How's reclaiming Beacon going? Bet that's been keeping you busy."

"Ruby's spearheading it along with dad and Qrow," Yang nodded. "She and Oscar have been doing a lot of work to clear out grimm. They're totally dating, by the way, but they're pretending they aren't so if they announce it at some point can you act surprised?"

"Sure," Ilia grinned and made a dramatic shocked face, hamming it up way too much. "How's this?"

"Bang on," Yang laughed, Ilia joining her soon after. "Thanks for the food, Ilia. It's really good."

"I was just following your recipe." Ilia smiled at her, setting her empty bowl aside. "So… you wanted to talk?"

Yang nodded. "Let me put these in the sink," she gestured at her own bowl as she scraped the sides for any last smidge of food, "then we'll talk. Okay?"

"Okay." Ilia's voice held a note of trust that Yang knew had to be so hard for her to give, after everything that had happened, with how she'd lost trust in so many people by force, and Yang felt her heart flutter knowing Ilia was willing to give her the chance to do better than all those who had come before.

She left the bowls to soak overnight and took a second in the kitchen doorway just to watch Ilia by the fire, her breath catching in her throat as she watched the soft orange light dance over Ilia's skin, painting her with a colour that wasn't her own camouflage.

Ilia noticed her staring and raised a brow, pulling the comforter higher around her shoulders. "Yang?"

"You're gorgeous, you know?" She said it without thinking, meaning it with her whole heart.

Ilia's freckles began to dye pink again. "You're so soppy."

"Yeah," Yang smiled and sat beside her. "I am."

"So…" Ilia studied her with those intelligent blue eyes. "What did you want to talk about?"

Yang bit her lip as she fiddled with a few strands of her golden hair. "I want to talk about us."

Ilia straightened, her gaze intensifying as she watched Yang. "Is something wrong?"

"No, nothing's wrong- I just…" How was she meant to say it? It sounded childish, even in her own head. It sounded like the scared little girl she'd once been, who thought everyone she loved was destined to leave her.

"Yang." Ilia took her left hand, and she hadn't even realised that it had begun to tremble. "You can tell me anything. I promise."

Yang smiled weakly. "This is going to sound silly, but I miss you when you're off with the White Fang."

Ilia's grip tightened on her hand, the firmness of it comforting. She didn't say a word, waiting for Yang to elaborate.

Yang flicked some of her hair out of her face, bionic fingers whirring with the motion. "I know that your work is important, believe me, I never want to get in the way of it, I don't want to hold you back, but… even though I'm helping clear Beacon with my family and friends, and I'm living the life of adventure I always wanted, sometimes I still have to come back to an empty place."

She pawed at her eyes out of habit, not to wipe tears away but to prevent them forming in the first place. "The places I stay just don't feel like home when you're not there with me, Ilia."

Ilia reached up with her free hand, the one Yang wasn't currently clutching like a lifeline, and smoothed some of the hair from Yang's face with so much care that for a second Yang wondered if her hair was actually spun gold.

"I miss you too," Ilia admitted, her hand moving to rest gently against Yang's cheek. Yang leaned into it automatically, seeking the comfort of her girlfriend's touch. Ilia took a minute to gather her thoughts and plan her words before she said them, in stark contrast to Yang's rambled explanations.

"When I'm working with the White Fang, I feel like I'm making a difference. A real one, not the kind where I have to hurt people. I don't like to hurt people and I never have. Working towards peace with the White Fang as it is now is my real calling." Her thumb stroked the ridge of Yang's cheekbone, Yang's eyes fluttering shut as she basked in the amount of love that tiny affection held.

"I know. I think what you're doing is amazing." Yang placed her mechanical hand over the hand on her cheek. "I don't want you to stop."

"I know." She could hear Ilia's smile in her voice. "But every day I'm not here, I still miss you. We can call and everything, but it's not the same as waking up in your arms each morning. The distance gets to me too."

Yang let her eyes open, gravitating to Ilia like she was a binary star and Ilia was her other sun. "So… what can we do?"

"I guess all we can do is to make the times we are together worth it," Ilia closed the distance and kissed her, an act which Yang reciprocated with every ounce of tenderness she could give.

"I love you," Yang told her when they broke apart, knowing without seeing Ilia's grin that her eyes had turned pastel pink. Red was for rage, but pink was for love. Yang loved Ilia with her heart and soul and she hoped Ilia could see it.

"I love you too," Ilia tossed her blanket around Yang's shoulders, cuddling into her side. "But we should get some rest."

"I know," Yang stroked a hand through Ilia's hair, her mechanical arm securing around Ilia's waist. "I want to spend every night I can like this."

"We can find a place together," Ilia smiled at her, a yawn trailing after the sentence. "We can make a home that can feel like it even when one of us isn't there."

Yang kissed her forehead, pulling her a little closer as she felt the siren song of sleep start to call her. "I'd like that."

Ilia hummed in agreement as her eyes slid shut. "Yang?"

"Yeah?"

Ilia's smile was soft as she curled tighter into the warmth Yang radiated. "I love you too."

[writingsofadream]

Masterpiece | Part II

Pairing : Yoongi x Reader

Story : He’s looking for heartbreak and inspiration, and you’re just looking for a new laptop.

Set during the writing and recording period of Love Yourself: Tear. Involves angst, fluff, and smut. Multiple chapter series. 5.9k words in this part :)

♬ ♬ ♬ ♬ ♬ ♬ ♬ ♬ ♬ ♬ ♬ ♬ ♬ ♬ ♬ ♬ ♬ ♬

Staring at the stranger beside you indignantly, you couldn’t help but show your surprise at his words. This earns a smirk from him, which you can’t decide if you love or hate. 

“I’ll buy it for you, Y/N. If you’ll let me buy you a coffee too.” His words follow the smirk just as confidently, and you narrow your eyes suspiciously. The dingy store’s owner gives a low whistle of disbelief, seemingly just as confused as you were.

“What’s your name?” You demand, crossing your arms to close the open air between your body and his. His hard, no doubt fit body…he certainly wasn’t chubby like the blonde guy. 

“Yoongi. Min Yoongi.” At this, he extends his long-fingered hand to you, waiting for you to slip yours into his. Swallowing, you reach out and grip it lightly. His hand is cold, and smooth. His skin seems to electrocute yours, and after a moment in his firm grip you wrench your hand back. 

“And why exactly are you buying me a laptop, Mr Min Yoongi?” You arch an eyebrow, pulling your arms back into a somewhat stern cross again. It feels childish and no doubt looks it too, judging by the amusement dancing in his deep, dark eyes. 

“Because I’d like to interview you, and paying you for your time seems only natural. Plus, I have the money for it.” He throws the last sentence out like an easy addition, shrugging his shoulders naturally. 

“Yea, I noticed the ring.” You scoffed at this, unable to hold it back at how ridiculous it was to be smug but not show your wealth until someone asked. What a…snob? 

His jaw hardens and a sliver of the amusement drops from his eyes. Whoops. He breathes in deeply before addressing you again. The words that come back out sound no longer lighthearted, but annoyed. 

“Look, take it or not, I don’t care. Just make your mind up. Either I buy it for you and get that interview, or I can pay for it and walk away with it. I was here first.” His gaze is intent on you, and you feel your cheeks become hotter with embarrassment. How did you always manage to make yourself seem like a fool, you thought to yourself quietly. No wonder you’d been single for over a year; you didn’t give off good girlfriend vibes, whatever the fuck they were. 

“I’ll take it.” The words are out of your mouth before you can properly consider it, and once they were out they sat in the cold air of the shop. A smile crept across Yoongi’s face, and then the shop owner broke the thick silence. 

“So, Yoongs, I’ll ring it up?” Yoongi nods to the man, and peers at you as though inspecting you. Feeling as though you’re compelled to say something, you clear your throat and thank him. He shrugs again, as though buying strangers laptops was something he did all the time. You were certain it wasn’t. Somehow, between his dark clothes, demeanour, and his steeled gaze, you didn’t pick him for the type of guy to hand out MacBooks like Oprah. 

“Where are we having coffee?” You direct towards his shoulder, as he faces the machine to swipe his Platinum credit card. Without glancing back at you he answers, throwing the words over his shoulder in your general direction. 

“Wherever you want, Y/N. My shout.” The last two words come out with a wink, and he tugs his card from the machine and faces you once again. 

“Here you are, Y/N. I’m Chaen, by the way.” The store’s owner hands you the bag with your new laptop in it, a grin on his face though still obviously a little confused. Thanking him and promising to come back next time you needed anything electrical, you took the bag from his hands and made your way out of the store. Yoongi followed behind you, shaking the man’s hand as though they were good friends. Grabbing your raincoat from the stand, you pushed the heavy door open into the small alleyway. Noting the rain had stopped, you shoved it into the bag with the MacBook box. It was still overcast and chilly, so you were thankful for the warm jumper you’d been smart enough to pick out. Whipping around, you faced Yoongi and bit your lip. Where should you two even go? He seemed to be thinking the same thing as he stared at you, clearly waiting for you to voice your decision. 

“The cat cafe.” Pleased with your decision, you attempt to throw a friendly smile his way, only to be met with a bemused one. 

“A cat cafe?” He laughs. “I could’ve guessed, Y/N.” 

___

Why had he invited her? Well, he supposed, she was as good as any person to ask. A pretty girl like her? Surely she’s had her heart broken by some obnoxious jock at least once in her lifetime. And if he wasn’t any good at the questions, it was only a loss of a few thousand won that he wouldn’t miss. Plus, he would know not to do any more of them. That’s what this is then, he decided. An experiment. 

She sits across from him, a white and brown kitten on her lap. Sinking into her oversized lilac jumper, the kitten seems to be falling asleep, much to her delight. Looking down at the little animal and stroking its small ears with her delicate fingers, Yoongi feels something tighten in his chest. A strand of her hair falls into her eyes and she tucks the unruly piece back behind her ear. Looking up, she meets his eyes and he coughs in a not-so-subtle attempt to hide his blatant staring.

“So, what’s this interview anyway?” Her voice is pretty and light, and Yoongi thinks for a second before answering. He has to be careful with what he says, especially since she seems unaware of who he is. She’d been a little confused at being ushered to the back and tucked away in a little booth - luckily he’d managed to convince her the rest of the cafe was too loud to record properly. 

“It’s for a project I’m doing. On heartbreak.” She cocks her head and furrows her brow a little at this. 

“Oh…and they’ll just be a few questions, then?” Yoongi nods at her question, perhaps a little too enthusiastically as she scoots herself and the kitten towards the window. Shuffling over so she’s directly facing him again, he tries to set her mind at ease.

“I just need reliable answers and it won’t take that long. I promise.” She seems convinced, or just like she’s giving up. Settling back into the plush of the booth, she sighs and closes her eyes for a moment. Yoongi watches her, enthralled by the way her delicate collarbones peak out from the top of her jumper. She opens her eyes again, and his own jump back up to her face. 

Reaching into the back pocket of his jeans he pulls out his phone, opening the recording app and setting it in between them. Pressing the record button, he starts.

“So, Y/N, have you ever had your heart broken?” 

__

He’s pulled his hoodie back, and you can see now that his hair is black and makes him even more fucking handsome. His question is calm and controlled as he watches you from across the small booth’s table. Nervously stroking the kitten in your lap, you paused before answering.

“No.” He doesn’t seem pleased by your answer, rolling his eyes and leaning back in his seat. As he does, his hands lay out on the table and his jumper is pulled up. Sitting on his wrist shines a Rolex, brand-new and gleaming. You instantly reach out to touch it, stopping yourself just before making contact.

“Is that a Rolex?” You ask, eyes wide. You hadn’t actually ever seen one in real life before, and no one you knew owned one, that was for sure. In fact, you weren’t entirely sure anyone bought them other than celebrities and business men with too much time on their hands…or rather, wrists. Definitely not dark, brooding guys like the one sitting across from you. 

“Yea, it’s a Rolex. Says so on the face.” His smart-ass comment and smirk annoys you, and you pull your hand back quickly. He definitely was fond of smirking, you’d give him that. Frustratingly, it made him even more attractive. 

“I can read.” Your retort sounds stupid as it leaves your mouth, and you regret it instantly. Hurriedly, you switch the conversation back to what it’s supposed to be about. 

“Why heartbreak?” Your question seems to puzzle him, and his eyes leave yours to look out the window into the pouring rain. Outside, the trees swayed heavily with the weight of the wind, Seoul’s streets a mix of green, grey, and various lights shining through the haze. It was beautiful. 

“Why not?” He’s turned his attention back to you now, resting his chin in his pale hand. It framed his face, and for a spilt second you wondered what they’d look like around your neck. Shaking the image from your mind, you motioned for him to explain.

“Love is a difficult emotion. That’s all.” He brushes it off nonchalantly, then turns the questioning back around.

“What do you do for a living? Between school, that is.” His question doesn’t seem to have anything to do with his chosen topic, but you answer it anyway. Lucky for him, you’re starting to feel a little more comfortable in the warm cafe. The kitten on your lap purrs softly, the hot hazelnut mocha relaxing you. 

“I work at a cafe. It’s a little quaint, but it’s okay. It’s the best I can do for now.” Hoping he’ll leave your life at that, you open your mouth to speak but he beats you to it.

“Do you like working there?” His face seems genuine, and the question is natural enough. You shift slightly in your seat, and the kitten stirs. 

“I do and I don’t. I guess it’s just one of those things.” The kitten bounces off your lap, and you pout a little as it prances across the cafe to a couple walking in from the rain.

“One of those things?” He really won’t give up, will he? You look down into your coffee, bringing it up to your lips for a quick reassuring sip. 

“Yea. Life. Have to get money somehow.” He sips his coffee, which he took black, unsurprisingly. Setting it back on the wooden table, he licks the drink from his lips. You instinctively stare at his mouth, the way his tongue darts across the soft pink. Feeling a familiar warmth in your crotch, you bring your eyes swiftly back down to the brown beverage in your hands. 

“I love what I do. Do you want to see?” You peer up at him. What the fuck? That probably wasn’t safe, right? Then again, you couldn’t help but be intrigued by his proposition. Besides, you had nothing better to do, and the man did buy you a MacBook. 

“We can continue the interview there, if you like.” Your answer is greeted by a gummy smile, and he suddenly looks soft and inviting. Just as quickly as it appeared, though, it’s snatched away as he brings his mouth back to a smug, subtle smile. 

“Cool. I’ll call a taxi.” 

__

Why was he bringing her back to his studio? He had no fucking clue. As he paid the taxi driver and stepped out into the rain, he pulled his hoodie back onto his head. She reached into the MacBook bag for the scrunched-up raincoat, wrapping it around her body but leaving the hood down. Maybe she just didn’t care about how she looked, he thought, and the rain started to wet her hair. Grabbing her arm, he tugs her into the building. Unmarked, BigHit logos are nowhere to be seen. The company had agreed to keep it clear of anything that would bring attention to the building that held all their personal studios; that way they could work in peace, without the incessant fans and management. Keying in his personal code, the door swung open. The lobby inside was marble and modern, and he heard her gasp at the presentation of it. He hated it, to be honest. It felt cold and uninviting, though ironically people said the same about him. 

Walking up to the elevator, he pressed the button to his studio’s floor. In fact, all the boys’ studios were on the same floor. It was a big fucking floor. 

The silence in the elevator was palpable, but Yoongi simply felt like he didn’t know what to say. She was chewing her plump bottom lip, and between her slightly damp hair and delicate features he felt stumped on what to say. Usually he never wanted to say much at all, but now he kinda longed to say something to her. It’d be great if he just knew what to say.

He wasn’t sure why he’d suggested it, like the cafe, but he definitely wanted to show her what he did. That much was clear. He liked her sense of humour, her way of putting things. She seemed almost…whimsical. 

The ping of the elevator jerked him from his thoughts, and he pointed out into the extending hallway. 

“Those are a lot of rooms. Which ones is yours?” She looks at him, eyes wide at the length and breadth of the expensive-looking way ahead. 

“Follow me.” He sounds smooth and his pitch is normal, thank god. For a second he thought he’d choke on his words looking into her eyes. He wanted to fuck her, dammit. 

__

Walking into the room was a stark contrast from the marbled floors and walls of the rest of the building. It was unlit, save the grey light of the late afternoon rain shining in from an open window on the end wall. There was a couch, big enough to double as a bed pushed against one of the walls. The rest of the room contained computers, a keyboard, microphones, and a whole array of other recording devices you couldn’t even begin to guess at. The monitors were massive, and when Yoongi shook the mouse the screens displayed various softwares, all seeming to do with music. He ran a hand through his hair, then turned back to look at you. He looked almost nervous, as if searching for your approval, and you felt that feeling in your stomach again. Lit up in the grey, rainy light and the soft white of the screens, he was so good looking you thought you might pass out right there and then. Instead, you felt arousal prick at your body. Fuck. Trying to push it away, you finally spoke.

“You’re a musician?” His shoulders relax, and he leans back against the desk on a rare spot that isn’t covered in sheet music and other scribbles of paper. 

“And a producer. I’m in a group.” He points at the small couch underneath the window. “Wanna finish the heartbreak and shit interview?” 

“I hope it doesn’t involve literal shit.” The joke is bad and poorly timed, and you cringe at the bluntness of it. “Sorry, my jokes are…well, shit.”Surprisingly, he bursts out laughing. You join him, releasing some of the tension in your shoulders as the two of you fill the air with the sound. 

“Nah, no shit.” He walks over to the couch, clearly amused. Plunking down, he pulls his phone back out again. As you sit down next to him, you accidentally read the top message on his screen as he turns it on and goes to lock it. It’s from some guy named Namjoon, and the only words you made out were ‘tear’ ‘soon’ and something about dinner with the guys tonight. Interesting, you thought. So this Yoongi guy apparently has at least two friends, Chaen and this Namjoon. And who were the rest of the guys? Before you could think more on it, though, he turned to face you. 

“Can I propose we do something else instead?” He looks nervous again, but this time his eyes are…fixed. He knows what he wants. His stare runs through your whole body, and you push back a little further away from him. 

“What do you suggest?” Your voice is barely a whisper as his eyes cut through you, trailing down from your face over your breasts and down to your hands in your lap. Bringing them back up, he stares at you intently from his spot just a metre away. 

“I want to fuck you.” 

__

Yea, he’d just said it out loud. He couldn’t hold it back anymore. Looking at her, watching her, showing her something so intimate to him. Her stupid little joke, her loud and shameless laugh. He wanted to fuck her, plain and simple. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d actually had a good fuck. It had been some girl from another idol group, and she’d been tight and compliant but…not quite what he’d needed. He’d booty called her a few times, sure, but things had ended once she’d figured out he wasn’t looking for a relationship. Of course he wasn’t looking for a fucking relationship, why the fuck would he?

__

You froze at his request, realising he said it in all seriousness. Shifting on your butt, you tried to push a little further away from him but your back hit the wall instantly. He spoke again, less intensely this time. 

“If you don’t want to, that’s fine. It would just be sex, though. I’m not looking for anything, and don’t feel obliged because I paid for that laptop.” His words take a moment to sink in, you feel nothing but shock throughout your body. But then, something else creeps in. Those lingering feelings of attraction and lust all hit the critical points in your being. Basked in the grey of the rain, hearing it pour down outside, it mixes with the soft whirr of his computers and various electronics. Looking at Yoongi, wearing his black clothes with his black hair, his handsome face with a sensual expression. You couldn’t believe it. You were actually contemplating fucking him. 

He seems unnerved by your silence, and moves back on the large couch. 

“The back goes down and we can pull it out, so it’s like a bed. I sleep here sometimes.” His confession barely makes its way into your ears as you continually toss about his proposition. Over and over it whirls around in your head, but finally you start to think clearly. Why not? You hadn’t had sex in over a year, and this was one of the only days you hadn’t had class, study, or work in literally weeks. Why not take the opportunity, you thought. 

Heart pounding in your chest, you bolted your body towards him, practically throwing yourself on top. Inches away from his face, you nodded fast before you could back out. 

“Yes,” you heard yourself say, “I’ll fuck you.” There it was, that smirk of his. This time it was more implicit than the others, the presence of sex hiding behind it. 

“Just this once.” You add with a rush at the end, just to make sure he doesn’t get any ideas. He turns his smirk into a grin, then brings his smooth hand up to cup your face. His long fingers take a disobedient strand of hair, tucking it back into place with a calculated slowness to it.  

“Works for me.” He gives you a dark wink, then suddenly his hand is gone from behind your ear. Your skin feels hot where he’s touched it, and despite any reservations you had you felt your panties become a little wetter. Dammit. Your body was almost betraying you. 

Standing, he started clicking something on the side of the bed. You stood too, realising he was pulling it out so it could become an even larger bed. So you could fuck. 

Pushing you back with one arm, he grabbed the underside of the furniture and tugged hard. It pulled back from the wall, the back falling to become the top of a bed. Clicking the buttons back into place, he then reached up into a higher cupboard to pull pillows down. Throwing them down onto the plush now-bed, he also pulls down a single white sheet. 

In an instant, his lips are on yours. Kissing you hard, he places his hands on your hips and pushes you down onto the bed in a rush. Bouncing against the soft mattress, you both shimmy up to the top. He pushes a pillow under your head, still feverishly kissing you. He nipped playfully at your bottom lip, his hands now exploring up under your jumper. You could taste the coffee on his tongue, in his mouth, and no doubt he was tasting your hazelnut mocha. As he ran his tongue across yours you gasped a little, and he smirked against your mouth. You felt as though your whole body was on fire, particularly the spot between your legs. It felt like a distant, yet all-too-familiar ache. 

He shifted his hard body above you, moving his top half off your body. Pulling off his hoodie, he threw it to the side with abandon. Coming back down, he supported himself with his elbow beside your head. You bit your lip, expecting more hard and rough coffee kisses. Instead, he slipped a hand between your thighs, meeting the denim of your cuffed blue jeans. He groaned a little, closing his eyes for a split second before rubbing a little harder, hard enough to meet your pussy through the fabric. Suppressing a soft moan, you bit your lip a little harder, tasting a small amount of blood in your mouth. Pulling his hand from your jeans and between your thighs, Yoongi reaches up and pulls your bottom lip out from your teeth.

“Take off your jeans, now.” The ‘now’ is said like an order, and a shiver of anticipation runs through your core. He rolls off you, sitting next to you patiently. 

“Hurry up, Y/N.” That one was definitely said like an order. Unbuttoning your jeans with shaky hands, you pulled them off your body without a second thought. Throwing them to join his hoodie, he suddenly brings his body back on top of yours. 

“Good girl,” he whispers, hot breath in your ear tickling your senses. “You’re good at taking orders.” Fuck, his words ran from your ear straight down to your heat. His head comes back down, his lips pushing against yours again. Opening your mouth for him, the tip of his tongue curls around yours. Now, his free hand is running along your inner thigh, slowly making its way closer to your wetness. Each inch feels antagonising, and the closer he gets the more you feel as though you’ll explode without his touch. 

“Tell me what you want, baby.” His order is directed into your mouth, and you murmur back quietly. 

“Touch me.” You don’t have to elaborate; Yoongi gets the message. His long fingers start to rub you through the thin fabric of your panties, and you moan against his swollen and wet lips. Through half-lidded eyes he brings his mouth from yours, his lust-filled eyes staring right into yours. It sends a twitch through your whole body, and he presses harder with his fingers. The pleasure is intense but manageable, just hard enough to feel good but not hard enough. He’s teasing you. 

“Press against me.” He utters the words so lowly you could almost swear you’d imagined them if you hadn’t seen his soft lips shape out the words. Every nerve in your body is electric, tingling. Rolling your hips, you push harder against his hands and he rolls his fingers less gently. The pressing feeling becomes more intense, and you whimper against his touch. 

“You’re so fucking hot.” His words are said roughly, and he latches his mouth to the sensitive skin of your neck. He sucks hard on the skin, and you can’t hold back the deep moan that comes up from your throat. The sensation of his sucking paired with the rubbing friction of his fingers pushing your panties against your clit bring you close to the edge, and you know he can sense it. His mouth leaves your skin with an audible pop, and he looks down at his handiwork with a gleam in his dark eyes. 

“That’s gonna leave a mark.” You press harder against his hand, getting closer and closer to your peak. Slowly, he runs his hand away from your soaked panties and back down your inner thigh, and you let out a dissatisfied grunt. Dropping your hips back down to the mattress, you hum against his ear.

“Not gonna let me cum?” You’re bold, but you don’t care. You catch his lobe in your mouth, running your tongue over it and around his piercings. You hear his sharp intake of breath through clenched teeth, and his hand hovers over your inner thigh. Without warning, he slaps it. Not hard, but hard enough for you to bring your mouth away and yelp softly. He chuckles, nuzzling into your neck a pressing down a kiss. 

“Not yet, baby.” His words vibrate against you, and he lets his teeth graze over your new hickey. Already turning a dark shade of purple, it was very…him. 

He starts kissing his way down your body, making his way to your collarbones before grabbing the end of your jumper and pulling it up your torso. Arching yourself against the bed you lifted your arms up, allowing him to pull the jumper from your body. Beating him to it, you reached under yourself and unclasped your bra, pulling it off your arms and throwing it off somewhere onto the floor. He started down at your breasts, looking mesmerised and hungry. That tantalising smirk returns to his lips, and he wastes no time in latching his lips to your right nipple. Rolling the hard bud around with his tongue, he flicks at it and pulls the other with his hand. They’re erect at his movements, and he runs his tongue over your breast moving down to your stomach. Kissing past your navel, he reaches the line of your panties and breathes out softly against your skin, sending shivers down your spine. Hooking his index fingers into the waistband of your panties, you feel the cold of his silver ring against your skin. He pulls the fabric down slowly, and you close your eyes to savour the moment. Slipping them over your feet, you hear them join the rest of the clothes on the wooden floor. Daring to peak your eyes open, you look at Yoongi perched on the edge of the bed, looking directly at your pussy. His mouth was open a little, his eyes hazy, and his breath was long and deep. He glanced up at you, and you started to shut your legs. 

His hands instantly grab your thighs, pushing them back apart. He winks at you, and chuckles lightly at your sudden display of modesty. 

He pushes you further up the bed, and you adjust the pillow under you. Between your legs, Yoongi brings his mouth closer and closer to your wet and waiting cunt. Then, he licks you. 

The wetness of his tongue brushing against your clit softly brings a moan up through your lips, and you press against him a little harder. He obliges, softly licking longer strokes until he’s passing over your hole with each one. Sucking on your clit, he brushes a finger against your opening, holding your right thigh back with his other hand. He starts to suck harder, and you mewl in pleasure at the feeling spreading from your lower half. 

He slips one, long finger in, reaching his knuckle then curling up inside you. As he swipes your g-spot, you grip the white sheet hard in your fists. Arching your back, you push your pussy closer to him, begging him to give you what you need. The bastard grins before sucking hard, so hard you clit sends shockwaves through your body at the sensation. Locking your thighs around his head, you start to pant and let out a whispered curse as you feel yourself reaching towards your climax. 

He slips another long finger in, stretching you a little as you realise how much you’ve missed the feeling of sex. And this was already the best fucking sex you’d ever had. 

Slamming and curling his fingers inside you, Yoongi sucks relentlessly against your swollen clit. Like a champagne cork popping from a cold, fresh bottle into the air, you cum hard around his fingers. Pushing back against the sheet, you can’t stop the heavy flow of moans that leave your mouth as he continues to suck you gently through your orgasm. Curling your toes, your eyes roll back a little as you let it completely take over your whole body. Every inch of you feel intense, electric, dangerous. 

As you come down from your high, he pulls his lips from your pussy and withdraws his fingers. You feel empty without them, but exhausted from the experience. Looking at him, you see your juices glistening wetly around his mouth and on his chin, Swiping with the back of his hand, he wipes it off, giving you a cheeky grin and looking down at you heatedly. 

“Get on your hands and knees.” His voice is breathless but commanding, sultry-sounding to your ears. His black jeans are tight, his cock obviously swelling against the rough material. Seeing you staring, he cocks his head to the side with a smile. 

Without a word, he slowly undoes the top button of the jeans. The zipper follows, the noise crisp in the air. Your breathing is still heavy, and you lick your lips at the sight of his bulging cock pressing against his black Calvins. He slips the jeans down first, and they pool down at his knees. Then, he teases you with a knowing look and he tugs down his underwear, his dick bouncing out. Holy. Shit. 

Remembering his order, you flipped yourself onto all fours, pushing a pillow under your elbows. Feeling nothing, you look back over your shoulder at Yoongi. He’s pulling his wallet out from the back pocket of his jeans, fishing a condom out of one of the compartments. Wishin a couple of heartbeats he chucks the wallet to the floor, ripping open the foiled packet. Staring, you felt yourself get even more turned on at the sight of him rolling it down his length, all the way to the base. Seeing you watching, he moved forward and grabbed your hips roughly, jolting you back. He slapped your ass, lightly. 

“Can I slap your ass hard?” The question is new to you, something you’ve never really done with your exes. Without hesitating or thinking, you agree. You want it. You want it so fucking badly. 

The slap to your ass stings, and you cry out a little but bounce back towards his cock. You hear the soft murmur of “fuck” escape his lips, and he smacks you again. This time is harder, enough to bring tears to the corners of your eyes. As if knowing this is enough, Yoongi runs himself along your soaked slit, making sure to rub over your abused clit. Grabbing the pillow hard, you push back against him in a desperate attempt to have him finally fill you. 

Grabbing your ass cheeks and squeezing hard, he pulls your body back and buries himself in your pussy. Slamming in all the way to the hilt, you both exclaim loudly at the explicit feeling. You moan sensually, while he grunts deeply. He doesn’t take more than a second, knowing you can handle it, before he’s slamming in and out of you hard. The slapping sound of your bodies meeting fills the studio, matching your moans with each harsh thrust. Gripping your hips, his fingers dig into your flesh as you bounce against him. 

“Holy…fuck” you manage to gasp out, your eyelids fluttering at the feelings rushing from your core. He takes a hand from your hip and grabs a handful of your hair instead, pulling you even further back. His pulling is light, and doesn’t hurt your skull, but it’s enough to encourage you to move back harder. 

“I’m gonna fucking cum.” His words are said through gritted teeth, and you realise you’re closer to your second orgasm than you thought. Whispering “me too” into the thick air, you feel him drop your hair as he brings his hand down on your ass, slapping it harder than the previous ones. The mix of pleasure and pain brings you right over the edge, without him needing to even brush against your clit. Clenching around him, you cum, screaming your release. He reaches under you and grabs a handful of your tit as he finishes, banging in and out of your trembling pussy as it clenches him tight. He starts to slow as he rides out the end of his own orgasm, breathing heavily. His long breaths continue as he pulls out of you, hopping off the end of the bed. You feel a tinge of sadness at the loss, almost wanting him to have stayed in you; even if only for a few more minutes. Collapsing against the bed, you flip over exhaustedly and prop yourself up on your elbows. He pulls the condom off, scrunching his nose up at the feeling. You hold back a giggle at the his sigh of annoyance towards the rubbery mess. Throwing it in the bin, he makes his way back to the bed, watching you with a fondness you assumed could be accounted to the satisfying sex you’d just had. He rummaged through the clothes on the floor, bringing up your jumper and his underwear. Sliding them back on, he tosses you your jumper. 

“Just in case you didn’t feel comfortable staying naked.” He gives you a crooked smile and you return it, pulling the warm jumper back over your skin. You feel sore, your pussy stretched and your butt burning a little from his punishing slaps. You feel good, really fucking good. 

He crawls up into the bed, lying next to you on one of the extra pillows. You both slip under the sheet without a word, facing each other in the soft glow of grey floating in through the window. 

“It’s still pouring rain.” You say, hearing the drops falling outside in a calming torrent. 

“It is.” he says, smiling at you with softer, less harsh eyes. 

“Tell me more about yourself, Y/N.” Smiling and rolling your eyes at his predictable request, you snuggled deeper into the blanket, still facing him. 

__

Looking at the girl he had just fucked, with her messy hair, her jumper slipping off her shoulder, the blanket tousled around her body, and her head resting into the soft pillow while she told him about her frustrating housemate and workmate, Yoongi could only muster up three words to sum up his state of mind. 

Holy. Fucking. Shit. 

[talesofmetalandmagic]

For the BadThingsHappenBingo: “Kidnapping”, with Lorian, Elder Prince, and Dark Sun Gwyndolin

Proposed by: @reaper-apologist-andromeda Set in: requester’s verse. Characters: Lorian, Older Prince; Dark Sun Gwyndolin Ship: Lorilin TW: Mention of parental abuse Notes: Gwyndolin uses he/him pronouns

Synopsis: once lived a Saint named Aldrich, famed for his thirst for human flesh. He’s now long gone, burnt at the First Flame, but his followers live on, and to this day they still hunt innocent victims to offer to their lord the moment he eventually returns. No one is safe from them: not even the Elder Prince of the kingdom of Lothric.

It’s the first arrow that alerts him of the incoming danger. Lorian pulls the bridle to his chest and raises his open palm to impose silence. Once it’s done, he lowers the hand to his side, to the spot where his sword awaits to be drawn. -You know what to do.- he says. He doesn’t sound like a general, he realizes with a sudden gulp. His tone was too shaky, his eyes too low, and even his hand wasn’t straight enough. He can see the disappointed glare in Father’s eyes in every wrinkle of every tree. Piercing through him as if another arrow had been shot right into his skin. When the second arrow does strike, Lorian’s horse whines in pain despite not being the one hit. The man at his left sinks on the floor like a mannequin, a groan escaping his lips. -Reveal yourself!- Lorian calls. He raises his sword in the air, like the great warrior kings that populate the frescoes in the main halls. He has always felt so tiny, whenever he passed them by. He can only imagine what Lothric would feel in his stead. -Your highness!-. Lorian turns around, his ponytail whipping his face. -Look o— A third arrow strikes, and it hits him right in the chest. Next thing he sees is the pale grey sky, and the branches of the trees like cracks on the cement.

His knees are in his belly, feeling tight and as heavy as a boulder. His ponytail has come undone, and strands of stray hair fill his mouth and get stuck to his teeth. His hands are untied – strange enough, but not the proper moment to ponder. Lorian combs his hair with his fingers, panting through the cold. He’s thirsty, too thirsty to even form words. His mouth is dry, as if a layer of sand had remained stuck to his palate and tongue. Even opening his mouth, everything being so godsdamn dry, feels like pain on his dry lips. His cage is as tight as a column, and so rusted the mere touch leaves a thick stain of red on Lorian’s finger. And so are all the others, dozens upon dozens, filling every corner of the cave. A black-haired woman, clad in a ragged dress, lays curled up at his left, dozed off in a deep sleep that the prince can’t help but envy. A young ginger man is lost in sobbing at his right. -Hey.- the prince whispers. -Hush. Don’t cry. We’ll be fine.- But the young one doesn’t seem to acknowledge he even exists, and his sobbing echoes through the cavern – tens, dozens, hundreds of people are crying at the same time, and their voices seem to blend into a senseless cacophony of despair. The knife he’d carry at his belt is no longer: neither is his belt at all, for that matter, and the strings of his boots, his medallion with the symbol of the Way of Blue engraved into it, his hairband, have all been taken away. His medallion is precious, but not the rest: they didn’t do it for the money. They want me alive, he presumes. And a more welcoming thought picks up at the bottom of his mind. They haven’t recognized me. Somehow it feels comforting. And at the though of Father foolishly revealing himself, screaming “I’m the king” in his captors’ faces, he can’t resist but snicker. He will be fine. He won’t make that mistake. What will he do, however, is simply beyond him. Staying calm is the first logical step – think of Lothric, think of home, think of the people around him that need a stable and firm prince to hold onto. His chest itches where the arrow had struck him, but no blood seeps out. They must have really skilled clerics.

For a while, Lorian’s thoughts drift away into an Abyss of no light. He doesn’t recognize any of the faces of his guards among the prisoners that share his limited space. The ginger man at his side, however, has ceased his crying and allowed him to hold his hand. -Thank you, Your Majesty.- he says. -Maybe they will be looking for you. It’s said that His Majesty is highly protective of his offspring.- Offspring: the proper word to refer to both him and his little brother. He must be missing him indeed, from the now lonely bedchambers he’s been confined to all his life. Lorian gives a distracted nod, hoping a white lie wouldn’t tarnish his perfect, princely soul. Or bring some sort of comfort to the terrified youth. -The Aldrich Faithfuls are strong and fearsome, but highly disorganized.- Lorian whispers. -If there was a leader, I’d start with them.- Their leader is a long-dead Saint – if such a name even befits the monstrous creature – that found the utmost pleasure in eating human flesh. His followers share a shred of the same tradition, and limit their consumption to “human dregs”. Whatever those things even are: maybe they’re even closer cannibals than Aldrich, and the joke makes the young man chuckle.   -Listen.- Lorian suddenly says, and his cage rings as one of the Followers runs by its side and slams his shoulder against it. They converge towards the door, armed with longswords and axes and big hammers, golden Cleric Bells dangling on their belts. -They busted us!- a voice screams, but the blood-curdling scream that follows can only mean death. And a blinding white light – like the moon, Lorian thinks, and not even he knows how and why he came to that idea – fills the room, coming from the now open gates of the cavern. Their swords glisten as if they were made of silver. Their armors are garbed in white, looking as soft as clouds. And in the very middle of them there’s a child, no, a Godling, raising a small bow into the air, and a rain of arrows shines against the roof of the cave like a sky full of stars. -You’re free.- a stern female voice calls. An armored figure, clad in copper from their head to their toes, opens the door to his cage. -All of you. Run outside, do not look back. You’ll be reunited to your own soon enough.- Lorian takes a deep breath. -I’m Prince Lorian of Lothric.- he calls, but they do not seem to have heard. He suddenly feels tense, as if he expected a very familiar wooden blow to his palms. But I’m not there, and he’s not with me. The young figure, clad in a white tunic with silver accents, pulls at their bow again. A golden crown, in the shape of a blooming sun, covers their face up to the eyes. A golden crown he knows. -The Darkmoon!-. It’s the voice of the ginger man, wet in tears of joy. -He has come for us! Praise the Darkmoon and his Blades!- -Lady Sirris.- Gwyndolin’s smooth voice is like a song. -Lady Itoro. Left and right, surround them.- The woman in copper raises her arm to indicate she has understood. Another woman, clad in the traditional fashion of the Sunless Realms, draws an Estoc of her own towards a A black-haired woman lays on the ground, passed out and bleeding, a Greatsword still in the motionless hand. Lorian leaps to it and grabs it, welding it as if it was his own. Luckily, that one is still in the castle where it should be. Father would be rabid if he lost it, and he’d not even have another one forged. A lesson must be learned, boy, a voice repeats from the bottom of his mind. Lorian lashes at another sinner, plunging his sword right into his leg. And a second and third, always at the legs, before they even notice him. That’s panic for you, he thinks, and knocks another one down. The rain of arrows glows above him, and shines like ice or hail against a full moon.

Sweat drips down his face as he pants against the wall of the cavern, sticking to his long unkept hair. Yet again, a source of disdain – too good he’s not here and he will never know. Even so, Lorian has to remind himself of that, as a shadow looms over him and offers him a pale, open hand. He takes it without a second thought. As he has learned. -I thank you for your bravery, Prince Lorian.- The Darkmoon’s voice is high in pitch and gentle in tone, the opposite of what Lorian had been used to for a length he can hardly recall. He gives a timid shrug, shaking the rubble off his clothes. It feels as if he had been battling all his life. His muscles are sore, his heart seems to tremble within his ribcage, and his mouth is as dry as sandpaper. With what little voice he has, Lorian pants out a “thank you”; but not even he can hear it. Let alone the Divine himself.

-You were quick.- he adds. Then another, confused pause. -To intervene, I mean.- -And so were you.- Now that he’s standing, Gwyndolin looks smaller and much less imposing than before. Friendly, Lorian may add; and just as beautiful as the Moon that grants him his powers. -’Tis but the duty of the Darkmoon Blades. All of you are free, now.- The sun is setting in the farthest corner of the sky, and the clouds around it are lilac and smooth. Mother would love to paint them, if she still did. Maybe, Lorian tell himself as a means of consolation, just looking at them would be enough to make her content. The freed people are huddled in the nearby square, in groups of three to five, and the soft pitter-patter of their low chattering is a pleasant enough song to Lorian’s ears. -The Crown of Lothric will reward you greatly.- he says to the Godling by his side. Only one moment later does he realize – and he holds in place, covering his mouth as if he was ashamed. Because he is. He averts his eyes from Gwyndolin’s questioning expression, heart pounding again as if he was back into the cage. -I apologize, My Liege.-. He stares at his own feet, blinking frantically. -I didn’t mean to disrespect you. I meant no offense, I swear. Treating you like a mere mercenary…- Lorian can feel a stare at the bottom of his spine. Maybe it’s the crowd indeed, trying to figure out what the role of the bloody prince will be in that whole ordeal. Maybe it’s his father all the way from Lothric. He’s not present, nor will he be – Lorian knows, for he has lived by his side for more than twenty years – but he can still look at him from the castle, frowning and disappointed, black crevices in the depth of his pale white forehead as he sneers to his stupid, soft son. But there’s none in Gwyndolin’s smooth face – he can tell so, even with the sun-shaped crown that keeps his forehead covered. And there’s no wrinkles in his mouth either, as he offers him a pleasant expression. As sweet as ambrosia, which the Gods are said to eat. -No offense taken, Your Majesty.- Lorian almost jumps as the high-pitched, smooth voice reaches his ears again. As he expected no such thing. He had already prepared himself for that same, disappointed paternal growl. My father has such a growling voice because underneath his silk and furs, there’s but a beast, he would think whenever he was particularly angry at him. More and more frequently as the years passed, and the Flame flickered more, and Mother’s eyes were more and more forsaken. A skinny beast, with no claws and no fangs, but with a venomous tongue with a sharp aim, more similar to that of a snake than the dragons he so longingly coveted. But as he stares again at Gwyndolin’s tunic, and the slender reptilian forms that stick out from underneath, he starts to regret that analogy as well. For the snakes he sees are tender, and look at him with eyes no less sweet than a pup or a kitten. Lost in thought, he’s woken up again by the same, sweet tones. -Feel no remorse for your offer. I have no issues with your protocols and ways of doing. Nor do I expect to sindacate about the grateful will of parents whose child was taken from them.- There’s nothing to worry about in that regard. Lorian keeps the thought to himself, and whispers another, fainter “thank you”. Gwyndolin places his hand in his and gives it a gentle squeeze. -Now rest, Your Majesty. Soon all of you will be given a proper shelter, and reunited with your families.- -Have you heard the Darkmoon?- Lady Itoro repeats from a nearby post. -Everybody, keep calm. You’ll be fed and accommodated as soon as possible.- -Allow me to help you, My Liege. As the Crown Prince…- Lorian hesitates, grabbing the edge of his coat with sweaty hands. But Gwyndolin’s face, despite his covered eyes, means no harm. -Yes, Your Grace?- Lorian takes a deep breath, averting his gaze from the crowd. -…’tis my duty to help these poor people.- Gwyndolin opens a childlike hand and places it on his shoulder, pale and soft as silk right out of the cocoon. -Your presence is welcome, Prince Lorian. The blankets are over there. Soon, the soup will be ready, and we’ll need all hands possible to feed them quickly.- Lorian nods, and the eyes piercing his back seem to fade away. 

The soup is like a rainbow: thick red and yellow bell peppers, orange carrots, pale onions, bright green leaves of mint, and a pinch of violet to make it look prettier. Lorian mixes it up without a word, feeling the gentle smell in his nostrils. For an adventure, this one was short enough. And it ended well. Gwyndolin sits cross-legged on a rock, no higher than the commoners that surround him. He smiles at all of them as if he has known them all his life. Lorian pours another bowl and leans it towards the Godling’s face. -Here, My Liege.- -No need for that.- Gwyndolin gives a gentle, sweet chuckle. -You can call me Gwyndolin. But I thank you for the offer, Lorian. I could have used some more.- Lorian sits down, by his side, like two children exchanging smalltalk. He has the same pale skin Lothric and Father have – but he shares Lothric’s cold voice as well, and a gentility only worthy of a prince. -You have fed countless.-. Gwyndolin stares in front of himself, contemplative. -I can feel nothing but respect for a prince so hard-working.- Lorian can feel himself blush. He says nothing, but a part of him feels as if Gwyndolin already knows. They’re an intelligent one, and as ancestral as the world itself. What is a prince, next to a God? -Those people owe you greatly.- -And you.- Gwyndolin says. -You fought valiantly. And tonight, you too will return home.- Lorian nods, not willing to add any further words. -I will cherish the memory of this day.- he says. The Darkmoon looks at him oddly, and there’s no surprise: he has been kidnapped, he remembers, and there should be no fondness in the trauma of the countless around. Yet, he feels no remorse at being selfish for once. And Gwyndolin looks as gorgeous as he’s ever been, smiling by his side, as gentle as the moon. Could a prince aspire to a God? -Yet,- he ends up muttering, -I do not feel safe.- Gwyndolin nods, taking his hands into his own. -I understand. Breathe, Lorian. ’Tis all over.- Lorian nods again. Because it is, for once in his life.

[morbidsso-blog]

Stones (TW)

Navy blue hues seemed to engulf the skies above Jorvik, signalising the beginning of the night. Stars began to glimmer as the sunset pigments of orange and a light pink dimmed at the edge of the horizon, and shimmered ever-so-faintly upon the waters that segregated Jorvik from the rest of the world. I stared at it blankly, upon the back of ghostmane, whom stared with me, occasionally shifting his muscular, ashen legs to comfort his posture.

My eyes were tired, blood shot red not just from the alcohol I held within one dainty hand, that shook uncontrollably, but from the tears that one ran down my face. I took a swig of the bottle of alcohol I held, and ghostmane snorted once more, a snort of anger.

“I’m sorry pal...” I wiped my soft lips from the residue of alcohol which was left on my face.

“I don’t want to think anymore”

I sighed, wiping another tear from my ice eyes, and patting the mane of my companion. Looking over the moorland beach would give me bad memories of past experiences; dark core, and risking my life for a destiny I knew wasn’t certain or set in stone.

“Fuck off” I spoke to myself, directing it towards my thoughts, and the responsibility I had in order to save this world.

I moved the reins in which I held loosely, and thus Ghostmane moved, because of my intoxicated state he would move rather awkwardly, being unable to gallop in a straight line due to my shaking hand, my other of course keeping a tight grasp of the alcohol. I rode in my drunk state past Moorland stables, where luckily the majority slept soundly, and only few turned to stare at me in a sympathetic way, as they braved the ominous shadows for their nightly riding.

It was soon before Ghostmane came to a quick holt; I had somehow managed to steer my own horse into the direction of a fence. I growled at my own drunk state, however I didn’t dare to take my anger out upon my trusted steed. Instead, I decided to speed up, directing my horse towards Nilmer’s highland. Ghostmane seemed adgitated as I tightened my legs around his rib cage to increase the gait he travelled at. We managed to climb up a small hill accompanied by large rocks, which for a second appeared to be some form of a deadly creature; I shuddered.

“Raaah!” I growled, almost shouting as I was shot forward, to almost come off of Ghostmane as he made a fast stop once more, this time, directed toward the pink tent which was the circus.

Loosely I jumped from my steer, tripping as my legs hit the floor. Walking over to Ghostmane, I gave him a look of sadness, closing my eyes before patting him on the neck, eventually kissing his muzzle.

“Sorry...” I stared, before turning away and walking in an unknown direction. I stopped in my tracks as I heard the hooves of Ghostmane trot towards me.

“Stay here, pal...”

Ghostmane, with a whimper followed my instructions and left me in my wasted state to wonder aimlessly around Nilmar’s highland which was shrouded in a heavy fog which seemed to have no host or cause. I shrugged before I took the last swig of the alcohol and then clasping the empty bottle in my hand.

The night had fully taken over the land, and the moon shone beautifully within the dark blue hues of the sky above, accompanied by the stars which shone as if sparkling eyes peering down upon me; I felt exposed. My boots sunk softly into the grass bellow, from what I could see behind the fog every strand swayed lightly in the summer breeze, crunching beneath my feet with a satisfying sound. I could hear the crickets as they communicated within the darkness, and the rustle of other critters in trees and behind shrubs.

Finally, I found an opening, accompanied by rocks covered in a blanket of moss that shone in the silver light of Luna, creating a mysterious yet appealing place to sit, in which I did rather comfortably. My back was arched as I sat in an awkward and almost masculine position, my locks of thick, black hair covering the pale pigment of my face which only showed the appearance of a tired girl, exhausted by her struggles and the responsibilities that she carried.

I didn’t want to do this anymore, I didn’t want to be the hero of this story, I wanted a normal life, I wanted my life back, I was sick of trying to save this world to only be met with another threat. I’m not a soul rider, and I’m not the chosen one.

Im not special...I’m not special.

These thoughts turned to pent up anger, and I tightened my grasp of the empty bottle. This anger rose, from the pit of my chest to my hands, to my mouth, to my eyes and eventually the top of my head.

I screamed, taking the bottle of alcohol within my left hand and throwing it as far as my tired arms would allow me to. Soon enough I clawed at my hair, before eventually crying, and rubbing the tears from my eyes as they fell almost endlessly.

I wasn’t one to cry, I had been told I was a strong person, which would cause me to contemplate why I would even be crying in the first place. It angered my slightly more and I growled once again.

I was soon met with silence, the world seemed to stop as I held my breathe, and looked around, my eyes watered with anger and sadness. My ice eyes were greeted by two glowing orbs, within the shadows around the opening I sat by. My heart skipped a beat, and I tightened my fists, narrowing my eyes as I stared into these orbs. I knew they were eyes, by how they would suddenly disappear and reappear, to show they were blinking.

Thess ominous eyes were pigmented in a hetrochromatic duo of blue and what seemed like a shade of grey, a dark grey.

“Show yourself!” I spoke, choking on my words immediately as a malevolent laugh filled the atmosphere. The figure would then reply in a tone I seemed to recognise. It was soon before the figure appeared, in his purple tuxedo, his eyes held a now cunning and almost handsome expression.

I rolled my eyes, although I wasn’t angered by Ydris himself, I was angered by his arrival in such a state of sadness and anger. His intrusion made me feel vulnerable.

“Bonjour, little dove. You seem in quite a situation” The ring master chuckled, walking toward myself, before sitting beside it me. He didn’t need to speak, I knew what I was to ask before he could open his mouth to speak.

I wasn’t willing to say it. As strong as people claimed me to be, I was however stubborn, stubborn to the point where I would go to the ends of the earth to prevent another from getting their own way.

“I’m not saying it!” I stated, turning away. Ydris sighed. I could tell he wanted to know, however I didn’t know why, maybe due to a morbid curiosity, or the simple fact of knowledge that everyone seemed to crave.

I could hear the pandorian shuffle and I assumed by how quick his arms moved and how he shuffled that he was looking for something. Ydris let out a cheerful sound, which may have signalised that he had found his once lost object. Soon Ydris would tap my shoulder and within his hands as I turned was a piece of chalk, I saw what he was trying to do. I snatched the chalk from his hands and held it tightly within my gloves, it left a white mark upon them as I placed it upon the stone beside me, and began to write. I didn’t want to, but a feeling told me that if I were to continue to refuse, I would be pushed to say it one way or another.

My handwriting was sloppy and appeared to be chicken scratch. I wrote “I don’t want to do this anymore”

Ydris sighed, staring at my with sympathy. I hated that look, that damn look of sympathy everyone gave when they didn’t know what to do. I wrote my thoughts of this.

“I look at you like this because it’s what you humans call ‘human nature’ I’ve picked it up over time. A long period of time. So tell me, sweet Adele, what don’t you want to do?” Ydris spoke in a soft tone, his heavy accent breaking the night silence with such carefulness it seemed.

I began to write once more. I gritted me teeth to prevent myself from crying once more. I managed to write “I don’t want to be the hero of this story anymore, I’m not a hero, I’m not magic or the chosen one, I’m not special”

Ydris made a sound which signalised acknowledgement, placing his hands to his chin, and rubbing it in contemplation. He simply smiled.

“I don’t say the word ’special’ lightly, Adele. I’ve seen a lot of people in my time here, you see, I’ve always been gifted with the ability to read others, to see past the normal façade, like every pandorian, I never make an assumption in which is a lie I can promise you that, dove. As much as I want to save my world, and replace this earth with it, I know you would stop me, in fact it has been bothering me, ever since you found my troublesome Zee.” Ydris paused, looking up toward the sky.

“Then the realisation occurred to me, how could I take this world and save my remaining people, when there is so much to be savoured here. Including the one whom shall save us from Garnok, and follow in Aidens footsteps...Adele, you’re more than spec-“

“I am not special” I finally spoke due to my impulsive nature, and disbelief.

“You are, sweet dove. I’ll mark it on the stones if I have to...with the chalk of course”

“Knock yourself out” I passed to chalk to Ydris.

“Merci” He answered quickly before writing a message upon the stone. It said “Adele is special” as i inticipated.

The bastard chuckled.

“Good luck getting that off, it won’t come off” I wasn’t bothered to try.

I stared at Ydris for a moment, the thoughts of my responsibilities compelling me, and my eyes began to water once more, I gritted my teeth as I stared into the hetrochromatic eyes of the pandorian, before breaking down.

“I don’t want to do this anymore” I spoke through whimpers and tears. Two arms covered in a lilac fabric wrapped around my shoulders and pulled me into a hard chest. A soft hand made its way though my hair, and a sigh escaped the jaws of Ydris.

“I know, I know sweet dove. I didn’t want to leave the world I called home, and I wanted to take this world for myself to save my own. But I can’t. Sometimes, we have to do things even though we don’t want to, it’s called life, and I’ve lived it for a long time.” Ydris spoke calmly, his voice a benevolent whisper. The pandorian left a small kiss upon my head, before sighing once more, as I continued to cry.

“It’s so damn hard” I whimpered. Ydris lifted my head, and took his index finger to wipe the tears from my face softly and gently.

“I’m not a child” I retorted.

“Everybody needs a bit of comfort sometimes” Ydris answered swiftly, chuckling before placing his hands back by his side.

Moments passed, and we both stared at the surroundings silently, my eyes analysing every detail of the area around me: the abandoned wood of the old farm, the grass that swayed westwardly with the breeze. Finally, the eyes of Ydris that had continued to stare at me, with a look I could not describe.

“I know everything seems hard right now, dear Adele. But you’ll rise above it. I’ve been told that you have a tendency to help what needs mending, and find things that are lost. Sweet dove, you’re a very special girl, and you’ll see that when you fulfill your prophecy. It is set in stone, and even I can see it.”

His tone held sincerity and honesty in which I couldn’t question. For a moment I was left speechless. I looked down, swallowing my pride.

“Thank you, Ydris”

(This took my like 2hrs off of the bat, for some reason I don’t even know why I wrote it, I just got bored. Hope you all enjoy it. I want to put a trigger warning for alcohol consumption as I know some may struggle with these things)

I guess I did this because I feel as if the MC struggles with activities, and they are constantly told that they are meant to save this world in one way or another, and hold many responsibilies. They have put themselves in danger so many times and helped others when nobody has asked if they are okay. So who else is better to comfort the MC than the chaotic evil Ydris. Whom apart from being my favourite npc seems to hide a caring nature, shown by how he doesn’t exactly hurt the MC neither anyone else. He isn’t particularly violent like other villains, he just seems fairly benevolent.

His motive is understandable, and I think he knows that he won’t be able to save his world. Unfortunately I think pandoria is unsavable. Tell me what you think of this fanfic, and give me ideas to do more.