#i want the good guy lover to live with the weight of his sins knowing he can never atone but he would make all the same choices again 🤌

[guinevereslancelot]

babe would you still love me if we were superheroes and you were in danger and i went absolutely bonkers and crossed every moral boundary imaginable to protect you at literally any cost?

#would you still love me if i was covered in blood for you? #anywayyyy more superheros going of the fucking deep end for love thanks <3333 #this isn't based in anything in particular unfortunately i would simply like to see it #anyway.....people compromising their morals for love!!! doing the wrong thing for selfish reasons!!! #too many people commenting on my betrayal post think its about ur lover changing your mind/making you realize u were wrong #no!!! its about choosing the wrong side in purpose!!! going against ur beliefs bc u love someone more than ur conscience #KNOWING its wrong but doing it anyway in absolute AGONY because what other choicebdo you have!!! #anyway <3 #sacrifice ur soul for ur lover or don't waste their time #this has been a shitpost #please tag your blorbos <3 #ig this is lowkey and anidala post but i want the superhero version please and also without the totally implosion of the ship and hero #i want the good guy lover to live with the weight of his sins knowing he can never atone but he would make all the same choices again 🤌 #devotion to your lover above everything!! past the point of redemption or the ability to forgive yourself!!! #(this is good when the lover is horrified but better when they forgive their lover for the atrocities committed for their own sake) #otp dynamic fr #worm discourse

[tonks-21]

Meliodas and Elizabeth's daughter hcs | Nanatsu no Taizai | Request

Request from: @the-letter-horror-lover

Warnings: mention of violence. TW: matches of violence.

You have this sunshine personality that all around you couldn’t do anything more than love it.

But it’s not all good words and smiles, if they push you to your limits, they will know your bad side.

You are the only one in the family that could cook without breaking the kitchen.

And as you grow older, with the weight of the curse of your mum, you wanted to help your dad because you had the same curse as him and you knew how bad he feels when another dead and reborn comes. So you usually help him cooking at the Boar Hat.

And, doing that, you pass time with Ban.

He is a nice guy, but failed some time ago underestimating your power.

Now he has a 10 cm scar on his abdomen.

Eventhough you have this demon side, you are always kind and loving with humans and protect them of whatever enemy that comes.

You are friends with all the other Sins.

They like you. You are like smart and kind as your mother, but just as strong as your father and you have the willpower of, well, both of them.

 The nights that the Sins meet, you usually talk to Diane, she is so fun, you can’t help it.

I don’t know why, but I think Gowther talks about poetic stuff with you.

King lets you fly on his cushion and you normally fall asleep on it, so he just lets you there. He really can’t help but let you, you are too adorable sleeping.

Merlin doesn’t talk to you much, but you know you can always count on her. She demonstrates her affection more in a protective way.

But, yeah, when the others laugh along with things you did when child, she would laugh too.

But then, she’ll caress your shoulder a bit.

Hawk is like a little brother to you. Even if he is older, he is always making a mess, and you can’t help but make it with him.

And your father doesn't have the heart to tell you to clean it.

Your mother, by the way… Well, let’s just say sometimes you had to take the cloth for other things than tinny wastes.

But the truth is that they love you a lot. And each of them will protect you with their lives without a second thought.

#the seven deadly sins #seven deadly sins #nanatsu no taizi characterss #nanatsu no taizai #meliodas #sds meliodas #sds ban #ban sds #sds king #harlequinn #shitpost #sds #sds fanart #gowther #gowther nnt #meliodas nnt #ban nnt #king nnt #meliodas x reader #nnt meliodas #sds x reader #nanatsu no taizai x reader #sds oc #tencommandments #holy war #seven deadly sins smut #anime and manga #anime x reader #meliodas smut #Corvey's chest

[drunkenlionwrites]

hello! here’s an idea for a headcanon ☺️ how do you think tristamp!vash will deal with loving a fem!reader knowing that her life span is much shorter than him considering that she is a human? will he still pursue her anyway? or choose to keep distance & admire from afar to avoid further hurt?

Vash thinking on dating a human woman

Warnings: none, a bit of angst. It's not a fic, it's more my headcanons and thoughts on Vash's character.

I strongly feel that Vash will try to bury his feelings for human for as long as he can, but for two different reasons: 1. He's not done with the Knives issue. He still wants to save/eliminate his brother for him being a walking atomic bomb for the whole planet and it's Vash's primary mission in life. It's the sin he atones for and he cannot and will not have ANY human, especially the one he loves so dearly to be damaged by association.

2. Vash HATES himself, he loathes himself, he feels not deserving the love, not deserving anything good in this world, cause it's HIM and Knives are the reason of why the people crashed on this planet, why plants are being used off so wrongly, the reason of Rem's death, the reason of a lot of people's deaths. He doesn't have a grasp on the concept that he's not responsible for the actions of others. He caries the weight of his brother's sins as they are his, and while he thinks his morality of not killing anyone is just, he still carries the hate for himself for all the people who were hurt cause of his decision not to kill. Even Legato, the dude who wanted to be dead more than anything, recognised this feeling in Vash. Sooo yeah, he's a terrible guy to love, or you just need to be a very good therapist to do so. But as for him being afraid for his lover being a mortal? Nah, Vash has seen so many deaths of the people who he cared for, he has seen the people growing up from smal lil beans to full ass grown up adults, so he recognizes the beauty of life and love and living while you can, so the possible heartbreak of his lover's death will not stop him from living and loving them freely. BUUT the previous two reasons will stop him. Thanks for the ask!

#vash headcanons #vash x reader #vash x you #vash the stampede x you #vash the stampede #trigun x reader #trigun x you #trigun #lion writes

[moved2usagiiboo]

Chapter 22

Previous chapter || Next chapter || Masterlist

As he leans back in his leather office chair, cigarette smoke coming from his mouth as he takes a deep exhale of the stick full of nicotine he wonders how he got so deeply involved with you. At first, it was supposed to be nothing more than a way to piss Ran off. Something he enjoys doing daily. He would gain your friendship only to rub it in Ran’s face, then drop you. But then you ruined it, you had to go and make his heart throb. With your silly jokes, insults that hold no weight, and your loyalty.

That’s the one— Loyalty. You were so obviously in love with the eldest Haitani but for him, because of the promise you made, you refused to tell him who you were talking to. All because— “I didn’t want you to get hurt.”

Oh, how his heart sings at those words. Sanzu considers himself a loyal guy, especially to Mikey. He would rather die before he let anything happen to him, it’s hard to find that in others. Especially in potential lovers everybody lies, betrays— Nobody knew loyalty anymore.

You have morals, a good head on your shoulders, your kind and compassionate. You were his better half. Who succumbed to Ran’s seduction.

Fuck.

This was never supposed to happen, you weren't supposed to be someone he craved. Especially since you feel so strongly for Ran, it's a losing game.

He pinches the bridge of his nose as he glares at his innocent paper work who had done nothing but exist. This was supposed to be finished before the afternoon meeting, however, he’ll just give it to Kokonoi. After all, paperwork has never been Sanzu’s strong suit. Perhaps a drive will help him clear his mind.

As he prepares to leave he catches a glimpse of himself in his window. An overly large window that gives him the perfect look out of Tokyo. The blaring lights and sounds of honking cars were somehow therapeutic to him. He's different compared to Ran, he doesn't think of himself as ugly or anything that will damage his self confidence but, Ran is Ran and Sanzu wasn't him.

He sees his scars first, diamond shaped memories that were permanent on his skin. They were always his most unique feature, as a child he disliked his scars. Always covering them refusing to let anyone else see his biggest insecurity. He does wonder how you would react to them, would you think they were weird? Be afraid? His hand softly caresses one side of his cheek before looking down at his hands, hands full of blood and sins. He would feel wrong touching you with these, he’d taint you. Corrupt you. Ruin you for anybody that came after him.

He’d make you cry, not on purpose but because that’s what he does. He hurts people and for a living too. He's quite... Good at it.

His stomach growls randomly snapping him out of his daydreaming. He lets out a noise of annoyance before grabbing his keys from the desk. Sanzu heads to the parking garage where he holds his car, an all black Audi RS7 with heavily tinted windows. A gift from his eldest brother, Sanzu will never admit it but he’s grateful that his brother is in his life. He just wishes he could’ve had a better relationship with his sister as well. Driving around, looking for a place to get food to satisfy his dramatic stomach he comes across a 24-hour convenience store that just so happen to be in your neighborhood.

How does he know it’s in your neighborhood? Well, Ran asked him to find where you lived not to long ago and it kind of stuck with him. He didn’t necessarily indeed to end up here but there’s nothing he can do about it now. He supposed that he’s involved so deeply with you that subconsciously he seems you out. He parks by the sidewalk directly across the store, just before getting out he remembers to put on his mask.

As a wanted criminal you could never be too careful. As he gets out his car he waves his hand up to signal he’s crossing to ongoing cars.

As he came to open the door he felt something crash against his chest— A body.

“Oh god! I am so sorry sir—” The rambling was cut off when he felt the world stop around him, it was you. Your hair slightly messy in your pajamas with fluffy slippers. A slight blush ran across your face, clearly nervous and embarrassed.

“Sir?” You questioned as you looked up at him with your doe eyes that seemed to glisten in the early morning light. He felt the time stop as he saw you. He wasn't expecting to see you face to face, not now— Shit. He's glad he wore his mask.

“Don’t worry about it.” He flashes you a smile with his eyes before opening the door. “Ladies first.” You send him a small thank you, barely audible but he could tell by the way your lips moved, too shy to raise your voice. He did feel like a stalker, watching you through the cracks of the shelves. He wished you knew who he was, that you would call him name out like you had during the call. He felt his heart kick up in pace as you examined the ingredients on items you potentially wanted to buy.

So, you liked cookies and cream ice cream? He personally enjoyed mint chocolate chip but he wouldn’t mind trying your personal favorite. He grabbed items at random, not focusing on what he’s buying— just you.

After making his way to the register and placing his items on the counter, from the corner of his eye he saw you creep up from behind him. Feet shuffling as you held your items against your chest, your eyes looked down at your shoes refusing to acknowledge him. Which proven to be difficult, he stuck out like a wolf amongst sheep, bright pink hair, expensive suit that costs more than you’ve ever seen, and a mask that covered half his face. Sanzu looked behind him, his eyes smiled at you as he snatched the items from your hand.

“Oh, and these as well.”  Before you could protest he had shushed you and purchased everything. All you could do was stand still, star struck essentially. Surprised and extremely confused. Once he bought the items he handed them to you, including the items he had bought for himself. A ruffle to your head as you stared at him with a still face. He grabbed your hand that was frozen in place, he took the hook of the plastic bag and placing it on your hand more towards your fingers. He had to fight the urge to chuckle when he saw you struggle to speak. He waved goodbye leaving you there, confused. Just before leaving the store you had your head down, staring back at the ground before slightly yelling “Thank you sir!”

He turns back, pulling down his mask just enough for you to see his mouth and shined a smile your way. Your heart flustered at the sight of it, how kind his smile seemed. You shared his kindness by smiling back. Wide and cheerful— Now it was his turn to be star struck. He felt his ears heat up as the blood rushed to the tip, he quickly covered his face and left the store, preventing himself from snatching you up right then and there. His heart throbbed so fast he thought he was going to have a heart attack, his head spin as he couldn’t get the thought of you out of his head. With the slam if his car door he clenched his expensive suit, right over his heart as he hunched over. Head against the steering wheel as he squeeze the fabric in his hand. If this is how he dies, he wouldn’t mind it.

Now he sees why Ran chose you.

Taglist (open!) @beidouluvr @axlongchamp @rinrinfoxy @konigasaki @yeehawnana @bontensucker @q-the-rockaholic @paulmccartneysleftasscheek @st4rryhae @m4yam0 @red-clouds @kusuinko @ikissbaal @haitanihime @bajitorasprincess @lagrimasdeglitter @snowyseungs @bontensbabygirl @piracyandatiny @kris-1 @tirzamisu @yeagerqq @averageslt @haitanis-sugarbaby @graceb4boys @justanotherantisocialteenager99 @kawasbaby @minimalisticstyle @hayami-17 @azzy-ar @gulfkfl @talakaissi @asra-x @ihateuguys @queen-flower @wack0-genius @halcyondaisy @crybabylisa @loonashadow @bxnten @voldyshit-1997 @sugusshi @Killumiii @hiidenchihu @rindous-wife @vcperoqs @moontofuu @chosoisbaby @talesofjerryandjack @shutupandkissmealready @icrytoopracom @sayonaratoyou @kazuhanmas @denkis-slut @rizakari (Let me know if I didn't tag you! Bold = can not be tagged. Second taglist in comments ✊🏿)

Psst- This story belongs to me, please do not post anywhere else without permission first. That's illegal ⚖️ Reposts are okay

Starting next update, those who can not be tagged will be removed

I know I missed yesterday's update😔

Don't hold me to it but y'all might get a double upload as an apology

Don't hold me to it though 🏃💨

Anyways I saw Dune yesterday and it was so good?

Zendaya is as pretty as always

#tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers #fluff #ran haitani #ran haitani x y/n #ran x reader #tokyo revengers crack #dull series #dull #sanzu x you #sanzu x reader #sanzu fluff #sanzu x y/n #tokyorev smau #tokyorevengers smau #ran haitani x reader

[la-fille-en-aiguilles]

The Only Living Thing

Billy Russo x Female Reader

Warnings: Language.

Synopsis: You’ve been friends with BIlly Russo for as long as you can remember. Then, on that one night in New York, feelings get mixed up with the liquor that burns and everything spins out of control. So much for being the only living thing that Billy Russo has ever cared about... Or is it?  A/N: This just sort of happened. I may be writing more if you guys want, I think I can definitely take this further? I have a pretty hectic schedule but I might make it happen x

Song : Adam French - The Only Living Thing

New York, November 2019. 
 

Breathtaking. 


You are breathtaking, like the most beautiful view from atop the mountain or his biggest fear coming alive under his stare. 
 You’re a mix of excitement and terror, and you are enchanting enough to keep him on the tips of his toes, second-guessing everything, his every decision and every word... 

You are meant to leave him wanting more.

The night New York has never looked so good on a woman before.

Billy’s vision goes blurry for a second, his stomach hot and heavy.

You are glowing.

You radiate a kind of a warm sepia glow, so beautiful and genuine and so fucking effortlessy...

Smooth and unapologetic.
 


Messy strands of hair framing your face, your blushing cheeks, as you laugh your heart out, throwing your head back. Your pearl teeth flash in the dimness of the bar. Your thin black tights are torn at the thighs, your lips are red and irritated as you sink your teeth in, again and again.

Your laugh is flamboyant, intoxicating. Raw.

You are something else...

When suddenly, you see him, your black eyelashes fluttering as you wink at him. Billy’s chest feels too wide, too fragile and too hot. Do you see those unspoken words shining out of his drunken eyes?

When you make your way to him through the crowd, he’s paralyzed, afraid to move forward, afraid to scare you off, but mostly, afraid to let everyone see how desperate he is for your touch.

This is wrong, so fucking wrong, but why in hell when you come over, throwing your elegant arms around his neck, your cute perky nose touching his chest - it feels so. fucking. right?! Like you were custom-made for each other?...

Before he can stop himself, he slides an arm around your waist. You say something to him, something funny, for everyone around him snorts and chuckles, but his mind, his entire world - suddenly comes down to that spot just below his cheekbone where you plant a soft peck of your velvet pouty lips.

“Those twenty bucks we bet on? I win,” you half laugh, half exhale in his ear, your lips brushing against the lobe. “Madani is fucking obsessed with you”.

“Ah,” Billy smiles, both of his hands snaking around your waist now as he looks down at you.

...And I am fucking obsessed with us.

“And you just enjoy rubbing us - this! in her face right now, aren’t you?” he mutters instead, his temples buzzing with the gin and tonic he has been downing all night. 

God, he hopes you’re too buzzed to have noticed his slip of fucking epic proportions.

He promised himself he wouldn’t drink, not with you still around - because whatever it was that he felt for you mixed with liquid that burned equaled a very bad outcome. 

He might be well into the tipsy territory by now but Billy isn’t delusional. The chances that you would go back to his place or even kiss him back are entirely too slim.

Because friends don’t do friends.

Friends might as well become a new f-word for all Billy cares at this point.

When you throw your head back in an explosive laugh, Billy’s distracted. He gets an extensive view of your elegant neck, your delicate collarbones, but mostly - of the swell of your mouthwatering breasts, as your black silk top tightens over them. 

Fuuuuck him.

“Fuck you, Russo”, you echo his thoughts somehow as you wink at him once you’ve restored your breath, not stepping away from his embrace, however, letting him keep his hands on you. 

It’s always like this between the two of you. You’ve known each other for a while now - four, five years? After Billy bumped into you at a brunch at Liebermans’ and spilled his frappuccino all over your gorgeous rack. He wasn’t even going to come - but boy, was he glad he did - even though you wasted no time opening that sassy mouth of yours and verbally eviscerating him.

This wasn’t a love at first sight. 
 For you, at least.

“At least buy me a dinner first,” Billy barely manages, his vision a tad blurry.

He notices you giving him an unimpressed stare. Feeling stupid all at once, Billy blinks quickly and lets go of your waist...

Only to tremble on his feet and almost fall on his face.

“Heyyy,” he registers your breath on his cheek before he hears what you’re saying, your small hands holding him in place. Your touch burns through the fabric of his button down shirt as your palms slide up his sides to his shoulders. “You okay there, Russo?”

Billy squirms, chomping on his bottom lip as he grabs you by your elbows.

‘’M fine”, he says quietly, but doesn’t let go. When he lowers his stare to meet your eyes, he almost wants to cry. There’s concern in their bottomless depths, worry for him and desire to make it all better. He just wishes there was more heat there, and less of that f-word that ends with -riends.

“You don’t look fine, lover,” you retort, wiggling and pushing and pulling onto him until you’re snug under his arms and carrying his dead weight to the exit. “Let’s go get some fresh air, come on.”

Billy utters something half-heartedly, his head feeling like it’s filled with cotton. He didn’t even drink that much, as least he doesn’t think so. Must be your fucking intoxicating perfume, sweet but voluptuous and so fucking tempting...

Pure sin. 


Even drunk out of his fucking mind, he’s still the envy of every guy at that bar because he’s with a stunning, breathtaking, prettiest woman in the whole damn world that is you.

“If you were able to stand right now, that line might have gotten you laid,” you inform him with a laugh, basically carrying him to the exit on your shoulders.

Through the drunken haze, Billy realises he might have spoken those words out loud, but the terror is quickly replaced by...

“Are you shitting me?” He slurs, trying to stay vertical. “Are you saying you want me?”

By the time the words escape his mouth, you have pushed the exit door wide open and nudged him to step out. Losing his balance, Billy crashes into Frank, Stein and Madani, smoking outside.
 Dina’s eyes flash mischievously as you step out of the bar, immediately throwing your arms around Billy protectively, helping him to steady himself.

“Oh, so it’s common knowledge now, then?” Dina ventures, licking her lips bloodthirstily, her eyes never quitting yours. “You’ve finally admitted you want to drag that fine Caspian ass in your bed?”

The running joke aimed at Billy looking like a Disney prince feels out of place; all conversation is silenced out as you narrow your eyes at Madani, your grip around Billy’s waist instantly becoming tighter. Frank clears his throat in an attempt to defuse the awkwardness, but doesn’t intervene.

And Billy is... well, happy. Over the moon, actually, and still drunk off his ass.

Apparently, you have been wanting to drag his ass into your bed for a while now!

That does mean you see him more than a friend, right? 

What if... What if all this time you were just as hung up on him as he was on you, but neither of you had the balls to say anything?

In his picture perfect drunken world, Madani makes sense and his heart sings.

You want him.

If it were a Disney cartoon, animals would be singing and dancing around praising your couple. 

Frankie would have probably made a sick unicorn.

“Oh Dina”, suddenly your voice cuts right through Billy’s happy fantasy, and there’s way too much sass in that voice for it to belong to a Disney princess. “Just because your friend Sam here and your own desperate fan-girling ass carry a boner for some fucked up teenage fantasy that involves boinking Prince Caspian, doesn’t mean all women have that same one-track mind. Some of us can actually look past a dick and see a friend. So why don’t you lay off that Cosmopolitan and fuck off, vodka-cranberry sure ain’t making you brighter”.

Billy frowns, deep lines creasing his forehead.

Frank snorts with laughter, not even bothering to conceal his reaction. 
 
 You hold Dina’s hateful stare.

“Whatever, bitch” the latter one finally utters, throwing her cigarette away. “I never fucking liked you. Maybe after this your little fanboy here will see you for what you really are - a fucking coward and a tosser”, Billy’s stares at her in disbelief, his mind still foggy. Madani’s dark eyes flash dangerously in his direction. “Of all women, Russo... Karma is a bitch, isn’t she? Your little princess here only loves herself, lover. Get out while you fucking can”.

Smashing her shoulder into yours, Madani goes back into the bar, leaving equally dreary and awkward silence behind.

“What the fuck was that all about?” Frank isn’t laughing anymore as he folds his hands on his chest, giving you a questioning eye. 

You roll your eyes dismissively. 

“Well, she’s obviously shit-faced,” you shrug, sliding your hands off of Billy. “What, you’re surprised she hates me?”

It’s a whole another world there, in Billy’s head. Have you just distanced yourself from him after what Madani said? What, you thought he’s so drunk he wouldn’t fucking notice?

“...so just because I have basic restraint and actually appreciate a man as a friend, I’m a damaged bitch with a twisted sense of humour? Look, I don’t know, Frank”, you rub your eyes tiredly with the back of your hand.

“I do,” Billy suddenly chimes in hoarsely, his eyes bloodshot and dark, darker than usual, as they narrow at you. “Know. I know.” Billy stutters, then takes a deep breath. “That’s all I am to you then, sweetheart? A friend?”

Billy wavers a bit as he speaks, but his words are deadly. Your eyes pop wide open at his words, like Russo has just grown a penis on his forehead. Frank’s mouth forms a silent O.

And just like that, the tension is back.

“Well, of course you are my friend,” you say slowly, stretching out your hand in an attempt to grasp Billy’s wrist. Your eyes are searching his face, but he’s locked, like a goddamn prison cell. “You’re my friend and I love you”.

Wrong answer, if Billy’s expression is anything to judge by as he recoils  from your touch. His face is a mix of disappointment and anger, his lips a thin line as he turns away.

“Fucking idiot,” he mutters under his breath as he turns on his heels and makes a tentative step towards the bar. Only his body is ruled by gin and whatever shit he chased it with, so his feet get mixed up together. Billy trips over his own shoes. 

“Hey, easy there, tiger”, Frank, who’s been standing closer, grips Billy by his arm to help him keep his balance. “What’s gotten into you, man?”

Billy chuckles, throwing his head back, and that has got to be the most bitter sound you have ever heard. You shudder involuntary, watching Russo like a hawk.

“I would have given you the fucking world, you know that?” Billy stares you dead in the eye, grabbing the door handle in front of him. “You just keep fucking with my head like a fucking sadist, and I live by the shit you give me!” you blanch as Billy goes on with the program, hurt dripping from his mouth. “Must have always thought that should be some spectacular pussy you’ve been packing, totally worth all your shit”.

“Bill!” Frank calls him out sharply, his expression terrified. 

But the damage is done. 


Your eyes are brimming with tears, but you stay silent, unblinking. Your chest seems a little caved-in, but you hold your chin high as your trembling lips start to move.

“Fuck you, Russo”, you spit, “Fuck you, friend”.

The next thing he knows, Billy explodes in a fit of bitter laughter - even though all he wants to do is fucking cry.

This just goes to fucking show there’s no such thing as Disney fairytale in real life, is there?

“Oh don’t worry, friend, somebody will,” he promises you, swinging the door to the bar wide open. “Gonna go help Madani fulfil her teenage fantasy. While you can stay here, think about us fucking like rabbits and feel better about yourself”.

With those words thrown over his shoulder, he steps into the crowded bar, the sound of the door shutting behind him sounding final. 

Plot twist. Curtain falls.

Frank can’t even venture a look at you - he doesn’t even hear you breathing.

“He’s just piss off drunk, that’s it. He doesn’t mean it,” Castle attempts to do some damage control, even though he knows that that ship has most definitely sailed.

“Thanks, Frank,” he hears you say quietly, and as he raises his eyes, he catches the sight of you wiping your cheeks quickly.

You inhale slowly, closing your eyes and fisting your hands.

“Tell Karen and the guys I wasn’t feeling so hot, okay?” you ask, and there’s definitely pleading in your voice.

You never plead.

Before Frank can ever mutter anything about Karen having his head if he lets you walk away at night all alone, you wave at him dismissively. 

“I’ll see you”, you say as you collect your hair in a ponytail and walk off, your silhouette soon lost in the bustling New York night.

#billy russo x reader #billy russo x you #billy russo #billy russo angst #the punisher imagine #billy russo imagine #billy russo story #billy russo au #the punisher story #the punisher

[goddesswritings]

Sins of Lovers - Colby Brock | Part One

Title: Sins of Lovers – Part One

Pairing: Colby Brock x Reader

Summary: Y/n has had a crush on Colby since middle school and now it’s ten years later when he comes back into her life. He’s back in the most unexpected way and the most unexpected of things happens between the two of them.

Word Count: 4.8 k

Warnings: Cheating parents, divorce, bullying, horrible parenting, moody Colby. 

This is an old fic that I think fits Colby. Enjoy.

MASTERLIST

********

Colby Brock. A guy that had been your crush since eighth grade, when he’d moved to town. There was something about him that called you back to him time and time again. He was a kind soul with a passion for life. He was someone you felt you could get along with.

But his whole attitude changed when the two of you started high school. He quickly became cold and rude. Quickly climbing the social ladder to join ranks with the most popular students in the school. These were the same people who bullied you and your friends.

It should have ended your crush on him, but it didn’t. The crush only seemed to grow as you watched him from afar. You would catch glimpses of the old him from time to time, which gave you hope that he was still in there.

Sophomore year, his attitude worsened, and he grew meaner to the people around him. News got around that his parents had divorced because his dad had been having an affair behind his mother’s back. It was also known she left town and now he was stuck with his father. He began to join in on the bullying, proving his new standing in school. During this time, you still watched him and searched for glimpses of the old Colby. They were becoming far and few.

Junior year, he started dating Paige Marcus, the IT girl of the school. All the boys wanted her and most of the girls wanted to be her. She was your personal tormentor and she had been for years. She’d taken a dislike to you in fourth grade, when you got the lead in the class play that year. That girl hated you more than anyone thought was possible.

It was a real heartbreak the first time you’d seen Colby and Paige walking hand in hand down the hallway. Your smile had faded, and you wanted to just cry. All over a boy who had never taken a notice to you. Especially because you were just some nerdy girl and he was now popular.

One day, you had been late to school, so you had to rush to get to class. As you ran through the hallway to get to class in time. You ran into Colby, literally. You collided hard with his built form, falling onto your ass.

Colby just simply looked down at you and laughed. “You should watch where you’re going, nerd.” He growled when anger flashed through his eyes.

Paige was hanging on his arm and glaring at you, as per usual. “Yeah loser, you really should watch where you’re going. My boyfriend didn’t need to be inconvenienced by you.” What was she? Colby’s parrot?

Paige laughed and kicked my books across the hallway. Colby laughed along with her, and pain flashed through my chest. “There better not be a next time.” He grumbled before stepping over you and walking away with Paige beside him.

Tears welled up in your eyes, misting up your glasses. You had been so embarrassed that day. You’d hoped it would end your crush on him, but it didn’t.

Senior year, Paige set out to personally destroy you at every chance she got. Colby was by her side each time, laughing along with her. That year was absolute hell for you. There was no escape from Paige’s wrath.

The worst day nearly broke you.

It was the middle of January and it had just snowed, making the town a frosty wasteland. There was a fire drill shortly after third period began and everyone was ushered out to the cold.

You stood with your class minding your own business when Paige approached you, dragging you from the other students. You’d struggled against her, not knowing why she had pulled you away.

“What do you want?” You asked while her nails dug into your arm.

“Just teaching you a lesson.” She said as you stopped next to a huge frozen snow bank.

“Why do you have to do this to me, Paige?” You questioned when she stole your glasses from your face. “No, give those back.” You attempted to reach for them, but the blurriness had taken over. As you were about to grab them, she threw them to her friend, Cassie. So you moved to get them from her, but she was keeping you from being able to retrieve them.

“Give me my glasses!” Your voice was loud because you were angry the snickering bitches had stolen them from you.

Suddenly, Cassie dropped them to the ground and stepped on them. A crunch could be heard as she ruined your chance for clear vision.

“Oops, my bad.” Cassie spoke while she continued to wreck your glasses.

“Stop! Why are you doing this?” Tears had begun to gather in your already blurry eyes.

“Oh look, we have a cry baby on our hands.” Paige taunted before pushing you towards the ground.

Your left hand went out to catch you, making contact with the frozen ground before your body weight came crashing down onto it. A sharp pain shot through your wrist, making you cry out as the pain hit. Paige and Cassie were just cracking up the whole time.

The world was blurry around you as you lifted your hand from the ground. Pain radiated through your arm, starting from your wrist.

“What are you guys doing?” A familiar voice cut through the two girls’ laughter. It was Colby and you were afraid he was here to join in on the torture.

“Oh baby, we were just teaching Y/n a lesson.” Paige answered in a supposedly sweet voice, but anyone could hear the venom hidden in her words.

“By breaking her glasses and hurting her?” He suddenly sounded mad.

“It’s just a joke.” Paige tried to sound like it wasn’t as big problem.

“Hurting people isn’t a joke, Paige!” He was yelling now. Then he was beside you, bending down to your level. “Are you okay, Y/n?” You couldn’t really see him all that clearly, but you could tell he was looking at the wrist you were clutching to your chest.

“No, it hurts a lot.” You whimpered as the pain continued to shoot through your arm.

“Okay, let’s get you to the nurse.” He was gentle as he helped you up from the ground.

“Why are you helping her?” Paige was now frustrated.

“She needs help.” He stated as he bent down to pick up your broken glasses from the ground.

“She’s not one of us, Colby, just leave her alone.”

“No, get out of the way.” He pushed by her and Cassie while leading you towards the school. The fire drill was over at this point.

It was quiet between the two of you as he led you through the hallway full of students who were headed back to class.

“Thank you for helping me.” You said to Colby, in a soft voice.

“Don’t mention it. Paige is a bitch a she needs to be put in her place.” He spoke as you walked into the nurses office. Once again, you had seen a glimpse of the old Colby which only proved to you that he was still in there.

You ended up having to go to the hospital, much to your mothers dismay. It was a serious inconvenience for her to leave work to take you to the hospital. She practically yelled the whole drive there. Your broken glasses were another yelling point for her. At the hospital, it was determined your wrist had been broken, which only angered her further. Not that any of it had been your fault, but she claimed you’d been the one to evoke the girls in the first place. Your mother and you weren’t particularly close.

After that incident, Paige and Colby had called it quits and Paige blamed you, of course. The rest of your senior year was pure hell for you, thanks to Paige and her friends.

You were more than happy to get away from there, luckily. You had received a scholarship to a college three hours away and your father’s house was twenty minutes from it, so you stayed with him. College was lonely for you, though. Because you weren’t all that great at making new friends and your father was always away for work, or on vacation with his new wife. A wife who didn’t like you much either.

Throughout it all, your crush on Colby never once faded. You didn’t know if it ever would.

****

10 years from the time you first began to like Colby, you were returning back to your mother’s house. You’d graduated from college and found a job close to her place, and thankfully she was letting you come back. You promised yourself you wouldn’t be there long before you found a place for yourself. You couldn’t help but to feel nervous about being back at her home. It would bring back memories of high school and Colby, but you highly doubted that he still lived in town.

You pulled into your mother’s driveway, staring at the sage green house in front of you. You’d grown up in this house. Your father had once lived in this house with you. The house held so many memories for you. Good and bad.

Sighing, you finally got out of the car and grabbed your bags from the back. You slowly made your way to the front door and let yourself into the house. Immediately, the aroma of cooking food filled your nostrils. Odd. Your mother hated to cook. You put your bags by the stairs and went to the kitchen. You found your mother standing in front of the stove wearing a blue dress. She never wore dresses.

“Hi mom.” You said getting her attention.

She turned around with a huge smile. “Hello honey. How was the drive back?” She had abandoned the stove to pull you into a hug.

“The drive was fine. What are you dressed up for?”

“Oh honey, I’m so excited. I’ve been seeing this man for a few months now and I’ve invited him and his son to dinner to welcome you home.”

This surprised you. Your mother had never successfully dated since your father left her.

“Yes okay, wow. Congrats mom. I look forward to meeting them.” You honestly were.

“I think you will like him, and his son is about your age and just a sweet young man.”

“Well I’m happy for you.”

“Thank you baby. You should go get settled in. They will be here in about an hour.” She then sent you off towards the stairs. The person you were just talking to was definitely not the person she was before you left for college. You purposely didn’t come home to visit all that often because you were afraid of who you would come home to.

After a quick shower, you sat at your counter to do your makeup. You were happy that you no longer had to wear glasses, because two years ago, your dad had gifted you laser surgery as a sorry for never being around. He still wasn’t around after that though, but you learned to expect that from him. After he left, you weren’t really much of a thought in his head.

You decided on a nice purple dress of yours and a pair of flat black booties for your feet and left your room. When you were halfway down the stairs, the doorbell went off.

“Y/n, could you get that?” Your mother asked from the kitchen.

“Yes.” You said, stopping in front of the door.

You flung open the door, instantly panicking as you saw who was on the other side. Colby Brock beside an older man, that must be his father. Your mom was dating his dad.

“Hello, come on in.” You moved out of the way so they could enter the house. Colby’s eyes were glued to you, which sent chills through your body. Oh god, tonight was going to be hell.

Your mother exited the kitchen and pulled Colby’s dad into a kiss. You grimaced and turned away from the scene. “Y/n sweetie, I want you to meet John Brock and his son Colby.” She introduced the men to you.

“I went to high school with Colby.” Colby was way hotter than you remember him being. He was sexy, tall, and muscular. He had this really sexy dyed blue hair upon his head. The man was perfect.

“Oh really? Do you remember her being so clumsy in high school? Her senior year, she broke both her glasses and wrist all in one day.” Your mother’s words made you blush in pure embarrassment.

“If I remember correctly, Y/n had her glasses stolen before she was pushed into a snowbank. So it wasn’t her fault.” Colby defended you, shocking you.

“Oh, looks like you had a friend in high school, Y/n.” You face grew red now.

“I think dinner is done. I’m going to go set the table.” You quickly dismissed yourself and ran off to the kitchen to grab the plates and silverware. You desperately hoped your mom wasn’t going to keep embarrassing you throughout dinner.

You were setting up the plates when your mother entered the room, followed by Colby and his father. You idly wondered if Colby had a girlfriend.  He had to have a girlfriend with how sexy he was.

“Thank you, Y/n. Can you grab the food for us?” She questioned while already being seated next to John.

“I’ll help you.” Colby said while following you into the kitchen. “How are you doing, Y/n?” He questioned.

You pulled the food from the oven and set it on the stove. “I’m alright. Not too thrilled to be back at my moms, but it’s okay.”

“I know what you mean. Living with my dad is hard. But I haven’t seen him much since he’s been seeing your mom.”

You began to put the other food into bowls for the two of you to carry. “How long have they been dating?” Your mother never said a length of time, only that she was dating someone.

“I’m not too sure, but I know it’s been over six months.”

“She kept it a secret from me.” You concluded. To be honest, it hurt that she kept something that big from you.

“My dad is the same, but he’s been that way all my life. I found out about his affair from someone at school. So that should tell you everything you need to know.”

That was rough. “I’m sorry, Colby.”

He just shrugged. “I’m over it now.” But you didn’t know if he was, but you weren’t going to push him.

The both of you carried the food into the dining room, where your mom and his dad were deep in conversation. The two of them looked up when you entered the room. You placed the food onto the table and took your seats, which happened to be right next to each other. Your mom and his dad were on one side and you and Colby were on the other.

You were still in shock that your crush was right here in front of you. You were double shocked that your mom was dating his dad. How in the world did that happen?

“It’s good to have you home, Y/n.” Your mom said as you started to plate the food.

“Thanks mom. It’s good to be home.” You didn’t know how truthful she was being though because the two of you haven’t gotten along for all of your life. She’s blamed you for your dad leaving and treated you like crap for it.

Dinner went on like that, with idle conversation and moments of silence. Truth be told, it was awkward as hell. You kept stealing glances at Colby, to find him pushing his food around before he would glance your way as well. You would always look away while a light blush appeared on your face.

“Alright kids, now that we have finished dinner, we wanted to talk to you about something.” John said once all the plates had been cleared.

“Sure.” Colby said, while you just nodded.

“We wanted to take a family vacation, so we can get to know each other’s family. So we booked a vacation to Boca Raton for a week.” Your mom said catching the two of you off guard.

“Oh, okay. But you know I have a job to start, right?” You stated.

“Yes sweetie, I know your job doesn’t start until next month and we leave in two days.”

“Great.” Colby’s voice was void of emotions. Like you, he wasn’t thrilled about your parents attempts to mesh the families together.

“You don’t sound too thrilled about this, Colby.” John noticed.

“I’m not. I’m being forced to get to know your new girlfriend and her daughter when I would rather not be involved. It’s not going to go anywhere, just liked the rest of them. You will probably cheat again.”

His words were harsh, but you could definitely see where he was coming from. But you couldn’t help but feel he had a dislike for you simply because your mom was dating his dad.

“That’s where you are wrong. I love Susanne and we are going to make this work whether you like it or not.” John was defensive against his moody son.

“Whatever you say. Are we finished here? I have somewhere to be.” He pushed his chair from the table and got up.

“I’m sorry, Sue, I don’t know where he got the attitude from. I promise he will be better on the trip.” You just rolled my eyes and stood up and started gathering the empty plates. Your mother followed John and Colby out while you started to clean up.

You were washing the dishes, when your mother entered the kitchen behind you.

“So Y/n, did you like John?” She questioned while you glanced over at her.

“I don’t know him enough to know whether I do or not.” You said truthfully.

“Well you should like him. He makes me happy and I’m in love with him.”

A sick feeling formed in your stomach.

“How long have you two been dating?” You needed to know how long she kept it a secret from you.

“Ten months.”

“You kept it a secret from me for 10 months!” You raised your voice as the anger took over. You put the sponge down and turned to face her.

“Yes, we didn’t talk much, and I didn’t think it was that big of a thing to keep from you. Besides, you were busy with college and whatever else you were doing at your fathers, I didn’t want to bother you.”

Her excuse was pure bullshit to you. “Save the shitty excuse and admit you didn’t think about telling me.” You growled turning away from her.

“What? No honey, why would you think that. You’re my daughter and you mean a lot to me.”

Once again you faced her, “I mean a lot to you? That’s a fucking lie. You blamed me all my life for my father leaving you, but you didn’t stop to think about that fact that he left me too. You made my life hell because you weren’t happy with yours. What kind of mother does that?”

She just laughed it off. “You’re overexaggerating it. Now finish the dishes, I’m going to relax.” Before you could say another word, she was out the door.

****

Two days later, you were sitting in an airport, with Colby beside you and both your parents in some seats across from you. Both of you were equally unhappy to be here, while both parents acted like lovebirds. It was honestly gross to watch.

“Holy fuck, do they ever stop.” You groaned, taking your eyes away from them.

“Nope, they are constantly all over each other.” Colby stated looking down at his phone. “You seem angry.” He noticed.

“I am.” You grumbled, thinking about the conversation you had with your mother the other day. Like always, she managed to make you feel like shit instead of acknowledging her wrong doings.

“What did she do?” His focus was now strictly on you.

“She didn’t think telling me about her new boyfriend was important. She practically admitted to forgetting I existed once I was out of the house. Growing up with her as my mother was hell and she has never once apologized for the shit she did to me. For years, she blamed me for her and my fathers divorce. I was 4 when they divorced.” You said making sure your voice was low, so she wouldn’t hear it.

Colby was silent for a little while. “That’s horrible. What kind of mother blames their child for a divorce?”

“Mine apparently. Now she wants to suddenly act like it didn’t happen.”

“Well I think that’s bullshit. I can see right through them, you know. They are just using each other for company. My father has never been able to be faithful, every woman he has dated were all just an excuse to have some fun. He also resents my mom for moving on from him and marrying someone whose better to her.”

“That’s fucked.”

“You’re telling me. My father is immune to commitment.”

“We have some fucked up parents.” He nodded and sent a glare to both your parents who were giggling to themselves.

The flight was called shortly after that, so the two of you followed your parents onto the plane. Colby and you were going to be sitting next to complete strangers, while your parents snuggled up together. It was not fun. Your flight was annoying, because the middle-aged man beside you kept checking you out and trying to talk to you, despite you politely telling him you weren’t interested in conversing. It was complete hell.

Arriving in Boca Raton was a godsend because you couldn’t stand being next to this guy anymore. The last half hour of the flight, he spent it trying to guess your name and persuade your number out of you. You were seconds away from punching him, but luckily the plane landed, and you were able to get out of there quickly. Colby sent you a look as you exited the plane, you just grumbled under your breath.

“Well that flight was wonderful, wasn’t it kids?” Your mother asked as John waited for the luggage to come around.

“Fuck no. That was the worst flight I have ever taken.” You said, holding your anger back.

“Oh sweetie, lighten up. We’re on vacation.” Her words sparked even more anger.

“The old guy next to me kept hitting on me and wouldn’t shut the fuck up the whole flight.”

“Watch your language.” Was all she said before she strolled up to stand beside John.

Colby just chuckled from beside you. You sent him a glare and walked away from the group. You didn’t want to be here with them. You didn’t want to spend a whole week with your mom and her boyfriend that you knew nothing about. You didn’t want to spend the whole week pining over Colby when you knew he would never like you the way you liked him. He and you were still in completely different circles and he liked his women blonde and gorgeous. You were anything but that. Okay maybe you’re pretty, but you still thought of yourself as the nerd from high school and you didn’t doubt he did as well.

John and your mother ushered all of you to a rental car, and you were off to the hotel. Colby and you were in the back, silently sitting beside each other. He was on his phone, probably talking to a girlfriend or something.

“Oh, I almost forgot. John upgraded his and I’s room to a suite, but you and Colby will be sharing a regular room.” Your mother said with a huge smile on her face.

“That’s great.” Colby grumbled from beside you, voicing your thoughts out loud.

“Don’t sound so sad. It will be good for you to get to know each other.” John stated sternly, showing authority over Colby.

“Sure, whatever.” Colby said under his breath. you hid your smirk from his words. He nudged your side when he saw that.

You were nervous as hell now. You would be sharing a room with Colby. The man you’ve had a crush on for nearly 10 years. This was going to be one hell of an experience; you were sure of it.

The car pulled up to the hotel, which was this huge building that looked like it had been here for a while. It was beautiful and right on the beach as well. It was surely a resort and perhaps it wouldn’t be a horrible place to stay. But your nerves were still on edge about this whole vacation. Your moms attachment to Colby’s dad scared you.

Colby and you were given the keycards to the room before your parents left both of you alone to fend for yourselves. Honestly, their behavior was disgusting to you.

“Let’s get to our room I guess.” Colby grumbled, picking up his suitcase and heading towards the elevators in the opposite direction of where our parents had gone. You quickly grabbed yours and followed after him.

The two of you stepped into a gold-plated elevator and he hit the eighth floor, where your room was located. You felt like he was resenting you, because he would have to spend the whole week with you.

“I’m sorry that you have to stay with me.” You mumbled as the elevator moved up floor by floor.

The angry scowl left his face as he glanced towards you. “No, I don’t mind staying with you. I’m mad at our parents for just springing all of this onto us last minute.”

You let out a sigh of relief when he said this. You really thought he hated you or something.

“Oh, I thought you hated me.” You admitted while looking towards the carpeted floor of the elevator.

“I don’t hate you, Y/n. I haven’t ever really hated you, even when I was dating Paige.” His words surprised you.

“Really? Then why was I treated like crap when you dated her?” There was no way he didn’t hate you then.

“Because Paige was always a huge bitch and blackmailed me into treating you that way.”

“Oh, well it’s okay then.”

He shook his head. “It’s not okay at all really. I should have never done some of the things I have done. But I was horrible in high school after my parents’ divorce.”

“Well it’s good to know you didn’t and don’t hate me. Also, don’t blame yourself for the way you acted as a result of the divorce. It was traumatic to you and you only did what helped you feel better.”

“I guess so. I wish I could take so much back.”

“That’s impossible, but you can continue to be a better person from now into the future.” It wasn’t good that he was beating himself up over the past.

He sent you a kind smile. “You’re right. Thank you for that, Y/n.”

You sent him a smile as well. “No problem. Now, should we get this vacation started?” You questioned as the two of you stopped in front of the door to the room.

Colby opened the door and the two of you entered the room. It was a surprisingly nice room for it being a regular room. There was two queen sized beds, covered in crème sheets and comfy looking pillows. There was a decently sized sitting area with a nice flat screen TV. The bathroom was gorgeous, with a huge, jetted tub and a beautiful walk-in shower. The best part was the private balcony we had that overlooked the beautiful blue ocean. Staying here wasn’t going to be so bad.

“This is way nicer than I expected.” He spoke your thoughts.

“Yes, I agree. But this is an upscale hotel.” You stated as you set your bags down on one of the two beds. The beds looked so comfy, you wanted to just take a nap at the moment.

“True.” He answered when his phone went off. He was silent as he checked it. “Our parents want us to meet up in the Lobby at 7 for dinner.” His voice was flat when he mentioned the parents.

“Oh great. Well, that means there’s time for a nap.” You moved your bags from the bed and pulled your shoes off. You pulled back the covers and got into the comfy bed. Your body was in bliss the minute you laid down on the bed. It was absolutely perfect. Your eyes grew heavy as soon as your head hit the pillow. The nap was much needed.

PART TWO >>

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[chandelier-s-notebook]

Chapter 8

Let me know if you wanna get tagged when I post new chapters in “These Streets Are Made For Walking”. @sleepysnails.

Ao3 Link

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It’s the next Wednesday when the Foster Bitch climbed the stairs up to Techno’s room. Knocking on the doorframe twice, she entered without waiting for an answer.

“Tommy hasn’t been to school all week, and the school called about unexcused absences.” She frowned at him. “You share a room with him, and don’t you drive him to school? Where is he?”

Techno threw his earbuds on his bedside table. “No idea Ma’am. I haven’t seen him since you sent him to pick me up from the station last Thursday. He woke up early and took the bus. I figured he was mad at me and at Tubbo’s. Dream’s been suspended for the incident, so I couldn’t exactly ask him.”

“Don’t you have his number?” she asked in an accusatory tone.

“Yes. But you confiscated his phone two weeks ago.”

“Oh.” She seemed to be taken aback for a second. “Shouldn’t you have Dream’s?”

“That’s for work. Like I said, I thought Tommy was at Tubbo’s. I didn’t think anything was wrong.”

“Mr. Richmon is in the kitchen.”

Ranboo’s dad. “Oh fuck.” Techno rolled out of his bed. He honestly would rather stay on his phone, but she was clearly offloading this on him, and Techno was going to make sure Tommy still had friends. Going to Ranboo’s was the best dinner Tommy ever gets. He doesn’t eat that much when he’s over, because he’ll just vomit it up, but the leftovers he takes back last the two of them a good week. Tommy may not want to be a bother and use up their resources, but Techno knows that he thinks of those leftovers as paying Techno back for everything he does.

Techno rushed down the stairs, jumping two at a time. The old stairs creaked as his feet hit their tops, the planks bending under his weight. In a moment of hesitation Techno stopped suddenly, sliding a little on his socks. He took a moment to collect himself, before making his way into the kitchen.

“Mr. Richmon,” greeted the Foster Bitch appearing next to him. “This is Techno, he’s probably the closest person to your son as Tommy hasn’t been around lately.”

“We’ve crossed paths,” Techno said, straightening his tee-shirt collar.

“Parent teacher interviews, was it?” Mr. Richmon asked, sending a little glare to the Foster Bitch and offering Techno his hand.

His grip was firm, but Techno’s was comparable. “What brings you here?”

“I haven’t seen my son since Friday.”

“Oh.”

“I’ve been calling him in absent for a prolonged family issue, but I am well aware of the company he keeps.” Mr. Richmon kept his tone light, but the accusation is heard loud and clear as he pulls out a chair for himself.

Techno tips his head in understanding. “His friends aren’t that bad,” he defends. “But I understand your concern with Tubbo and Purpled’s brothers.”

Mr. Richmon gestures to Techno, “And Tommy’s.”

“I’m not Tommy’s brother. This is a group home. We aren’t related,” he dismissed immediately. “The other guys are blood though.”

Both the Foster Bitch and Mr. Richmon gave him weird looks at his comment.

Techno took them in stride. So what? He knows he’s lying to himself more than he’s trying to convince them. “I can ask Dream and Punz if they know anything,” Techno suggested. “I assume you don’t want to be seen with them?”

Mr. Richmon nodded. “Of course not. This place is dingy enough.”

The Foster Bitch looks affronted, but Techno shushed her with a look. “I’ll try to find your son, but might I recommend going to the police.”

“The less the police know the better,” Mr. Richmon said like it was a mantra of his.

Techno nodded, already trying to figure out how he was going to deal with this. He was the getaway driver who did his homework. Sure he knew a few things, but he didn’t have any street skills. He remembered the purple hoodie at the gas station; he might have wanted to stay oblivious, but he knew who he saw.

Techno and Mr. Richmon left the house at the same time. They got into their respective cars and they drove in opposite directions. Techno headed to Punz’s place--might as well check if they were there. Techno honestly doesn’t know why he had Punz’s key on his lanyard, but due to it he didn’t bother needing to knock.

“Techno’s here!” he shouted; can’t ever be too careful at the mercenary’s house. He doesn’t hear anything back, and since anyone who could possibly be here would shout back in greeting, he assumed that the place was empty. But it doesn’t hurt to check around.

The thing about Punz and his profession is that he had to keep tabs on his targets, and the way he practiced and kept his skills sharp was by keeping tabs on his close associates. Therefore, he normally knows when people plan to stop by.

Techno walked into the living room and found a sticky note on the family computer. “Initiation collateral. Alive,” he reads.

Techno moved the mouse and the screen opened up to an article on one of the dark web sites. “New Las Nevadas Member: Merc. Punz’s Baby Bro.” He quickly scrolled down to the cover photo: open white van doors with Purpled and Tommy grappling on the ground, Ranboo and Tubbo nowhere to be seen. “Shit.”

As he skims the article he pulls out his phone and calls Dream.

He picked up on the second ring. “Hello?”

“Tommy’s for sure not sleeping at your place is he?” he asked, concern evident in his voice.

“For sure? Is everything okay?”

“No. Is Tommy there?” Techno pressed.

“No, and Tubbo hasn’t checked in with me for a while.”

“Shit. Shit. Shit.” Techno lifted his shoulder, trapping the phone there so that both of his hands were free. He scrolled back up to see the picture again, confirmation that it was, in fact, real. He let out an unsteady breath, and shook out his hands.

“Why? What happened?” Dream’s voice picked up anxiously. “Did you hear something?”

“Yeah. So did Punz.” Techno took a deep breath. “Did he tell you anything?”

“I haven’t spoken to Punz in about a month,” Dream said.

“Mr. Richmon came by the home asking for his son.”

“The kids aren’t at Ranboo’s?” Dream asked, concern hardening his tone.

“Nope. Purpled’s on the news. The way that you’re on the news.”

The line was silent. “Fuck.” The sound of something breaking echoed down the line. “That’s. Bad.”

“Hope its ransom.”

There was a rustle on Dream’s end of the line, as if he was moving something. “Fuck. I’ll look into it. What did Purp get into?”

“Las Nevadas.”

“Fuck. Purpled. Why? What did Mr. Richmon say?”

“That Ranboo was missing and that he came to me because you and Punz live in too much of a shithole for him to visit.”

“I don’t live in a shithole!”

“This place is dingy enough, were his exact words.”

“Ouch.”

It’s been a week. Tubbo, Ranboo, and Tommy were thrown into the same room. It’s objectively a nice room, but a prison is still a prison no matter how lavish the cell. The beds were really comfortable, but it was barren besides them.

They don’t see Purpled again, instead Fundy Soot is the one to bring them their three meals a day. You’d think that one could never get sick of pizza, but eventually--especially with the mood so sour--there comes a breaking point.

“Did someone order a meat-lovers?” The door opens and Fundy is inside the room with three cardboard plates, two slices on each. “Your dinner is here.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Tommy said digging into his slices.

“No, I don’t think I will.” Fundy smiles vindictively. Sue him, he hates babysitting duty. “Who’s gonna shut me up? Your brother?” he asks, looking at Tubbo. “That little amateur couldn’t do anything. Petty thieving is the highest form of sin you know?” Fundy said like he was reciting something.

“Shut the fuck up,” Tommy repeated, noticing how Tubbo froze.

“You too? What’s your brother going to do? He’s just the fucking getaway driver. He can’t help you. Big Brother Techno Blade isn’t as strong as you think he is, little Tommy.”

“Shut the fuck up!” Tommy shouted. “Techno may be friends with Dream, but he’s not doing that shit.”

“Didn’t you pick him up from the station? You’re lying to yourself. You know that Techno is in with Dream.”

“No he’s not! And don’t you have something better to do with your time? College or some shit?”

Fundy chuckled humourlessly. “The faster you eat, the faster I’m out of your room.”

Tommy glared and shoved a whole slice into his mouth.

“No one’s coming to save you,” he taunted.

“Shut up.”

“Don’t speak with your mouth full. We sent the ransom video,” he said moving onwards. “Instead Mr. Richmon hired Techno and Dream for free. Seems Daddy doesn’t care about his son enough to save you immediately.”

That’s the point that Tubbo broke. Tubbo could take a verbal bashing; Tommy would be pissed if he attacked on his behalf; but Ranboo? Ranboo was the most innocent here and didn’t need familial jabs.

Tubbo lurched from his bed and swung at Fundy Soot, sending him down to the floor. “Where the fuck is your big brother? He fucking failed you if you had to get dragged in the life style to survive.” Tubbo punched Fundy again after he was down. “Where is he huh? At least my brother managed to keep me out of this shit.”

Tommy rushes over to pull Tubbo back. “Shh. Shh. We can’t afford this. He's top dog here.”

Fundy laid on the floor, arms out and protecting his face.

“We’re done eating,” Tommy growls. “Get out.”

Ranboo, thoroughly shaken, picks up the plates and puts them in Fundy’s hands, standing in between the two groups so Fundy couldn’t retaliate. If any of them needed to come out of this looking pretty it’s him: the rich boy.

#Technoblade #Dreamwastaken #TommyInnit #Tubbo #Ranboo #Fundy #These Streets Are Made For Walking

[bibuckbuckley]

Born this way with Alex

I’m sorry this took me a few days but thank you so much for the prompt! Also, this did not mean to be so long. Oops. Anyways. Hope you enjoy :)

Warning: Mentions of past homophobia. 

                                                  ______

                                        Born This Way

                                                  ______

Alex was wandering in the hallways of Los Feliz HIgh School after supporting Julie on her first performance in her music class without them. The rest of the band had performed with her at her school a couple of more times after their first time for pep rallies and dances. The principal tried to book them as much as she could to show that the new breakout band, Julie and The Phantoms, who were now starting to perform at big venues, like the Orpheum, were discovered at her school. He always couldn’t help but be amused by that. 

For a big part of her final grade for her semester, Julie had to perform by herself. Reggie had been confused as to why she was nervous of singing solo in her high school class when she had already sung solo in the Orpheum of all places. But Alex understood. Not only did he have anxiety about practically everything, but doing things that had a lot of emotional weight to them even when you seemed to be getting passed them could be very nerve-wracking. And even though all three of them had the urge to perform with her, they knew that they couldn’t and that she’d completely kill it anyways. Which she did, of course.

After the class was over, Julie had her free period. But, instead of spending it with the boys and Flynn, she and Luke wanted some ‘alone’ time together. Meanwhile, Flynn had a marketing team meeting for the band, which now had at least eight members from the school and a lot more clamoring for the chance to be a part of it. And Reggie was so excited and happy for Julie that he couldn't help but want to tell Ray right away. And unlike before, Julie’s dad could now see them and respond back to him.

Whatever Julie did to save their souls from being obliterated into existence, not only made her be able to touch them all, but made them able to show themselves to lifers without just performing with her. Usually they had to be with Julie in order for lifers to see them, but if they had a bond with a lifer, like the guys did with Flynn and Julie’s family, then they could see them without Julie. But they still didn’t show themselves to lifers very much.

Alex especially didn’t.

He wanted to focus more on trying to figure just how this was all possible. He and Willie came up with different theories, but nothing too concrete yet.

Besides, he kinda liked being invisible. He could be his full self and still be in front of lifers without worrying about what they were thinking about him. Like Willie had mentioned that day at the museum, being a drummer had not only helped him with his anxieties and frustrations, but helped him feel confident and be his full self in front of an entire crowd of people. And being a ghost gave him that same freedom, they just couldn’t see him. And he was okay with that, for the most part.

It actually sorta liberated him in a way.

Alex could do whatever he wanted in front of someone and he didn’t have to worry about their responses. Like that time when he danced on stage with Carrie. He had felt so free, like he could do whatever he wanted and just be. Of course his band could see him when he did it. And even though he just knew Julie for a short time, he knew he didn’t have to worry about her and the guys judging him or seeing him differently.

Like his family had.

Even after apparently 25 years of being dead, it still was only less than a year for Alex when he came out to his family. And they never treated him the same since. He used to remind himself that he was lucky. They didn’t say anything demeaning to him and kicked him out or anything like that. Heck, they even still let Sunset Curve have their studio in the back of the house.

But they still acted differently toward him after that fateful night.

In retrospect, he supposed that having the guys there as support for him might’ve not been the best approach, especially the way his parents had looked at him and Luke sitting next to each other. But Alex didn’t care, because he knew that he wouldn’t have done it without the band. Maybe he would have later on, but given the fact that just six months later he would die of an oldsmobile street dog, who knows if he would’ve gotten another chance.

And Alex was glad that he did it when he did.

Of course it stung when his parents would treat him so...differently. It was sometimes hard to even explain it. Sometimes they’d give him these strange looks whenever they didn’t think that he was looking. Like he was this weird alien living in their house, and not the son that they had raised and loved for seventeen years. And they also stopped inviting him to places and family outings, even assuming that he wouldn’t want to go to church anymore. And even when he wanted to, they heavily implied that they didn’t want him to go, always using the excuse, “Don’t you want to practice more with your band?”

However, as he and the guys would always say, it was on them and not him for thinking anything of him any less than the same boy they knew who was anxious about everything and allergic to nuts. It wasn’t his fault that they had seen him differently just because they found out that he liked boys instead of girls.

Besides, he had his real family now.

And even though he was...you know...dead, after everything he and the band went through, Alex was happy.

And as far as ghosts went, he had a pretty sweet deal. Unlike most ghosts, he could still connect with lifers, and in the best way too. That connection he’d feel with the audience while he’d rock out on his drums as he and the band would play the best musical experiences? Priceless. But he also just liked being a ghost in general. He could be in a crowd of lifers and do what he wanted, not having to worry about their judgments or what they’d think of him. He also liked to watch people and make faces or do silly dances in front of them because he could. As he said earlier, there was a sort of freedom in all of it.

However, there was that part deep down inside of him that felt like part of the reason why he liked being invisible was because that way lifers couldn’t disappoint him by not appreciating who he was whenever he wasn’t rocking out.

Alex immediately pushed those thoughts away and continued to People Watch as he wandered the hallways some more. It really was a cool thing to be a ghost and see people during moments where they normally weren’t seen.

Suddenly, he heard music with a great pop beat start to play from one of the rooms ahead. Curiosity taking over, he poofed in front of the door, and saw that it was the dance room that Julie and Flynn had talked about before. It was empty except for one person in the middle of the giant space seeming to be dancing in freestyle.

It didn’t take long for Alex to realize that the person was Carrie, Julie’s ex-best friend turned enemy turned back to sorta friend now? He was a little confused and fuzzy on the details. All he knew was that her and Julie and Flynn seemed to be, or at least on their way of becoming, good with each other again. She also found out about the Phantoms being...well actual phantoms, but to everyone’s surprise, she promised not to say anything.

Especially considering who her dad was.

Carrie couldn’t see them without Julie being in the same room, so she didn’t notice Alex’s arrival. Instead she danced to the infectious beat that he couldn’t help but move his feet a bit to.

She then started to sing along to the voice of the song coming from her phone.

My mama told me when I was young

"We are all born superstars"

She rolled my hair and put my lipstick on

In the glass of her boudoir

From his spot near the door, his legs and arms started to move with the music as well.

"There's nothing wrong with loving who you are"

She said, "'Cause he made you perfect, babe"

He stopped for a moment, struck by the lyrics.

"So hold your head up, girl, and you'll go far

Listen to me when I say"

The beat then started to get a little faster, making him start to move his body again, this time faster and more of actual dancing. Carrie then began to sing louder.

I'm beautiful in my way

'Cause God makes no mistakes

I'm on the right track, baby

I was born this way

Don't hide yourself in regret

Just love yourself, and you're set

I'm on the right track, baby

I was born this way (Born this way)

A strange sensation formed within him as he danced to the rhythm and listened to the lyrics. It was mostly like the feelings he’d get when he found a new favorite song or jammed to an old favorite. But this. This felt slightly...different in a way. But a great different. One that made his feet and entire body move with the music, as he danced further into the room.

Don't be a drag, just be a queen, Carrie sang putting one hand on her hip and the other in the air, similar to how she did in her previous performances.

Don't be a drag, just be a queen

Alex mimed her movement, feeling completely consumed by the song.

Don't be a drag, just be a queen

Don't be (Don't be, don't be)

The tempo then slowed just a bit, probably going to the next verse, he figured.

Give yourself prudence and love your friends

Subway kid, rejoice your truth

In the religion of the insecure

I must be myself, respect my youth

A different lover is not a sin

Believe capital H-I-M, hey, hey, hey

I love my life, I love this record and

Mi amore vole fe yah (Same DNA)

Tears formed in his eyes at the words, feeling like the song was talking directly to him, considering what he was just thinking about with his parents. Alex then lifted his hands up in the air, completely feeling the moment. He continued to dance like no one was watching - and literally no one was.

I'm beautiful in my way

'Cause God makes no mistakes

Alex had started to sing along with Carrie and the beautiful voice on her phone, closing his eyes and completely letting the magic of the music consume him.

I'm on the right track, baby

I was born this way

Don't hide yourself in regret

Just love yourself, and you're set

I'm on the right track, baby

I was born this way (Born this way)

Suddenly a loud shriek made Alex quickly open his eyes. Carrie was looking him straight in the eye through the mirror, one hand on her heart and one on her hip, anger seeming to simmer out of her.

“Hey, Casper, you can’t just sneak up on a girl like that!” She exclaimed with a hiss before rushing to get her phone that was in front of the mirror along with her bag. She then turned the music off, making Alex instantly miss it.

He put his hands up in surrender. “Sorry! I didn’t think you could see me!”

Carrie looked at him again and placed both of her hands on her hips this time, sending a deathly glare at him. “Oh. So you were just being a creeper who didn’t think you would get caught, is that?”

“No, no no!” Alex quickly replied, shaking his head and hands frantically. “It wasn’t anything like that, I swear! Trust me.”

She seemed to study him for a moment before giving him an expectant look. “Then what was it like?”

Alex shoved his hands in his pockets and then shyly told her, “I watched Julie’s performance during music class and was just wandering the halls when I heard the song you were playing.”

Her eyes immediately perked at that as a smile spread her face. “You like Gaga?”

He gave her a confused look, though the name sounded vaguely familiar. “What’s a ‘Gaga’?” He asked, using air quotes for the last word.

Carrie stared at him in disbelief. “You don’t know who Lady Gaga is? She’s an icon!”

“Is she some kind of royal who sings killer pop songs?”

She seemed to think about it for a moment before nodding. “Well basically yes. Just not in the kind of royal you’re thinking of. A much more important one.”

“So she’s like pop royalty?” He asked.

“Absolutely.” She then pursed her lips. “I’m actually kinda surprised that Julie or Flynn hasn’t introduced you to her yet. They both love her almost as much as I do.”

Alex thought about it for a moment. “Actually, come to think of it, I think they mentioned her before but I was too afraid to ask what in the world a gaga was.”

Carrie shrugged. “Well now you know.”

An awkward silence passed between them.

“So…” she began to say, breaking the silence first, “that was your first time hearing Born This Way or Gaga in general, right?”

He nodded.

“Did you like it?”

“It was amazing! I haven’t felt so connected to a song that wasn’t our band’s in quite a while.” He felt himself start to get a little emotional thinking about the lyrics and just the song in general, and how it made him feel. It was always an amazing thing when a song could touch your soul like that. Especially when it played right when you needed it.

Carrie smiled, seeming to have a knowing glint in her eye. “Yeah. Gaga can do that to you.”

“Yeah.” He smiled back. “I guess I was feeling it so much while singing and dancing to it along with you that it made you able to see me.”

“Damn.” She began to say in awe. “I knew Lady Gaga was powerful, but wow.”

Her saying that reminded him of the first song he heard her sing. “Hey, that reminds me. I like that song that you sang at that pep rally before our band sang for the first time. The one where you said ‘Wow’ a lot.”

Her eyes lit up again at that. “You mean “Wow”?”

“Yeah! And I like all of the other ones Dirty Candy sang too.” He then placed his hand around his cheek like he was telling her a secret. “But All Eyes On Me is my personal favorite.”

“You like my music?” She asked, pleasantly surprised.

“Absolutely! They always bring my inner ‘Dancing Queen’ out, as what my friends like to call it.”

She let out a small laugh. “Thank you.” Carrie smiled brightly at him. “You know, Gaga is one of my many influences. I listen to her as a warm up every time to help get me inspiration for my new song or choreo.”

“That’s so cool.”

“Wanna dance to her some more?”

He gave her a bright smile and nodded so vehemently that he thought his head was going to pop up. “Yes please!”

She clasped her hands together. “Great! Then I can give you a list of her songs that you have to check out first. Got it?”

“Got it.”

Carrie then went back to her phone and played where the song left off.

Ooh, there ain't no other way

Baby, I was born this way

Baby, I was born this way (Born this way)

They sang and danced with all the energy they had.

Ooh, there ain't no other way

Baby, I was born this way

Right track, baby

They both then sang at the top of their lungs, “I was born this way!”

***

A couple hours later, Alex met up with Willie, having a giant pep in his step and gave his boyfriend a giant smile that was even wider than usual.

“Hey, Hotdog! Someone seems more chipper than usual.”

Alex waved a casually dismissive hand, “Oh it’s nothing.”

He felt a little insecure about telling Willie about his latest music discovery and how much it helped him. Even though he knew that his boyfriend not only knew how much music meant to him, but would never demean things that made him happy.

“It doesn’t seem like nothing. What is it?’ Willie asked, giving him a soft and encouraging smile.

“Oh, it’s just that I found this new song and artist.” Alex shyly began to say.

His boyfriend’s smile grew. “Yeah?”

Alex shoved his hands in his pockets and began to kick the air in front of him. “Have you heard of Lady Gaga?”

Willie laughed, “Yeah I’ve heard of Gaga.” Instant fear shot up within Alex. “She’s great, right?”

The fear dissipated and turned into a sense of relief. He didn’t know why it mattered to him so much if Willie liked this Lady Gaga person. Hell, there were artists and songs that Willie liked that Alex didn’t and vice versa. And it was the same with his band, although they’d often end up having good-natured arguments about it. So why was this any different?

Alex nodded. “Yeah. I really like her songs I’ve heard so far.”

He gave him another encouraging smile. “Yeah, which ones?”

“Well, I like all of them. But Born This Way was the first one I heard and it’s my favorite.”

Willie’s smile brightened. “Yeah, mine too.” He then placed his hand on top of Alex’s. “Here follow me.”

Confused as to what was happening, Alex followed Willie, hands firmly intact, as they headed further down the boardwalk. They then stopped at more of a private part of the beach that seemed to be having some sort of event.  

“I heard that someone was having a wedding tonight and I wanted to take you.”

“A-a wedding? Why-why would you want to-to take m-me to a wed-wedding?” Alex stammered and mentally scolded himself for acting like such an idiot.

Willie chuckled. “Relax, Hotdog. I love going to weddings as a ghost.”

“To skate?”

“I do skate, yeah. But I go because I love to see all of the different kinds of people that attend and the drama that no one sees. But mostly I like to see what kind of music they have.” He waggled his brow mischievously. “And if it’s a DJ or DJ system I like to mess with the lifers and put on random songs to see everyone’s reactions.”

It was Alex’s turn to chuckle. “That actually sounds really fun.”

Willy’s smile brightened even more. “I thought you would think so. That’s why I brought you here.” He squeezed his hand three times, making Alex’s ghost heart skip a beat. “Let’s go!” He then pulled Alex with him further into the wedding reception.

They stopped in the middle of the dancefloor, where there were a few lifers slow dancing. Alex gulped, waiting for them to slow dance as well. Willie then pointed to the DJ setup and snapped his hand. Suddenly the beat of a song that Alex may or may not have listened to at least three times that day, started to fill the speakers.

Alex felt his lips spread into a giant smile once more and laughed when he noticed the shocked reactions on the wedding’s patrons' faces from the sudden song change.

“Thought you might like that.” Willy announced proudly, giving him a soft look.

They then noticed how the patrons were now starting to dance to the song, making even more people coming up to the dance floor.

Alex was the first to start dancing, WIlly immediately following right after.

There were some moments where they danced next to each other, and other where their hands would collide and they’d do different moves like swinging each other around. Sometimes they would go through the lifers or dance around them. But all the while they were singing at the top of their lungs as well.

Don't be a drag, just be a queen

Whether you're broke or evergreen

You're black, white, beige, cholo descent

You're Lebanese, you're orient

Whether life's disabilities

Left you outcast, bullied, or teased

Rejoice and love yourself today

Dancing next to each other again, they both then turned to one another, grabbed the other’s hands, and softly sang, “'Cause baby, you were born this way”

They then went back to belting it out at the top of their lungs.

No matter gay, straight, or bi

Lesbian, transgender life

I'm on the right track, baby

I was born to survive

No matter black, white, or beige

Chola or orient made

I'm on the right track, baby

I was born to be brave!

Alex shouted the last part as loud as he could, throwing an arm in the air.

I'm beautiful in my way

'Cause God makes no mistakes

I'm on the right track, baby

I was born this way

Don't hide yourself in regret

Just love yourself, and you're set

I'm on the right track, baby

I was born this way, yeah

They continued to dance and sing, having the time of their ghost lives.

Once the song was getting to the end, the two boys latched their hands together and started to sing the rest to each other.

Ooh, there ain't no other way

Baby, I was born this way

Baby, I was born this way (Born this way)

Ooh, there ain't no other way

Baby, I was born this way

Right track, baby

I was born this way

I was born this way, hey

I was born this way, hey

I'm on the right track, baby

I was born this way

They then leaned closer to each other for the last part.

I was born this way, hey

I was born this way, hey

I'm on the right track, baby

They sang softly to each other, their lips only a few inches apart.

“I was born this way, hey!”

And then their lips collided, their giant smiles remaining.

#julie and the phantoms #alex #alex molina #willex #carrie wilson #willie #jatp fic #kj gets a prompt #my writing #kj's writing #again thank you so much #i'm not sure about

[bitchoftheclouds]

Songs that make me think of a relationship with the Obey Me! brothers (Part 1)

Hey guys! So these are just songs that make me imagine a relationship with each of the brothers. I came up with this concept AGES ago but I finally started working on it. I give like detailed lyric by lyric explanation of why I think so with specific lyrics from the songs. Written from a gn!reader perspective, even if the songs reference a specific gender. Hope you guys like it ♥ 

DISCLAIMER: this only includes SATAN, ASMO, LUCIFER AND MAMMON. Beel, Belphie and Levi I am still working on, so I will make a PART 2 some time later and add them too! I was really excited to post it so I figured I would just share the ones I have already finished so far :)

Songs/descriptions after the cut!

Satan: Take Me to Church by Hozier

This song just instantly struck me as a Satan/MC song when I was listening to it. It just sorta seems to me to be from Satan’s POV. It’s how he views MC as this beautiful person who’s charming, funny and all around heavenly to him. 

my lover’s got humour she’s the giggle at a funeral

This just refers to how Satan feels like MC has a way to make everything around them lively and to make him smile/laugh. There’s not much that can break through Satan’s shell or spark his interest. But when MC is around him, he feels like he can breathe, he can laugh.

knows everybody’s disapproval should have worshipped her sooner

This line to me seems like Satan sees himself as a monster but MC doesn’t see/care about any of that. MC doesn’t care what anyone thinks of their relationship. They don’t care about anyone’s whispering or judgement/disapproval. He says he should have “worshipped her sooner” because he feels as though it took him too long to appreciate MC. He saw all his brothers slowly falling for them but until MC worked to fight for his relationship with Lucifer, he never truly saw their spark. And now that he sees it, he wishes he had noticed them earlier.

if the heavens ever did speak she’s the last true mouth piece

Satan is a demon. He is wrath. He was literally born out of Lucifer’s anger. He does not understand the concept of Heaven. He knows it exists physically (his brothers were angels, and the Celestial Realm exists.) He was never an angel the way his brothers were. All he knows is his anger. But MC makes him have faith in Heaven. He believes a creature as beautiful as them, who is as selfless as them, and says the things that they do would surely be created by the Heavens. He sees her as the only true representation of Heaven and all that is pure to him.

the only heaven i’ll be sent to is when i’m alone with you

This is sort of similar to the paragraph above. It’s just Satan talking about how he feels at peace when he is with MC. When he is alone with them, he feels like the weight of his wrath is lifted off his shoulders. He feels free. He doesn’t have to hide himself behind a mask. He can be himself when he is with her, without having to pretend as he does for the rest of the world.

take me to church i’ll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies

This is just his promise that he will worship MC to their entirety. He will love them, their body, their soul. 

i’ll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife

As I said before, he views himself as a monster. But with MC he feels like he can be open, be honest. He doesn’t have to hide the side of himself that scares him. He can tell MC his “sins”. He knows he can trust her with his heart, his truth.

offer me that deathless death

Satan views love as a “deathless death”. Because he views his love for MC as so strong it’s like a kind of death of his old self. He does not physically “die” but his love for MC is so strong that it’s killed him (in a beautiful way, not a harmful way.) 

good god, let me give you my life

he wants to give MC everything, his whole life, his existence. everything.

Asmo: I Wanna Be Yours by Arctic Monkeys

@amsodeus @ireallyreallyloveasmo @asmodeusbby i hope my fellow asmo fans approve of this ♥

I just love this song for Asmo/MC. It seems to me from Asmo’s POV. He does not completely understand the concept of “love” that is so strong for another person. All he knows is that he wants to be MC’s, he wants to belong to them. He wants to be the only one who is MC’s.

i wanna be your Ford Cortina i will never rust

Here Asmo is trying to say that his love for them is everlasting. It could also be a reference to his beauty, cause it is Asmo. He wants to offer MC everything they could want in a partner. An endless, unconditional love. Asmo is scared, insecure about confessing his love to MC because he has never loved someone like this and is scared of being rejected. He tries to tell them “he will never rust”. He wants them to know that his beauty won’t ever fade. He is scared to be rejected so tries to use his beauty as another reason why MC should accept him, if his love is not enough. :(

if you like your coffee hot let me be your coffee pot

He wants to offer MC everything he has. It’s a metaphor, kinda like saying: “if MC likes coffee, I won’t just offer them a cup, but the whole ass pot”. He wants them to know he is willing to give his whole self to them. 

you call the shots, babe i just wanna be yours

He doesn’t mind having MC in charge. He is almost clueless with this kind of love. He wants MC to lead him, to teach him that he can be loved and how he can love them. He just wants to be theirs. Maybe in a NSFW sense it can also be like Asmo offering himself as a submissive. To serve MC in the bedroom. For them to call the shots, and him to give them anything they please.

secrets I have held in my heart are harder to hide than I thought maybe I just wanna be yours

Asmo’s insecurities are his secret. He always tries to act as though he loves himself and that everything is simply perfect in his life. But this is untrue. He always felt empty. Until he met MC. They changed something in him, in his heart. He has spent so long hiding how he feels, and MC sees right through him. Another reason he loves MC, cause they can always see through his walls. And LORD this man has built hella walls around his heart. HE JUST WANTS TO BE THEIRS. He doesn’t want to share with anyone else, including his brothers. He wants to be MC’s one and only.

i wanna be your setting lotion (wanna be) hold your hair in deep devotion (how deep?) at least as deep as the Pacific Ocean i wanna be yours

As I mentioned earlier, Asmo wants to offer his entire being to MC. Again emphasizing the point: he wants to be MC’s, he wants to belong to them. He will love them and attend to their needs with devotion as deep as the Pacific Ocean. His past as a player is irrelevant to him now. He wants to devote his entire life to MC and only MC. And he wants MC to feel the same for him as he does for them.

Lucifer: Halo by Beyoncé

I definitely see this mostly from Lucifer’s POV. It just seems to work so well for me. It’s Lucifer giving into his feelings for MC. His shell is being broken and no matter how hard he tries to write it off, he can’t anymore. He loves MC and they have touched a part of him that no one ever has before.

remember those walls I built? well, baby, they're tumblin' down and they didn't even put up a fight they didn't even make a sound

He has had walls built around his heart ever since the fall and losing Lillith. He is scared to open up his heart again. He is scared to feel that kind of a loss again. He fears that if he tries to love again, it will destroy him, so he deflects. He avoids his feelings. But ever since MC entered his life, they are beginning to break down. Slowly but surely. He didn’t even notice it at first. It was so sudden. MC caught him off guard. He would have never imagined the exchange student from the human world would even matter to him, let alone have this kind of an effect on him. The walls around his heart have stopped fighting. They are breaking down because MC is breaking through them with their love.

i found a way to let you in but I never really had a doubt standin' in the light of your halo i got my angel now

At first he was skeptical, afraid, un-trusting. But with time, he began to give into his feelings. MC switched something on in him that hadn’t been on in a long time. They made him desire to feel something again. To love. To be loved. He devoted his whole life to Diavolo so he could avoid his emotions and only care to serve him. But suddenly that wasn’t the only thing that mattered anymore. He doesn’t even feel surprised. A part of him saw this coming, even though it did catch him by surprise at the start. Something about MC always struck him as different. He sees them as his angel. Their light shines on him and forces him to open up. To be true to them and to himself. He is done hiding. He has MC now and all his worries seem to melt away.

it's like I've been awakened every rule I had you breakin' it's the risk that I'm takin' i ain't never gonna shut you out

Like I said before, MC brought back a part of him that had been gone for so long. That part has been “awakened” within him. He created a set of rules for himself so he can prevent getting hurt in love again. But ever since MC arrived, he feels himself breaking all those rules. For them. He is letting MC in. He can’t fight their influence. He knows it’s a risk but he no longer cares. All he can feel is his love for MC. He will no longer shut them out. He knows his heart is safe with them. He knows they love him the way that they love him. He no longer is afraid of them breaking his walls. If anything, he welcomes it now. He feels safe with them emotionally. Something he hasn’t felt in a long, long time.

everywhere I'm lookin' now i'm surrounded by your embrace baby, I can see your halo you know you're my savin' grace

Everywhere he turns, he feels MC’s love. They have become his whole life. His reason to wake up in the morning. Their love keeps him going. He is surrounded by their essence. Their body, their soul, they whole being, it’s all that matters to him, all he ever sees. They are all he sees in a crowded room. He can see their “halo”. Their light, their positive influence on him, and even on his brothers. On his family. They are his “saving grace”. Saving him from himself. From his own fears. His own insecurities. Saving him from a life without love.

you're everything I need and more it's written all over your face baby, I can feel your halo pray it won't fade away

MC is all he needs. Even more. MC is his love, his life, his breath. He can see it on their face. They feel it too. Their love is pure, unconditional. They’re both hopelessly devoted to one another. They have opened their hearts to one another. He can feel their love, their influence. And for the first time since he fell, he feels himself praying. Praying that this never goes away. That he never loses MC. He wants this to last forever. It’s all he’s ever wanted.

Mammon: Unconditionally by Katy Perry

This song worked so well for Mammon/MC according to me cause it’s all about accepting someone completely, flaws and all, because that’s just how much you love them.

all your insecurities all the dirty laundry never made me blink one time

I love this part for them specifically. Cause as we know Mammon is a really insecure dude even though he tries to hide it. His brothers always go at him and he’s always worried MC will leave him for one of his brothers, always saying that he’s her “first” and she should come to him before anyone else. And like the “dirty laundry” part is that, sometimes Mammon does questionable things like stealing his brother’s things to sell them off for money but MC doesn’t care. MC knows that’s who Mammon is and they love Mammon as he is. 

so come just as you are to me don't need apologies know that you are worthy 

MC does not want Mammon to hide behind his mask. He tries to act as though he does not care and is unaffected by all these strong feelings. MC wants him to come to them “just as he is”. MC wants to see the real Mammon. They want him to feel like he can be himself with them. MC does not want him to apologize for who he is. MC just wants him to know that they love him for who he is. MC wants them to know that he IS worthy. No matter what his brothers, or anyone else says. MC knows Mammon puts on a strong face but he is truly hurt by what his brothers say, and he might feel “worthless” or like he is “scum”. MC wants him to know this is bullshit. HE IS WORTHY.

acceptance is they key to be to be truly free will you do the same for me?

MC completely embraces Mammon as he is, and accepts him. Being in love with Mammon makes MC feel free. The last line could be MC asking if Mammon would do the same for them. Love them unconditionally the way that they love him. Mammon of course would love them unconditionally. He always has. MC is everything to him and he accepts all their quirks, and actually loves all of them. 

and there is no fear now let go and just be free cause i will love you unconditionally

These lines just appear to me to come from MC’s POV to Mammon. They tell him not to be afraid. There is no reason to be. They will never leave Mammon. They will always choose him. They will love him unconditionally. He does not have to constantly remind them that he is their first. Because they already know this. It is ingrained in their heart. Mammon IS their first. And that will never change. Mammon does not have to be afraid that anything between them will change. 

#obey me! #obey me x reader #obey me imagine #obey me headcanons #asmo x reader #lucifer x reader #mammon x reader #levi x reader #belphie x reader #beel x reader #satan x reader #belphie #beel #mammon #lucifer #asmodeus #satan #levi #swd obey me #swd obey me x reader #obey me one shot

[obeymeluv]

Hi lovely! I’m not sure if your requests are open but I just worked out for the first time since ive gotten super depressed! It might not be that big of a deal but can I get some geadcannons on how the brothers would react to this? (: (their lover working out for the first time in months because of their mental illness)

I respect this so hard and am super proud of you. I have similar struggles so it always makes me happy to see someone able to get back up. Good job :) These headcanons will be short because I’m getting ready for bed and have to get into school mode, but here you go! ♥ 

Lucifer

It wasn’t uncommon for him to wake you up, or even gently start the day by sitting at your bedside and whispering sweet nothings

He opens the door soundlessly, as always, and is quite surprised to see you in the middle of doing a yoga series. Thankfully, your back is to the door

Pride blossoms in his chest and, for the first time, it doesn’t feel heavy like the burden of his sin

It’s warm and joyful and feels like an old memory of the Celestial Realm, a call back to happier days

His eyes mist over a bit but no one can confirm it

Lucifer is a perfect, beautiful statue that watches for a few poses before slowly inching back towards the doorway to peek around the corner

Pretends like he never saw anything when you go about the rest of your day, but is absolutely glowing when he looks at you.

Lavishes you in his fancy praise, as always. (”You look enchanting, my love. Simply radiant today.”)

Mammon

He’ll deny it to the day he dies, but he craves your company.

Actually, he’s more likely to admit it when you’re in a depressive episode because you’re tender and vulnerable and that’s how he really is when he lets his guard down. That’s when people need the most love, and you’ve put him back together so much that he wants to repay the favor 1,000x fold

Mammon’s very surprised to see you running careful laps up one set of stairs and down the set on the other end of the hallway (that explains why it took him so long to find you).

It’s like speed walking. He watches for a lap and a half to make sure you’re not rushing off anywhere. You know, making sure nothing’s serious

When he realizes you’re exercising in earnest he’s super stoked. Like, #1 hype man.

“That’s my human! Yeah!” Mammon becomes your cheerleader

Drops sly comments about how it’s actually a good glute workout and he’ll give you a massage afterwards

Keeps up with you more than you’d expect (models train hard, okay?) but does get bored. Maintains cheer position

Carries you around the rest of the day when your legs are sore

Levi

Levi had to do a fair bit of research on depression when he realized you weren’t converting to being a fellow otaku shut-in

The two of you still enjoyed cuddle times, and sometimes he could engage you in games, but the health of his beloved was important! Humans couldn’t be without exercise for too long or it would be bad for them

It’s super awkward but he tries to invite you swimming and things. Sometimes you just don’t have the energy. He understands, and is totally down for cuddling you (with partial back rubs) while playing games

Makes sure you eat and definitely splits his rations

Enjoys the small walks from his room to yours, and makes sure you guys drift between them a couple of times a day. That helps humans, right?

Levi realizes fairly quickly that you haven’t been to his room in a while and goes to check on you

You’re hopping in patterns across the floor, slowly making your way to his room.

You look like you’re having fun!

He’s not sure what you’re doing, but you hop, you squat, then you lunge.

You lock eyes with Levi mid-lunge and wobble a bit. He’s a little pink in the face, but because he’s laughing in sheer delight at how spooked you looked.

You end up flopping over and Levi crouches beside you, offering his hand

When he hears you finally had a burst of energy and wanted to work out, to start over again, he’s very proud of you

May or may not have compared you to Henry and shared some of the more harrowing moments the hero went through (also how he’s awesome and came back better than ever!)

Invites you for a swim and you actually accept

After some laps and splashing about, you spend time floating and cuddling

Satan

Depression is sometimes just a thing humans go through, Satan is finding out.

Between Devildom books and human books, he kind of understands

It’s a thing of time, and sometimes other methods help. He personally thinks the lack of sun in the Devildom is the main culprit

Gives you healthy snacks and tracks down vitamins

Tries to get you to walk the gardens but realizes he can’t force it

Sometimes he gets you outside, reading under trees and lanterns

Satan roamed the House of Lamentation, intending to steal you for another outside reading session, and was surprised to find you out there already

He watched from a high window, peeking tentatively from behind the thick curtain, and let the amused smile cut his lips

Suddenly, you disappeared out of sight. Satan waited for what felt like ages until the logic of ‘the fastest way between Point A and B is a straight line’ kicked in. He held his book carefully, unlatched the window, and jumped out

Demons have good joints and sturdier bodies. The drop and landing was nothing for him.

He calls your name and starts walking around.

It’s not until he’s made a full lap and you’re giggling (behind him somehow?) that he realizes you’re just leisurely walking laps around the house

Super embarrassed that he got worried (and that you ended up behind him). Jumps when you touch his shoulders or if you hugged him around the waist

You’re happy and...yourself for the first time in a while and Satan’s heart is so happy. Before you can break the hug, he twines his fingers with yours and just holds your hand to his body

Eventually you break away, kiss his shoulders, and start a game of tag that turns into sky-watching, and laying on his chest as he reads 

Asmodeus

He knows how to break hearts but he ALSO knows how to fix him

He’s always trying to get his brothers to hang out and make good memories. Despite what he says and how he acts, he really cares for them from the bottom of his heart

You count, too. You’re like, top tier. Basically family. VIP space. Maybe SPOUSE space (but that’s too fast for a human, right?)

Though rare and private, Asmo has his bad days, too. They can either be fixed, or they can’t. Usually things are just distractions. The heart will heal in its own time.

Asmo went to your room with the latest round of pampering but stopped short of announcing himself. Does he hear...music?

Nudging the door open with his foot, his eyes light up so pink the gradient is disappearing.

You’re dancing and humming, making faces at yourself in the mirror.

His heart clenches with a beautiful pain because you’re so vibrant and lively and he knows it was hard for you to find this again

The pampering is abandoned for an impromptu PRIVATE dance party

Silly and sweet things, waltzing and just being close, hugging as you sway side to side

Lots of forehead kisses and pet names.

Beelzebub

He didn’t think your behavior was out of the ordinary since Belphie slept a lot.

Beel is always motivated by something--food, sports, working out, family stuff--so he’s not familiar with the lack of desire to do anything

When he learns you’re not just catching up on sleep and you might be having a rough time, he asks Lucifer and Satan what to do

They decide you should work out. That releases endorphins in humans and that sounds like what you need!

The attempts don’t go well, but you’ll at least come out of your room and be a resistance weight for him

Beel went into the weight room to do some pre-warm up exercises. He was mentally planning his reps and figuring out what muscle groups were on the schedule when he heard the clinking of weights

His brothers had other ways of working out so that meant only one person could be in the weight room

Beelzebub stamped down the urge to rush in and watch you in all your occupied glory, reminding himself you could drop a weight on yourself (or worse)

His purr gives him away

He’s proud, borderline excited, and just purrs long and loud from the entryway

Jumps into the workout with you, doing light exercises

Beel gets a little playful adjusting your posture, but it’s all sweet hugs and rocking you back and forth

Regardless of what muscle groups were on the schedule for the day, it’s arm day because he’s lifting you up, throwing you a little, and catching you in his arms

Give this happy, snuggly boy some kisses  

Belphegor

He can sense your state of mind by the nature of his sin. He sleeps a lot and has a knack for telling when someone’s sleep is anything but restful

Belphegor’s not 100% sure, but he thinks he can tap into your dream space. There’s this little ball of sad-tired-something that lets him know you’re not okay

There’s quiet mini-dates that ease the sting of your sadness, but he knows it’s not enough

When he sleeps, he has dreams about you being happy and hopes he can push them into your mind

Cuddles fix things. He’s down for couple naps.

Belphegor goes in and out of sleep; it’s during one of his periods of waking that he notices you’re not there

Hugging his pillow, he shuffles about the House of Lamentation to find you

He finds you cleaning and organizing the kitchen. Cleaning is a sign of healing, right? Lots of movement?

Belphegor realizes you’re doing more than cleaning. You’re stretching and lifting things like they’re Beel’s weights

It looks time-consuming, and like you’ve been at it for a while

Belphie plonks his head on your shoulder, asking how you’re feeling. He’s got that sleepy Cheshire Cat smile

You’re just as happy as can be, happier than he’s seen you in a while, and you celebrate by stealing a bunch of snacks and making a blanket fort in his room 

Hope you liked it :)

[thefanficmonster]

An Angel Through Time

David Milton (The Dark Pictures Anthology: Little Hope) x Reader (Female)

Warnings: Mentions of death and a near death scene

Genre: Angst, Romance

Summary: The unthinkable miracle of getting a second chance at love centuries after the first one slipped through his fingers is exactly what happens to David Milton when John’s students are taken back trough time and save him from certain death.

Requested by my dear friend @artlovingbre​ . Hello! I’m sorry to be posting your request so late, I hope it makes up for the wait. David is really an underrated character and I can’t thank you enough for giving me the opportunity to write for him. Please enjoy the read! Love, Vy ❤

Y/D/N - Your double’s name (same first letter as your name)

I feel someone’s grip on my forearm, encouraging me to open my tightly shut eyes. When I do so, I’m met with a terrifying scene. That evil priest is here, along with that little girl and two other men - one of which is a spitting image of Daniel. The priest is saying something but I’m too busy exchanging confused and fearful looks with Daniel and Andrew who have been dragged into this mess with me.

“What do we do?“ I ask, turning around just in time to see the other man push Daniel’s double over the ledge.

“NO!“ The scream leaves both me and Daniel but while I remain frozen in place he rushes to save the innocent man from the certain death awaiting him.

Luckily, he manages to grab onto him, I don’t know how he made it, I’m just glad he did. However, he’s struggling to pull him up to safety, having his double dangle above his faith.  Seeing the man who pushed him pull out a knife and begin to approach the ledge shakes me out of my trance and I rush over to help him myself, grabbing onto the rope that binds his wrists. Thankfully, with joined forces and a little help from Andrew who took a bit longer to snap out of his confusion, we pull the double back inside the belfry. We each lose our balance, falling to the ground, letting go of the rope that has cut through the skin of out palms.

I hiss at the irritating pain spreading through my hands, squeezing my eyes shut. If I had any doubt that this was actually happening, I don’t have it anymore. The pain is real. That scene was real. That man was real. This is all real and I really need to put myself together because otherwise, I’m not making it out of this place alive.

Oh God, the image I saw when I rushed to the ledge - below was a spiked fence this innocent man would’ve inevitably impaled himself on had Daniel not caught him when he did. My heart sinks just thinking of that happening.

“Hey, it’s over now. You can open your eyes.“ Andrew’s comforting voice reaches me through the fog of distress clouding my brain. I feel his gentle grip on my shoulder as if trying to ground me to the present, reminding me we left that behind.

Maybe not completely though. The first face I see is Daniel’s, thing is - a quick look to the left shows Daniel standing aside talking to Taylor. The person I’m looking at is his double. In the present. Here, with us, now. 

I look at Andrew who’s offering me a helping hand to get me off the ground. He understands all the bafflement from that simple eye-contact and I can tell he feels the same.

John and Angela ask us for explanations but how are we supposed to explain something even we don’t understand? 

                                                            *  *  *

How can this be? It’s them, it’s really them. Maybe it’s their souls looming over me as to shield me from harm. Maybe I have been compromised by the Devil himself. I have no answers, no way to understand what is right in front of me.

The late sister of mine - Tabitha and my deceased lover, Y/D/N. 

My eyes may deceive me or an evil force is using me as its plaything. I can not be sure of anything anymore. So help me God, I am miraculously alive. Or I maybe aren’t. This may be my soul reuniting with the souls of my condemned love ones. One was accused of witchcraft by our own kin - our sister Mary, and the other, my dear Y/D/N was a victim of reverend Carver’s sinful, poisoned with malice heart.

We were to be married, the joy of calling her my wife so close within my reach. I remember the night I asked her to marry me: the tears glistening in her eyes, the warmth of her embrace. The happiness that inhabited our home.

And how suddenly it was taken from us.

Y/D/N warned me of Carver’s advances and intentions towards her. I told her not to fear, that I would first throw myself in the arms of damnation rather than let any harm be done to her. I will never forgive myself for not doing more to save her from the horrible fate Carver decided for her when she refused his advances and stayed true to me and our love. She let out her final breath right in front of me, looking me straight in the eye.

Her final words shall forever haunt my mind and memories.

David, my soul will love you beyond death’s grip

This is her fulfilling her last words. She rescued me from inevitable demise. 

Like a guardian angel, using her love for me to keep me out of evil’s reach.

“Are you ok?“ She approaches me cautiously, almost fearfully. “That was a close call back there.“

“My eyes deceive me, no? Y/D/N, is it really you?“ I reach out towards her, fearing she is nothing but an illusion. Fearing I’ll never see her again the second my hand touches hers.

Her hand takes firm hold of mine as reassurance that I haven’t gone mad. “I’m sorry but I’m not. My name’s Y/N. I understand that you are having a tough time understanding this and believe me - we’re in the same boat there. Just trust us, we’ll....figure everything out, ok?”

Her voice - her voice opens the wound on my heart Y/D/N’s death inflicted on me. I hear the echo of the purest words I’ve ever heard spoken.

I most certainly do not feel safe nor do I understand what trickery was done to me for my soul to be sent amongst these people, but I believe they mean no harm. I have seen the face of evil - and it doesn’t look like them.

                                                              *  *  *

Daniel’s double, who I now know is named David, is coping with this surprisingly well. The confusion is still clouding his brain but he’s not nearly as freaked out as I would’ve been in his position. He hasn’t asked many questions, I think he’s still in shock. Regardless, he’s calm and...well, alive and that’s what matters. Every now and then I catch him looking at me with this sorrowful sadness in his gaze. I feel my heart sink a little every time I see it. He has mentioned another lady, Y/D/N I think he called her. I don’t know what relation he has to her, but he mistook me for her so I can only assume she’s my double. I’m honestly afraid to ask, I don’t believe I can handle what he’ll tell me. At least not yet.

We approach an old house. That’s a pretty generic description, considering all the houses in this ghost-town are old. This one, however, sticks out. It has clearly been shielded from the cruelty of time by many renovations. It simultaneously looks firm as a fort but also like it could crumble at any moment. It’s hard to explain, you’d have to see it to understand. Through one of the windows we see a faint flickering light, presumably from a lit candle.

“This is our house. What in God’s name has happened to it? Why is it so filthy?“ David looks the house from top to bottom with fear and hurt in his eyes. I see the tears threatening to roll down his cheeks and my heart cracks much like the foundation of the house.

“It may have been your hose back then. It’s no one’s now.“ John tries to explain to him, as delicately and carefully as one could, “It’s our only good lead, given there’s light in there.“

David shakes his head, “I refuse to step foot beyond that doorstep.” His statement is firm, not that we would’ve tried to change his mind regardless.

I look at the group who are exchanging puzzled gazes. I raise my voice to say: “I’ll wait outside with David, you guys can go in and do a sweep. If you find anything useful just holler, I doubt I won’t hear you.“

They slowly nod in agreement before entering the house. I watch as they disappear into the darkness of the hallway, paying close attention to the creaking of the floorboards that bend under the weight of their footsteps - giving me some indication of where they are in case I need to go in and find them.

There is a half-rotted bench in front of the house. It looks far from stable or useable but I decide to take my chances. I sit down and brace for impact with the ground but when that doesn’t happen I wave David over to sit down as well. He does so, though reluctantly - never taking his gaze of the house, the look in his eyes remaining as painful as when he first saw it.

“Y/D/N, she was the light of this home. Tabitha was to be wedded as well. She didn’t live to see that day. I couldn’t protect either of them.“ He rests his elbows on his knees, hiding his face in the palms of his hands. “I should’ve fought till the last undeserved breath for theirs. I should’ve done more.“

With minor hesitation, I place my hand on his shoulder in an attempt to comfort him though I know my presence is fueling his sorrow. I’m an image of someone meaningful he lost, how can he even bare to look at me? “Who was she? Y/D/N?“

His hand reaches up, taking hold of mine and removing it from his shoulder. He straightens his posture, gently holding my hand with both of his. “My late wife to be. She was cruelly sent away from this world by the town reverend. He wanted to rid me of my life shortly after Y/D/N, but...” his attention travels to my eyes, “you saved me. I would now be nothing but a lifeless body if you hadn’t done what you did. I will forever be in your debt.” He squeezes my hand in an act of endearment that makes my heart flutter. “Though it pains me to look at you or the other woman,” he tilts his head towards the house, presumably referring to Taylor, “I can not take my eyes off you. This mustn’t be a coincidence. You are either her, or an angel sent by her. I am grateful to you regardless.” His hands uncover mine and he brings it to his lips, placing a gentle kiss on my knuckles.

I feel this overwhelming need to protect him, to always be by his side and never leave him. I have known him for less than two hours; he’s been a part of this time for just as long and yet I still feel so close and so attached to him.

“Don’t worry, David. My life isn’t getting stripped away and neither is yours. I can promise you that.“ I say reassuringly, nodding to put extra emphasis to my words.

                                                             *  *  *

The way she puts such faith on her words, on her promise, makes me recall how Y/D/N’s voice danced in the air when she’d tell me what our future looked like through her eyes. Every letter leaving her lips carried its own meaning, none less valuable than another. All so certain and concrete. A force to be reckoned with. A force to gain all my trust in a matter of seconds.

“Thank you, Y/N“

I shall put my life in these people’s hands and my heart in the hands of this angel that survived through the walls of time. This strong woman who risked her life to save my own. 

There’s no longer a doubt in my mind that she’s my second chance at love disguised as an angel. One Y/D/N’s soul sent me from the heavens where she’s looking down upon me from. I shall fulfill her wish - I shall love again.

#the dark pictures house of ashes #the dark pictures little hope #the dark pictures man of medan #the dark pictures anthology #the dark pictures #dark pictures anthology #dark pictures little hope #little hope #dark pictures man of medan #man of medan #until dawn #supermassive games #supermassive #video game #video games #video game fanfic #little hope john #little hope angela #little hope andrew #little hope taylor #little hope daniel #little hope tabitha #little hope david #david x reader #x reader #reader insert #reader #daylor #taniel #fanfiction

[sea-side-scribbles]

Fanfiction: Sympathy For A Downer

Chapter 55

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22737214/chapters/75005094

Nick gave the door a perplexed stare. No one did ever dare to shut a door in his face.

“Arthur“, he shouted at it, but to no avail. Tired and sad, he slumped down, resting his head against the cold bricks.

“Great job, Nick”,  he told himself.

The relief he had felt when he had realized Arthur wasn’t a criminal now gave way to another depression.

“I don’t know, Nick.“

What did that even mean? Was it over? Just because he had made a mistake?

Oh well, he had accused him to be a murderer…not very nice, actually.

Nick winded.

It would’ve been such an easy solution…the Downer would be the bad guy and he could return to Morrie without a bad conscience.

“In the end, the real monster is you“, he thought before he could stop himself.

“No, I’m not a monster! Or am I?“

His feelings fought each other.

And how would that get him Arthur back?

Nick struggled up onto his feet, thinking that a therapy would actually be a good idea. He gave the door a last glance, giving it a chance to open before he would leave.

The chance was left unused.

Minutes later, he stood in front of another door that always opened for him.

“I’m glad you found the time“, he was greeted by his secret friend.

The calm voice felt good in Nick’s ears after all that yelling. He couldn’t wait to enjoy a quiet moment.

“Yeah, it’s been a while“, he said quietly. He was so tired. “I don’t know what day it is.“

James gave him a pitiful look. “I’m sorry for your loss.“

Nick needed a second to get him because he thought about Arthur at first.

“Oh, Kitty“, he then produced. He immediately felt weighted down. “It’s such a tragedy…“

“Come, I fix you a drink.“

Nick followed James into the living room that by now felt like the inner sanctum of the house and fell into some comfy padding of an old fashioned piece of furniture. It looked like this house never got a beautification. It wasn’t ugly though, only unusual, just like James himself, who now came back with a drink for him.

He handed it out with a thoughtful expression. “I didn’t expect you to tell me every single detail in your life, but…you never mentioned her…why?“

Nick sighed and clutched the very welcome glass.

“Because I didn’t…think of her. I never wanted to marry her.“ He shook his head. “It all happened so fast. Is she really dead?“

Nick didn’t notice the flicker in James’ eyes. “Yes, certainly.“

His voice turned oddly cold, Nick found. Then he thought it was just the message that made it sound cold.

Nick stroked the glass with his thumb, unable to decided whether he should start drinking or not.

“She didn’t deserve this…“, he brought out. “She was…a bit bonkers, but a good girl.“

His throat was getting dry, so he finally took a sip.

“And you thought she would save you from your sins?“, James asked and Nick lifted his head, questioning.

James shrugged. “Well, having a wife is well accepted instead of having two male lovers at once.“

Nick eagerly shook his head. “Oh, god no…I didn’t want to marry her…she made me…“. He paused. “It really isn’t a good story.“

“I supposed that something was off“, James offered. “The way you looked at her.“

Nick eyed him. “You were there?“

James made an innocent face. “Biggest event of the week, couldn’t miss it.“

Nick smiled a bit. Still, the truth got caught somewhere between his teeth and he gulped it back down, leaving uncomfortable silence.

“Nick, i’m sure you wouldn’t be here if you wouldn’t trust me…“

Nick shortly nodded. “Yes.“

“Do you want another?“, James pointed at his glass and Nick was surprised to see it was empty. When did that happen?

He gave it to the other man and used the pause to think this over. He was here for Arthur. But it wouldn’t make sense without Kitty’s story. And if he believed that James would easily fall for any gossip about him, he would indeed not be here. James was right.

“Relax, Nick. You have all the time you need to tell me. We could talk about something else, if you want“, James offered.

Nick thankfully received the new drink.

“No…I have to get this over with…It’s driving me insane.“ He pushed himself forward. “The night Richard Bates died…I was there…I spent the night with Kitty.“

“Didn’t he die in the shop?“, James asked and Nick’s face lit up.

“Right…now that you say it…but Kitty believed I did it….for her…as if I needed to kill her husband to marry her.“ He took another sip of liquid courage. “She threatened me she’d tell everyone that I killed him if I didn’t marry her, so I proposed.“

“What a nice girl“, James commented.

“She was okay apart from that“, Nick insisted. “Killing her this way…who could do that?“

“I suppose you weren’t anywhere near her that special night?“, James asked nonchalantly.

“No! I’m glad I wasn’t!“, Nick blurted out. “Do you believe me?“

James looked him in the eyes. “Yes, I believe you.“

Nick calmed down. He emptied his drink and put the glass on the table.

“Seems like despite all the tragedy you’re the lucky one this time. No accusations and no forced marriage…you’re still free.“

Nick rested his head in his hands. “I know what you mean…I’m glad you believe me…I don’t believe it myself…everything that happens to me….“

“You had a rough time, I can see. I’m glad I can help.“

“It feels so good to have a friendly conversation for once…The last few days were…I don’t know how long I can keep this up.“ Nick’s eyes began to water.

“Did you have a fight? Because you proposed? Or because she…went on holiday?“

“It’s a little bit of both“, Nick replied. His voice was rasping. “Morrie tries to convince me that I saw something….or that I’m somehow involved in it…that I just can’t remember…or refuse to tell him….he’ll maybe get over it…but Arthur…“. He sighed. “I really screwed it up with him.“

“Does he believe it was you?“

Nick sadly shook his head. “He was near Kitty when she….“

Another not really good story. But it wouldn’t help to chicken out now, right?

“We had a plan to save me from the marriage. Arthur wanted to drug her with Oblivion, so she would forget the entire incident. And when I read that she….I thought…“ Nick gulped.

“It was so easy, you know? Blaming the Downer…He quickly convinced me I was wrong…but the damage was already done…I don’t know if he’ll ever talk to me again.“

Nick continued to stare at the table.

“What’s worse, for a while I was relieved…that it would be only me and Morrie again…that all this mess would be over.“

“So, you’re closer to a decision?“, James carefully asked.

“No, not at all!“, Nick blurted out. “Actually, I confessed my love to him…for the first time…and I did this at the worst possible moment! I should’ve said it before…we had so many nice moments together…they would’ve been perfect…and now it didn’t even sound like I mean it. What’s wrong with me? I used to trust people! I used to be good with words!“

“You were stressed out, Nick. You needed answers and it’s quite unusual to trust Downers“, James soothed him.

“You would trust him too if you knew him…I should’ve known better. What am I supposed to do now?“

“The best option is to apologize.“

“I tried! But it sounded so lame! I think he needs some time for himself now….but how much? I’m afraid he’ll move on without me.“

“You don’t have to be far away to give him some space. You could wait for him to make the first step, but stay close.“

“Yeah…but Morrie waits for me too…I left him in a hurry to blame Arthur.“

“I agree it would be easier if Arthur was your only love, but surely there’s a way to spend a few more hours for him.“

Nick nodded slowly. “I could wait in my suite. You know, in the underground.“

James’ face lit up a bit. “Is that where your Downer is hiding?“

Nick was about to say “yes“ but thought twice. “He’s sometimes there.“

“He’s a smart man“, James stated.

“He is“, Nick agreed, slightly swooning. “It’s amazing what he can do to survive. It was so unfair of me to treat him like that.“ He slumped back down.

“It’s not over yet, Nick…you can overcome this fight, and your relationship will be closer than before.“

Nick gave him a hopeful look. “You think so?“

“Certainly. Whenever you overcome hardships you will grow stronger together. Isn’t it the same with Morrie and you?“

Nick ruffled his hair. “I don’t know…we had a lot of fights and we broke up.“

“But you’re back together.“

“Right…“

“And Morrie knows what he got.“

Nick chuckled. “The poor man.“

“Anyway, this works for every relationship, by the way.“

“Virgil and me…“

“For example. Stray strong, Nick. Fights are completely normal. The way you deal with them shows what you really feel.“

“Okay…“ Nick took a deep breath. “And what if he doesn’t give me a second chance?“

“Well…then you know what he feels…and you can go back into Morrie’s arms.“

“Yeah…“ Nick sat up, stretching himself. “I think…I’m ready…“

“I’m glad I could cheer you up“, James said. “But before you leave…may I ask you a question?“

“Sure“, Nick smiled at him.

“About Morrie’s concerns….why is he so certain that you are involved in the case? Is there anything you remember? Anything that bothers you?“ James looked at him and his expression lacked the sense of urge that would’ve made Nick shy away.

Nick closed his eyes.

“I don’t know…Sometimes I see things…I think they’re only nightmares.“ He pointed at the glass. “Would you mind?“

“Oh, not at all“, James poured him another drink. “I’m relieved you like the brand. A star like you must’ve tasted the best of the town already.“

“This is easily one of the best“, Nick answered bemused. „I wonder where you get it.“

“My secret source“, James answered smiling.

Nick smiled back.

“Oh James, everything is so complicated in my life! I wish we could meet somewhere else, in public even, but if Morrie saw us…“

“You think he’ll be suspicious?“

“Yeah, definitely! Also Arthur, especially now!“ Nick shook his head. “I’m always hiding.“

“We could find a way…I wouldn’t give up on that yet…See, it’s not all your fault. You’re famous. If Morrie or Arthur wouldn’t see us, dozens of other eyes would.“

“Right…it’s so hard to be a god. Everyone needs me.“

“You have a lot to give.“

“Yeah…but sometimes I just need to recharge.“

“It’s fine, Nick. You can always come by.“

Nick sipped his drink. “That’s good“, he whispered. “Where were we?“

“We were talking about nightmares“, James said apologetically.

“Oh…great…uh…yeah, It think it’s nothing more than that. I’ve been wandering around at night, long before you found me and that’s what I’m dreaming about.“

James mused. “Last time we met, you were outside at night. Do you recall?“

“Sure, but….that was something else, trust me! I didn’t feel alright and I needed to get away for a while.“

“Seems to me that you rather like the night. That you seek comfort in it.“

“Well…no one is staring at me…and it is as cold as I feel inside…“. He smiled unsurely.

“Perhaps you can learn to like these dreams and see them as a refuge too?“

“To…like them?“

“Yes. Look, if you try to ignore them, they would only make you more afraid. If you embrace them instead, you have the chance to defeat them, if they mean to scare you. If they don’t mean to scare you, then there’s nothing to worry about. They might have a secret, but what if it’s nothing bad?“

“I never saw it this way…“

“Nightmares can be caused by many reasons. Could be that you’re stressed out by the band, they’re perhaps watching you if you behave.“

Nick chuckled. “We’re quite relaxed, actually…I really wonder what they’re thinking about all the chaos I’m causing. I just hope they don’t mind.“

“They never complained?“

“No.“

“They’re decent Wellies, unlike you“, James said smirking. “As long as they have their Joy, why would they complain?“

“Maybe…“ Nick ran a hand through his hair.

“If your life wears you down, you can still make a decision.“

Nick sighed. “I can’t…“

“I didn’t mean to force it. If you feel like it, go see Arthur and prove him your love. It’s still possible that the dreams go away after a while.“

“Okay…“ Nick stretched himself again. “Thank you.“

“Anytime, Nick“, James said in a soft voice.

Later, he led him through the corridor to the entrance door, but before Nick left, he felt like he was missing something. Eyeing James, he quickly noticed and wrapped his arms around the other man. He just now realized how much he loved the smell of Blackberry Joy. Pressing his head against James’ neck, he sucked in the scent. James held him all the time.

“Are you sure you want to leave?“, he asked him quietly.

“Yeah…I must…Arthur…“, Nick stuttered, a little bit high from the amazing scent. He let go and James opened the door for him.

Later in his tunnel suite, he found the box of chocolates that he had given Arthur. It was untouched. It was possible that Arthur simply didn’t like them, or that he didn’t have the time yet, but still it was a sad look Nick didn’t want to see. He would’ve like to eat them himself now, but a present was a present. Nick slapped them onto the counter and sat down on his bed.

Looking around, he wondered what to do with himself now. Knocking at Arthur’s door wasn’t an option, sadly. But waiting in utter silence wasn’t either. He grabbed a guitar, the brightly colored one he used it for special occasions and it’s look cheered him up a little. After all, he had never used the tunnel’s vibes for inspiration as he had planned to. Lying on his bed, he listened to his own melody and his mind started to wander.

He fell silent when a tall man appeared at the entrance to his suite.

“You’re still here“, his visitor said, avoiding his gaze.

“Sure“, Nick answered, giving him a smile.

The other man looked like he was at the edge of running away.

Nick put the guitar aside. “You want to sit down?“, he offered and gestured at the bed.

Arthur let out a breath. “You wouldn’t try to kill me again, won’t you?“

Nick’s smile froze.

“Arthur, trust me, I didn’t want to hurt you. I was upset and I’m sorry that I scared you.“

“Yeah…upset indeed. About a bloody lie.“ His voice turned bitter and he still didn’t look at Nick, who felt a pang of shame in his chest.

“I…I can’t believe it myself. Somehow, there was still a rest of doubt in me. But now I see how wrong I was! I’m sorry, I’ll never think any bullshit about you again!“, Nick begged.

Arthur rather looked at something he saw in his mind.

“You had the same look in your eyes…just like every Wellie that attacked me…“

“I swear I didn’t want to!.“

“The things you said…you called me a coward.“

“Oh Arthur, you’re the bravest man I know! Everything you went through! You know I admire you for this, for your strength and your courage! I regret what i said! Please, give me a chance!“

Arthur nervously scratched his arm. It was the most awful silence Nick had ever experienced until the other man finally spoke again.

“You said something…something nice too….I didn’t mean to ignore it like that…I just didn’t know what to do…“

“Did you like it?“, Nick asked softly, feeling goosebumps all over his skin.

Arthur curled his fingers into the cloth of his trousers.

“Yes, very much…“

Nick used his silkiest voice to ask: “You mind if I say it again?“

Arthur turned to face him. His expression was still afraid.

“I love you, Arthur“, Nick purred, watching the effect it had on the other man’s face. It changed multiple expressions until it remained with a helpless smile and red cheeks.

Nick made another gesture, and this time Arthur awkwardly walked over to him and sat down.

“I think we should kiss now, what do you think?“, Nick whispered. Arthur answered by coming closer.

They drew out their reunion kiss.

“I missed you, Nick“, Arthur sighed while running his hands along Nick’s upper body.

“I’m glad“, Nick purred.

“All these days…and all I had of you was…where is it?“ Did we crush it?“

Arthur started to search the bed. Nick, slightly disappointed, watched him.

“Do you mean the chocolate?“

“Yes, I thought I left it here.“

“I put it away. It’s fine if you don’t want it.“

“But I love it! I just…I didn’t want to eat it alone…It’s probably dumb.“ Arthur shrugged.

“No, it’s not“, Nick assured him and got up to grab the box from the counter. “You may open it now, my love“, he whispered and handed it over to the other man, who couldn’t help but to grin sheepishly.

The neatly arranged chocolates looked delicious. Arthur glanced at Nick as if he didn’t know how to eat them. Nick was willing to help. He lifted up a piece and let it dangle in front of his lover’s face.

Arthur carefully accepted it with his teeth.

Nick then waited, leaning against his shoulders.

“How is it?“

Arthur relished it with closed eyes. “It’s…so good. Just try it yourself.“

Nick followed the invitation. They weren’t so special to him, but he saw their potential.

He put another one in his hand and served it Arthur.

The other man understood and ate it out of his hand, slightly tickling Nick’s skin. Excited, Nick freed his arm from his jacket and shirt to offer his lover chocolate on it. Arthur looked surprised at first, then he gently held Nick’s arm in his hands to steady him while he tasted the offering. When he let go, Nick lay down and placed a piece on his belly.

Arthur caressed the spot around it with his fingers, teasing Nick, who already felt the excitement in a far lower region. Then he touched the skin with his tongue, not too eager to get this over with. He spoiled Nick with kisses, felt how his lover’s breath fastened and how his belly moved up and down. When he finally took the chocolate, it had already melted a little, and Arthur licked the rest from Nick’s aroused body. Arthur couldn’t help but to take a bite of the other man who let out a moan. Working up to his chest, he muttered: “You’re tasty…“

Nick now busied himself with returning kisses and freeing Arthur from his clothes. Arthur made Nick feel how hungry he was, and Nick rather begged for more.

In the end, both were relieved to hold the other one in his arms again.

“Nick, I love you“, Arthur finally whispered.

“Yeah, you do“, Nick purred happily.

“This is incredible, I mean, you and me…“

Nick kissed him again. “You better believe it, Arthur.“

The so-called Downer looked happier than ever. There was a spark in his eyes that Nick couldn’t stop marveling at.

“Nick, why…“ Arthur began, then took a breath to steady his voice. “Why don’t we get us a better life?“ He eyed Nick, excited and begging. Nick was curious about where this was going.

“What are you up to?“

“Well, I have a letter of transit, and I bet you have one! We could get to the train station in the Parade and leave!“

“Leave?“, Nick was puzzled. “Where?“

“Well, to the mainland? To another country?“, Arthur shrugged nervously. "Who cares, it doesn’t matter! Anything would be better than this!“

“But Arthur…this is a good place.“

“Nick…I’m telling you this because I trust you. This town is not a happy place. It’s falling apart. I can see it every day. We’re in serious danger here and it’s getting worse.“

“What’s getting worse?“

Arthur gave him an apologetic look.

“Look…you should see it for yourself or else you won’t believe me.“

Nick shook his head. “I don’t understand…What do you want me to see?“

“Well…the plague, for example.“

Nick turned pale.

“Nick, trust me! Wellington Wells is not as beautiful as Joy tells you! I know it, I’ve seen it! If you tried…an hour without Joy, you would understand.“

“An hour without Joy?“ Nick sat up. “Arthur, do you know what you’re talking about?“

“I know, but it’s hard to explain! I just want to leave this mess with you!“

“But..but… I have my entire life here! My band, my friends, my fans…Outside, I’m a nobody!“

„You still have your talent! You could be an even greater star on the mainland! Just imagine how many people you could reach!“

“I…I’m glad you have so much trust in my talent, but I still need a manager, and the best in the world is the one I have here.“

“You just need to play one of your songs and managers would queue up to work for you!“

Nick eyed his lover, who still looked pleading.

“Arthur, is this a joke I’m not getting?“

“No, Nick, I wouldn’t ask you if I wasn’t serious! I want to spend the rest of my life with you! I know it sounds crazy but I really want to do this!“

“Why not living here? We’re having a good life so far.“

“Nick, I’m having no life at all! I’m living like a rat!“ Arthur waved his arms at the tunnel.

“You have a job and a house!“

“But I’m always in danger, remember?“

“You could take Joy sometimes…“

“No, I can’t! That’s the point! I’ve seen the truth and I don’t want to live a lie again!“, Arthur urged him and Nick backed away.

“We should wait…think this through…perhaps you’ll learn to like the town again.“

“No, Nick, that’s impossible. If you stopped taking Joy, you wouldn’t like the town either.“

“But I can’t just go! Give me some time to think!“, Nick now begged.

“How long, Nick? Will you vanish for another couple of days? Do you think I like that life? I never know when I’ll see you again, or if at all!“

“Arthur…“

“Really, do you think I like it here? You never invite me at your place, you never let me hide there! It’s like you don’t want me around!“

“I want you around! But the band…“

“Yeah, the band can live in your house, but not me! Why do they even life in your house now?“

“Because it’s making things easier! We have no cars…!“

“If I was one of your girlfriends, you would’ve introduced me to them already, told them they had to deal with me now because you loved me!“ He almost spat the last words. “But you never did! You treat me like a stranger around them!“

Nick felt goosebumps all over his body. Not the good sort this time. Arthur reminded him of one of his wives.

“Calm down, please! We can sort this out!“

“How long?“

“I don’t know….a few days? Damnit, Arthur, a boyfriend would be enough of a surprise, but a Downer…“

Arthur rolled his eyes. “You don’t have to tell them that! In fact, it would be easier to tell them you need your house for yourself again!“

“You want me to kick them out?“

“Just tell them you have a relationship and need some space!“

“One day after Kitty died?“

“You never wanted her in the first place!“

“Yeah, but it’s still very suspicious! Everyone is waiting for me to come out as a killer and I don’t want to take that risk!“

“So, that’s it? You have no place for your lover because you have to save your reputation and your band can’t be expected to walk a few feet to their homes?“

“Arthur!“, Nick gasped. “What is this? I don’t understand!“

“Think about what you’re doing to me, Nick! Would any girl let you treat her that way?“

“I never told you not to take Joy…I love you anyway…but I can’t make others like you.“

“You already did somehow. The band likes me, remember?“

“Yeah, well…“

“You’re good with words. You’ll find an explanation.“

“No, Arthur, I can’t do this…I haven’t seen them for ages and I don’t want to disappoint them just yet.“ At Arthur’s look he added: “They wouldn’t understand!“

“So you won’t even try?“

“Arthur, this is crazy, just think about it!“

“I had a lot of time to think about it! All these lonely days without you!“

“It wouldn’t be much different! I have to do my job! I can’t be there every hour to please you! You don’t know how long it takes to record something that isn’t utter crap!“

„It would be very different, because I could spend the nights with you, the morning hours and whenever you’re home! And believe it or not, I want to please you too!“

“I see you whenever I can…“

“That’s also risky, coming down here. The Bobbies could catch you.“

“I know my way around them, I’ll be fine.“

“So everything’s the way you want?“, Arthur flared up. “Did you ever plan to get me into your life?“

“Of course I did!“, Nick helplessly replied.

“How?“

Nick was speechless. The silence dragged him down and his eyes burned.

“I came here to apologize, and you treat me like shit!“ He left the bed. “You better think about what you’re doing to me!“, were his last words before he ran out.

#we happy few #whf #wehappyfew #nick lightbearer #whfarthurhastings #nickxarthur #foggyjack #whfnick #whf nick #whfarthur #whf arthur #whf foggy jack

[tasteful-robot-loving]

a prowlcoswave commission for @soundwavereporting​!

ao3 link

Sanctuary Station is somehow… less than Prowl expected, smaller than he’d thought it would be. The walls no longer have the vague purple glow that every Decepticon ship seemed to have and the lights are bright, no longer condemned to wartime regulations.

“I expected something bigger,” Prowl says, instead of everything else.

Cosmos nods—more acknowledgement than anything—and says, “This, uh, this is it for now, I think? But Soundwave said that modules could be added in the future.”

He looks awkward—sounds awkward—as if he doesn’t know what to do with himself. It’s fair, all things considered, given who they both are. A comm call won’t fix everything and neither will a single visit. But Prowl can hope it’s a start.

“Where’s—” Prowl starts. As if on cue, the door slides open. Soundwave steps into the room. “—Soundwave? Nevermind.”

“Prowl,” Soundwave greets with a subtle nod.

“Soundwave. It’s nice to see you’re still in good health,” Prowl says, though not entirely good-naturedly. Soundwave might have had his respect, but certainly none of his affection.

“As well as one can be, in this universe,” Soundwave replies, offering his servo. Prowl takes it.

Cosmos watches them concerned optics as they sift through formalities, as if afraid they’ll end up at each other’s throats. It’s not an unprecedented concern, considering who Prowl and Soundwave are, but when they release each other’s servos he seems to relax, as if the danger has passed. Perhaps it has, Cosmos knows them both better than most.

“How have you been, Prowl?” Cosmos asks as he sits down at the table tucked in the corner of the room. Soundwave himself turns to the energon dispenser. Prowl can admire that they seemed to have planned this out, even as casual of a meeting as it is supposed to be. “I heard a lot of things.”

“They’re probably all true,” Prowl admits after a moment, taking the seat across from Cosmos. “I was not… in the best of minds.”

It’s hard to admit, even in pleasant company, partially because of Soundwave and partially because of the weight of it. Even if Soundwave’s sins did outnumber his own, Soundwave had still been an enemy for a long time.

“Are you…?” Cosmos makes a vague gesture than Prowl has never been able to interpret. “You’re not going to go crazy on us, right?”

Prowl huffs out a laugh, “I’m not, Cosmos. I’d like to think I’m better now.”

“I’m glad you’re okay then. You might be a jerk, but you don’t deserve to be hurt,” Cosmos says, reaching across the table to rest his servo atop Prowl’s. Two of his digits end up framing his wrist. An old emotion flares in Prowl’s spark, one he’d thought he’d gotten rid of forever and a lifetime ago.

If Prowl were a fool—a romantic fool, young and naïve—he would claim it a perfect fit, the space between he and Cosmos. But it’s not. It’s nowhere near perfect, because Cosmos is so much larger than Prowl. He always has been. Pretending they fit together perfectly would be a fallacy.

Prowl stares for a moment before looking up at Cosmos again, meeting his optics, “It’s good to know you’re okay, too.”

He can see Cosmos’ optics crinkle in fondness, but he removes his servo in the next moment as Soundwave sits down beside them. Dutifully, Soundwave hands each of them an energon cube. He looks between him as if trying to figure something out. Prowl tries to ignore the phantom feeling of Cosmos’ servo on his.

“You’re not having any?” Cosmos asks, gesturing to Soundwave’s empty servos.

“I’ve already refueled,” Soundwave informs. “I do not feel comfort in taking off my mask in front of company.”

Cosmos’ squints suspiciously, “You take your mask off in front of me all the time.”

“That’s different,” Soundwave assures.

And Prowl gets it suddenly, this thing between Cosmos and Soundwave. He has to hold back a snort. The Autobots and Decepticons were subtle, in their own ways, but Prowl had thought the Decepticons less so. Prowl forgets they’re different too.

For the Decepticons, vulnerability and protection were love. It was the kind of connection forged in fire. Prowl had always admired them for it, as much as he loathed to admit it. For the Autobots, there were far too many mixed signals. Too many subtleties to misinterpret and get wrong.

“Fine,” Cosmos concedes. He picks up his energon, straw already in the cube. His faceplate retracts, revealing his intake port. “You’re going to have to tell me eventually though.”

“I’m aware,” Soundwave says. “Now, I believe you wanted to catch up with Prowl, correct?”

“Yeah,” Cosmos nods, taking a sip of his energon. “Did anything interesting happen, Prowl? Anything you want to talk about, I mean—I know you’re a private guy and I won’t pry this time. I’ll wait until it’s just us.”

“I’ll have to thank you later, then,” Prowl says. “But nothing you’d want to know. I didn’t see anything all that exciting.”

He doesn’t mention a lot of things in that single statement. Like Optimus Maximus or Optimus Prime. It’s vulnerability that Soundwave does not deserve. But Cosmos will get it, when they’re alone.

“Private?” Cosmos asks, tone knowing, as if to make sure.

“Yes,” Prowl says, “but tell me how you’ve been? I know we didn’t part on the best of terms and I’d like to make sure we’re still…”

He makes a wordless gesture, sipping at his energon. Words are difficult sometimes, but especially in the face of this. Beside Cosmos, Soundwave looks as if he’s reached some great realization.

“Are you courting?” Soundwave asks before either of them can say more.

Prowl chokes. The energon burns as some gets into his internal vents. The rest ends up coating his arm when he coughs.

“What?” he asks, disbelieving.

Cosmos looks just as surprised at the question, “Prowl and I are definitely not courting. He’s Prowl and I’m—What made you think that?”

Prowl ignores the flare of self-loathing that comes with the statement, the cut off. There’s a part of him that agrees far to vehemently with the thoughts it brings. He merely turns to look at Soundwave instead.

Soundwave looks helpless for a moment, as if unsure what to say. Then, decisively, he says, “You want to be.”

“Again. What?” Prowl demands, not even making his way toward denial. The warm emotion in his chest can’t really be ignored when it’s shoved in front of him.

“Cosmos was flirting with you,” Soundwave says patiently.

“No?” Prowl knows he sounds unsure but he can’t quite wrap his processor around the idea.

“Yes,” Soundwave insists, looking over at Cosmos. “Cosmos.”

Cosmos looks uncomfortable under the weight of Soundwave’s stare. Prowl can understand. He thinks he would be uncomfortable if he were Cosmos too. Not many ever paid him much attention, but that’s what made him good for Ops work.

“I might have been,” Cosmos admits after a long moment. “But I can stop if you want me to. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I’m sorry.”

“I—” Prowl stops. He thinks of what he could say. Affection is a weakness. Prowl has learned that, but Cosmos is—he’s Cosmos. Prowl can’t explain what he feels for him or why. “You don’t have to stop,” he says softly.

Cosmos gets that surprised look again, as if he didn’t expect Prowl to return a hint of his affections. But he looks happy too. But Prowl, for all he is, refuses to be trapped, even by this. He refuses to let Cosmos be trapped by it either.

“On that note, please inform Soundwave you’re flirting with him too,” Prowl says, all faux politeness, because blunt force has always worked for him in situations such as these. He ignores the whispers of Optimus.

If this doesn’t come to head now, it likely never will. And Prowl doesn’t have to like Soundwave to  acknowledge that Cosmos and Soundwave will be unhappy without each other, even if Prowl is by Cosmos’ side. Love is a multifaceted thing and Prowl himself is a time bomb waiting to go off. These are the things that Prowl understands.

It’s Soundwave’s turn to be surprised and Cosmos sinks back into embarrassment. Prowl would be amused if this were any less of a charged situation. But he knows how it will end. It was obvious from the start.

“Yeah,” Cosmos says shortly.

Soundwave’s optics fill with affection, “You are in luck, little Autobot.”

He takes Cosmos’ servo in his own and he is all soft lines and adoration. For a moment, Prowl feels like an interloper here in this place, where Soundwave and Cosmos have filled their lives with affection.

The feeling is not entirely gone even when Cosmos says, “Come here, Prowl.”

He holds out his servo and his optics are just as soft as Soundwave’s. Prowl does not know how to love—not yet, but it is close enough when Cosmos grabs his servo and Prowl’s digits curl over Cosmos’. That warm feeling settles in his chest again. He lets himself be pulled to Cosmos’ side, tucked under his arm as if a lover.

Perhaps, Prowl can be naïve this once.

#maccadam #prowl #soundwave #cosmos #exrid #transformers #idw #prowlcoswave #commission fic #my writing

[taendrils]

fame & surrender (m.)

― ❝ever the curious cat, you can’t say no when notorious rockstar V extends an invitation to get to know him better after your televised interview. skin to skin, you become acquainted, and you end up discovering what really goes on behind the scenes in the forms of glistening bodies and alcohol stains on your curves.❞

• genre: smut with plot, 90′s setting • warnings: dom!tae, big dick!tae, alcohol mentions, sexual tension, exhibitionism, dirty talk, mentions of orgies, condescending praise, sensory play, cum play, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, overstimulation • pairing: taehyung/female reader ft. jimin • wordcount: 18.4k words

ROCKSTAR AU.

The screams you hear are shrill, sounds that tighten into themselves and spread the growing anticipation for what is about to step on stage. 

It wasn’t a matter of who, it was a matter of when, and one of power. A supposed distraction which crawls too deep and makes it uncomfortable either way–the stretch of pulling yourself out of it too empty and painful, the time spent discovering more too consuming and a notch more demanding. Word travels around in big cities if your name carries enough weight, even faster if its heaviness comes from pure metal instead of the alloy they shape in the industry. The words reflect the effect, however unassuming they might be, and with the heavy riffs of a guitar supporting his every claim, it’s possible even for atheists to catch their glimpse of God.

Of course it’s not a matter of who, you chuckle, since there’s only one person who can make everyone feel like this. With the weight of his name pressed against everybody’s lips, a contained sound which catches between them and gets free reign as it is released, it’s easy to pinpoint how their teeth want to grip into it again. The gospels he put out, the ink he splattered and swallowed to build the charm into who he was and stain the raw talent so the corrupted could lose themselves in it–they all served as contour for a distinct identity. His identity. Half boldness and half self-assurance, his rebellion is compelling to watch, since his mouth strictly speaks for his own and never caters. He sings for himself, never for you. But oh, do your loins catch fire when he puts on a show.  

It’s entirely lucky for him and fundamentally damning for you that after the four years in the spotlight, he not only owns up to, but deserves every bit of cockiness that he has.

On screen, he has the allure of an idealistic presence, but face to face the same V is tough to get used to. You would be at ease if you were one of the faces who followed after the motion of his hand, who got lost in a stare from him and lived as a subject of fantasy for the rest of the night, but the knowledge of your reality punctures the tissue of your lungs. It overwhelms you beyond your composed façade, the fact that the breaths you let out would burn under the stage lights and the ones you took couldn’t offer you any stability, as each had to pass by his word. Constricted by the tips of his fingers and depth of his answers, the wait leaves you trapped and focused on nothing but him–and you have a feeling he’d love hearing all about it.

He said so himself, he’d always been a greedy man.

Even now, you are not doing anything, choosing to direct your focus on stifling your nerves; yet his presence leaves you intimidated. Lids closed, he rests on the guest chair, sitting alone before the artists rush to him, pampering his skin and blending dark shadow into his lashes. He still looks alone. A part of you wishes to speak to him, but you’re much too aware that at one wrong move, all eyes would be on you, his eyes would be on you. Despite the instructions you were given and how your head runs dizzy with filtering your thoughts, something deeper reaches and pulls at your essence: curiosity.

Curiosity in itself has been your rise and it won against the lack of both experience and exposure, which put you as a ‘fresh face’ in television. Many stories swayed you and tempted you to search for their hidden meaning, for the side others will not even dare think to look for. Solving the riddle didn’t satisfy you, finding its roots did. And Kim Taehyung, the man behind the notoriousness seemed to have buried his under a pile of personas he came to adapt in his life. The thing is, they all seem to contradict the man sitting a few feet away from you.

His silence is nostalgic.  

It comes to you as a tender shock, since you’ve been watching him for weeks prior to receiving your schedule, listened well to his past interviews and kept a careful eye on his mannerisms. Almost a year ago, the past spring season caught him in the last interview he would give before the one with you, head tilted as he stared the interviewer down with raised brows and tongue prodding at his lips. His posture was relaxed, yet his gaze held a different story–the game changed, as it does on stage when he’s singing; or rather playing.

He doesn’t play with the honesty of those who lie behind closed doors but rather toys with it in a secret meant for your eyes, with the way he throws his head back and bends the way his microphone demands. Up close, his half-lidded gaze is unfocused yet untamed, and it moves towards an end only he knows. He grips all that is inanimate with the tightness of a viper’s fangs and reserves the delicacy of a lover for when he touches himself, fingers trailing from the ends of his mouth to his jaw and through his hair. More often than not, the actions make you wonder how it would feel if the nailbeds stained on his jawbone would be yours.

You need to know more, you realize in your haze, and despite your conscience, you straighten your top and push your shoulders back.

“V?” You approach him with mismatched steps, clipboard resting on your hip, over the high waist of your dress pants. “Ten minutes till the interview. They are giving us twenty and we’re closing the show.”

The audience around the two of you clears out as you stand before him, taller in your heels as he slumps in the chair. Gone is the melancholic air once you make eye-contact, drive fuelling into his grin as the chains of his dangly earring catch the vanity lights. He looks every bit the sin he claims to be, far overstepping the sinner title.“Got it. Thank you for telling me.”

His words have you nodding, easy enough to shake off some of your anxiety but not to the point of letting your guard down. You purse your lips, feeling like you’re missing something despite being the one to schedule things around for your segments. Everything is too calm, and from your position, with him standing down it is unsettling, like a game of chess with the kings sat on their opposite colour. Then it hits you: it’s too empty, too intimate for a backstage meeting. The band who was supposed to perform with him at the end of your interview is not here, and neither are any of the main instruments. An acoustic guitar which is nothing like the electric beauties he uses in his concerts lays against the shelves of the vanity, cream wood against pristine white next to all black.

Your head comes up empty in its search for a way to ask him about it. “Your staff…the band, they–”

V stares at you with his head tilted as if he’s about to eat you whole. The glint in his eye is dangerous and it makes you feel like a prey put on display; only this time you’re playing yourself in front of him and he doesn’t have to put a finger on it.

“Oh, them?” he grinned. “They had a little bit of a rough time last night, but I made sure to come and see you all face to face.”

From the rumours you’ve heard about his backstage persona, him taking pity leaves you taken aback. Entertaining a feeling and seeing it solidified before you hit differently, you come to phantom after his words, as you thought you were prepared by studying him so much and even rehearsed what you would say to him. The pressure of doing well in your first interview made you overthink and analyse every possibility of how it might go. And you’re prepared, you swear you are–the replies lie at the back of your throat–yet you can’t say anything.

“I’m surprised,” he says and studies you, careful to drift your attention back. His facial expression changes quickly, adapting to your current emotion but his stability never wavers.“There was no one to show me around here. In the other one they showed me the camera work, we sat and drank a bit…you guys must be busy here.”

You turn like a toy on arches yet he stops you, gentle. “I wasn’t asking you. Just making conversation, I won’t be here for long anyway.”

You bow your head, slumping your shoulders at his confession–like you’ve been taught to behave around the stars here. Conflicting emotions settle in the pit of your stomach, a simmer of anger closing down on a thread that’s stuck in your neck and prevents you from talking. His condescendingness is palpable, he is good at what he does–having you start to dread your current position. A desire for more morphs in the heavy rise of your chest. You want more status, more power, to be considered beyond your position so you wouldn’t have to bow to the likes of him or act as his entertainment.

“It’s such a shame, right? Not many people call me up for interviews nowadays. I can’t seem to figure out why…”

He doesn’t look at you, rather ponders on the questions–equally demanding and mischievous, innocent enough so when cherubic eyes shift to yours, you are compelled to answer.

“Why do you think that is?”

Your mouth closes on its own as you take him in, leather pants and dress coats, choker adorning his neck, caressed by the tips of his hair. Such a presence is the first to ask.

It startles you, since you were not paid for your opinions and they didn’t weigh much either. Despite being displayed on television, you had little influence over those in higher positions. To know your supervisors are choking on the chains this man tugs on for the moment as they roll your little strings between the creases in their fingers makes you bold.

“I think… they don’t know where to start with you,” you say, voice barely passing a whisper. Seeing how he doesn’t stop you, a part of you pushes you further, the taste of disobedience lingering on the tip of your tongue and frustrations coming out through its flavour. “It scares them that they don’t know how to handle you.”

“And you do?” he challenges, getting out of his seat in slow movements. The balance acquired through your distance is thrown off and it leaves you more vulnerable as his weight settles in your personal space.“Or do you need more practice? You can ask your questions here too.”

You’re pulled towards him with how his voice deepens and he plays with its inflexions. You’ve heard these in his concerts, how he dips into growling tones and tastes the ending syllables. Your eyes, captured by the metal resting on his collarbones switch to meet his, and so he switches to the gentleness of the whisper again. “I’ll sit pretty for you while you ask. But I can only promise that if we’re here.”

“There’s no camera here though,” you state, lost in the eye contact, lost in how your throat constricts when you watch how his mouth curves.

“What reason do I have to misbehave then?”

He is toying with you, mischief now clear in how he quirks his brow and smirks, the line of professionalism being pulled by its threads, and your heart thumps to the bass of his voice. The threat of a clock skims by since your heartbeat no longer follows its normal course, running erratically–over what, you don’t know. The disobedience through your interaction flares up and directs itself towards him, and it builds in your chest, top too tight for the heavy breaths your taking.

“How about me? What reason do I have to bother?” you throw, careless to how your words drown the established boundaries. You have no sense of repercussions. You wonder what he’s going to do next.

His lips purse as his eyes drift down before a chuckle leaves him, breathy sound meeting a restless tongue, as he runs it over his lip. Pause, break, exhale. Steps, composure, lungs–“You’re right. Who am I to demand this from you?”

“I’ve been getting too comfortable. I take from others like they do to me,” he says it with a nonchalance which almost tricks you into thinking it’s a fact. “It’s not your responsibility to give into a brat like me, mm?”

The way he’s coming close to you, head tilted so his soft breath falls upon your cheek, instead of asking, it’s rather tempting you. You had a responsibility to keep your eye on him, you had plenty others to ensure a smooth flow, to avoid being overwhelmed on air where your slip would be replayed again and again. Giving into him, however–it was a voluntary action. He was merely suggesting to proceed.

You slowly shake your head, indications forgotten but still rooted deep within you, regrets sinking in at your impulsivity. You should’ve been more careful, not get caught up in his presence since the stakes have already risen beyond your influence. So why are you still yearning to push further?

Always attentive and attuned, V seems to sense your hesitation, as he takes a step back. You can’t discern between lines of arrogance and satisfaction on his face with the ease he may do it to you–reading into the conflict on your face. The contrast between the impersonality of his stage name and his interaction with you, how he asked for privacy upon sight, how he came to you… Who were you speaking to? The man, or a character?

His baritone keeps you alert, yet there’s a tint of safety to it, of the privacy you’ve been given since the beginning. And once again gentle syllables surround and silence your doubts.

“There’s no reason to get involved. For you, I’ll behave.” He extends a hand for you to shake, and you take a moment to grasp his hand, to soak in how the long fingers engulf your own. “If you promise to do it slower.”

You look up to him in question, but his voice doesn’t waver.

“My name…” he trails off as his thumb swipes across from your palm to yours, “You should say it like you want me. That’s how it gets the charm.”

He winks and pulls away, teasing yet ever the unassuming in the way he claims the public’s attention and bites into it. You follow after him on set, mentally preparing for what’s to come when he plops on the couch, legs crossed and gaze ready to claim every inch of the gold in your veins. The cameras are set in front of you, on your left and right and above, though the most careful eye you want to catch is his.

“Welcome back to Late Night Blues!” you grin as the framework zooms out, catching more of the background and bringing light to the couch your guest was leaning on.“Now that we’ve covered the latest pop-sensation news, for our last segment, we’ll sit down with popular singing figure V and look back on his latest album–Chaos and Disorder.”

You ensure your voice slows down at the mention of his name. Your confidence returns as you spot how he further relaxes into his pose, thighs spread and elbows resting by his sides. He’s watching you with his head tilted, lashes fluttering as you continue your introduction. “Chaos and Disorder, the sixth album of his career and the fourth to be attributed to V has sold no less than four million copies, three months after its release. This is a huge step from the latest album, which neared a million in eight months and saw an additional five-month hiatus.” He nods at your mention of past achievements, brow rising to tease. “How does it feel to have such a reception not even half a decade into your career?”

V pauses, chest rising with the deliberate breath he’s taking and the joviality on his features melts in the slightest under the heat of your question. “Looking at the pictures and flashbacks over the years, it’s…it’s a little surreal, not gonna lie. I mean, my songs are received well, I’ve established my style and I have a clear direction of where I want to go from here. I’m not scared to experiment–I’m doing what I was born to do and I get paid for it, does it get better than that?”

You laugh, and it’s laced with genuineness once you catch his confident expression. “Sounds like the dream life. Are you any closer to it, or has anything changed with your most recent release?”

“Well, not much has changed–I’m keeping it like it’s been. I’m constantly evolving, trying to look on my whole being and reflect on what I want to do better for the next time.”

“It’s rare for a musician to be praised by media and be so loved by fans throughout the years. There have been other acts to approach the same subjects as you do in your music, but it’s a rare instance to get such a wave of support, especially as you continued on with your new stage name.” You can sense the waves of truth through your question’s blinds, your own curiosity having you lean in more–the effect of his presence is an internalized fact.

The industry in itself always seeks for profit, engagement and shock value, and the ways of achieving it are rarely held in moral qualms. Yet, despite its nature, it pushes against acts promoting too much deviation from the norms, though along with his arrival, the aesthetic gained more popularity. The tabloids like him a little too much and they exploit him with the same controlled vigour, praise every line he sings and every line of skin the leather doesn’t cover. It should have eaten him, should have manipulated his essence and disturbed the covalence of his atoms till this moment–if only he wouldn’t fight against it.

“I’m happy they like me for now, they–they’re very passionate. Instrumental does half my job though, if they keep praising me and my voice it’s gonna get to my head.” He chuckles, shaking his head as if he takes his time to bring the thought back onto the surface.“What are we gonna do when my pride gets too big for my body, when I start to think I really am special?”

“It could become a thing they’ll love you for,” you say as you shrug, slight pout crossing your features, and he nods in acknowledgement at your posture. Your shoulders are high, propelled by the reminder of your ability to stay in character after your backstage conversation. “The interest in going against the norms in different domains has even been documented by your fans through polaroids of their creations. They’re even mimicking your pose, and the choice seems to be popular–what made you take the step from your real name to this? Does it have a relation to the peace symbol?”

“Mm, so many questions…” he ponders, eyebrows furrowing yet there is no trace of malice in his words. “Peace is not a common theme in my songs though. I don’t know if it’s a good example, but it’s a nice juxtaposition, using such a symbol to say ‘fuck you’ to whatever you’re given, whether it’s on air or not.” He makes sure to match the emphasis with a grin which widens till it’s all teeth, glints of mischief reflecting as he strums the chords of permission with his words. He’s probably satisfied with your cracked composure when he sees you taking a deep breath at his cursing, already picturing your director’s face at his disrespect–and the fine about to follow.

You remember his last hiatus, how they milked his name until they ran out of news and ways to market his style. No new club appearances or ads, no encounter with the media that would soil his image, no proof to adhere to the rumours about his notorious behind the scenes life, followed by the silence that came in February. The layer of quietness shredded to pieces as the explosion of his last album ripped into the general public. A break again, no words to the media, until your interview which was losing track the more he spoke, the more he ripped into you too.

It must be natural for him to misbehave, to strive for a tight grip on the attention he’s given, and he’s working it however he wants to. Even as the brattiness he used to display is making itself visible in tight-lipped smiles and head tilts, it doesn’t hold much of a bite. Innocence sits pretty on his cheekbones and runs through a body that’s chiselled and polished from every angle–and his voice, his speech patterns never disappoint either. You’d let him talk as he pleases if this was any other situation, but you’re much too aware of the eyes following you, the neutral figures behind the scenes who don’t watch–they scrutinize.

“So yeah, feels good that guys like me are the backbone of our genre right now and I get the opportunity to tear the house down while still having people openly supporting my message,” he adds in response to your silence, and you suppose he means it as comfort.

Your eyes switch between him, the camera and the dark backstage background, fidgeting in your seat to process the rest of the lines you lost as his answer came. The loss of control has you vulnerable, and your muscles lock into themselves, constant pressure leaving your hands rooted on the cards. The idea of forgoing them entertains the rotten part of your conscience, and you choose to ignore the bullet points laid in the middle, jumping instead to the next section.

“With such a broad range of tracks with influences in R&B and funk, it’s hard to classify your music in one genre. You’re constantly experimenting with new sounds and vocals, is there any space left for reflecting yourself or who you want to be in your lyrics?” Despite being sudden, the transitions you use to fill the gap sound natural to your ears, and the thread of your story is steady, leading up to the more pressing questions assigned–that’s until it splits.

“I don’t know about that, you’ll have to tell me.” He shifts from his position, crossing his legs and redirecting his attention to you. The distance between you does not shift–it’s the implications which seep through his casual tone that make it so intimidating. “You know me well–you did your homework, right?”

The balance sways too much and ends up bending to his corner, down to its foundation. He is too relaxed, too confident, while you are too scared to breathe. You now understand why he accepted the interview instead of turning it down like he has done with those he received in the last months. You’re confident in your belief, yet his tone sets off a range of possibilities running through your head regarding what he might continue with. None of them are clear to discern between, but they can somehow prepare you for his next hit.

“Those of you in the media assume you know me best, no? I could play any tune and I’m sure one of you can spot what’s made up and what’s really me,” he tells with the same calamity and inflections from the sphere of truth, which would make one believe and comply. “You wouldn’t waste your time writing all those articles if you didn’t.”

“Are you thinking about if you were to play something for us?” You’re treading on thin ice, but he is nonchalant even as he is confronted with your question, though the glint in his eye says otherwise.

He’s caught on.

“Yeah, ‘course…if I were to play. Fine, I’ll play something for you.” Faster than you’d expect, he picks up the same acoustic guitar at his feet before settling it in his lap. “Any preference? Anything that you love?”

“I…I Rock, Therefore I am,” you say, and you’re surprised at how stable your voice comes out. Your choice could never reach his level of boldness and neither could it reach your previous one, but it has risen since you have started. You brought to light a track which is essential to him and his message, while still coming back to the album in question. You’re doing anything you can to give continuity to your interview, to constrain his deviation and criticism even though it doesn’t have to do with you, and it is more than transparent.

“Mmm, that’s a good one.” He nods, licking his lips as he pats the guitar in a similar rhythm. “I could accompany you, since nobody’s gonna focus on me with you here. Would you like to sing?”

You pause, looking at him with wide eyes. “But…but I’m not a singer.”

“Neither am I,” and the way he challenges you as he’s beaming sets your loins on fire.

“I–I don’t know what to do. I’m sitting with such a presence, and he’s the one telling me to sing,” you stutter as nervous laughter bubbles in your throat. The thought is so ridiculous you are even admitting to vulnerability, certain that he is toying with you again. You stare at him, bottom lip caught between your teeth as the hint of a smile plays on his own and gods, he is beautiful. All delicate features and sharp corners, tight grips and careful fingers, who could say no to him?

You shake your head, overwhelmed tears glossing over your eyes, structures tinted by admiration disbelief shaping your confession: “You’re killing me.”

“That’s the idea.” He chuckles, brightening up, and the creases near his eyes deepen as he urges you on. “Give me a little, come on.”

The melody starts, and the temptation to get lost in it thrums under your skin, sinking part of your doubts in a muted place. As of now, he is commanding your limitations, and his demand is too innocent to further cause you trouble. Previous instructions made you approach him with such hesitation, told you to comply with his wishes and not press him too much about them. But what were you supposed to do when he was telling you to take the spotlight from him in a set put together to serve an opposite purpose?

In a soft murmur, you begin the first verse after the chorus, foot tapping the floor cautiously as you fixate on him–waiting for his reaction.

“There we go. Let it out, sugar.” He continues strumming, bobbing his head to as you end the verse before you’re tongue-twisting your words as you near a faster part. “Good, good–this is way more fun than those stupid photoshoots.”

You giggle into your hand, beyond embarrassed at what you did, so much that it drowns your sense of the current reality. What comes next is allowed without much thinking. “How did you end up there?”

“My manager wanted the extra promo and hey, money is money.” He shrugs. “I need something to fall back on in case this whole singing thing ends up failing me. Might have to work a little on my body for photo shoots, but I think I have the face for it. What about you?”

From your peripheral vision, you see the main cameraman raise his hand, fingers splayed out and signalling the five-minute warning, and any intention to answer dies in your throat. The lightheartedness shared between the two of you vanishes without any trace and the previous pressure lays over the back of your head and bends your vertebras bit by bit.

You peek at the script, checking on what you already knew. Sure, you enjoy listening to him, he has cooperated for a majority of your time together, he’s answering your questions–just not in the way you anticipated. He starts off with your lead, yet he turns it around just as fast, reminding you of the rhythm and bass in his songs, the crescendo that he builds and drops at his own will.

One part of the flashcard you’re holding threatens to rip, you realise as your grip tightens more and more and the paper holds no real barrier against pain. The tips of your nails dig into your palm and the foundation for the smile you have built shatters the more you realise you could never reach a balance. None of it made sense with your current situation.

Pleasing the directors meant filled-out grins that were unmovable, thoughts already printed and the cover of undivided attention as you rehearse what you’re told. You had no real basis on your guesses of what pleasing V meant, but it came clear that he didn’t sit well with rehearsed ideas by how he eyes your mouth. More time is ticking away, counted with the beats of red in the camera lights. It’s ironic how before even considering him for an interview, you’ve pushed for more freedom in your interaction, and now that it came to you without meaning to, it forces you to reconsider your position. Your stomach sinks the more your grin lifts.

And at once, it drops. You nod to yourself, almost frantic, and you have no conscience of disturbing your hairstyle or the golden pins in your hair. You’re hyper-aware of everything that’s keeping parts of you in place, and instead of building composure, this time they have you hesitant and self-conscious. Even the way your heel sinks into the floor has your balance off–there’s nothing natural about how you’re sitting, back straight and chest pushed out. The imposing status which came with performing these acts leaves you bit by bit, and you sink with the weight in his stare. He’s expecting more.

You recall your next lines, you are supposed to ask him about future collaborations, you’re supposed to ask about him feeling threatened by rising stars, but the transition sounds wrong to your ears. Who out there is doing things like him? Who has a more distinct identity, who sits on top of the balance between brattiness and maturity? He would never feel threatened. You can’t find it in yourself to believe, so with the utmost care, you move your shaky hands from your lap and put the script down, ignoring the anxiety which flares up in your gut.

What about you?

“Of course you do,” you breathe out. “It would be a pity though, seeing how well you’re doing now.”

“Hey, I’m talking about you too. That’s a face you want to capture, I’m sure the audience agrees.”

His compliment stirs up the same simmering warmth, but you remain impassive, your goal now becoming clear in your mind. “My influence is nowhere near yours, I won't have a lot to give up. You're sharing a lot with this album, expressing your wishes and reprimanding current society. Is the title connected to your vision, to what you'd like to see as a future for us?”

“Partially? Chaos and disorder, fame and surrender…those are things you have to experience for yourself before daring to speak out. They’re ideals, fulfillments–well, in a sense.” His candour sets a new spiral of hope within you, glazed with uncertainty–you feel you should stop hoping as if you know him. These feelings would soon vanish, you recognise, but now they are your main influence, and all you feel a sense of is hurt at how easy you are for him.“When you want to reach any of these, you give too much of yourself, and there’s always the chance to feel empty once you did. And it's...it's one of those things you're wishing but you're also scared of.”

You don’t know him, you don’t–

“Did you have those thoughts when you released your first songs? Speaking from experience?” you ask as if you’re testing the syllables for the first time.“Your style changed over the course of the albums, even your instrumental, the–the sounds refer to different emotions…”

It is his turn to remain quiet, to gaze at you like he depends on you to give more so he has the courage to answer. His eagerness slips from him like sand and it pours on your fingertips, and you wish to pry further into the space he let you open.

“Did anything… did the inspiration arise from your lifestyle?”

“My lifestyle?” he grimaces. He grips his sheer shirt, pulling it to cover his sternum. “What do you mean?”

“Talking about your first release, Stigma. The feelings of resentment and not being worthy made your audience empathize and relate to it, a–”

“Did you?” He’s focused on you, any hint of the teasing he has been playing with gone. Confident demeanours evaporate, and you’re met with an image you’re seeing for the first time–he doesn’t match the image of a notorious rockstar, he looks like the song’s writer awaiting your verdict.

Stigma, such a personal piece, released as a studio version in his early twenties. The melody you listened to until the pieces of glass in his chest grew into yours and brought conflicting emotions, desires of forgiveness. The ode missing any rights to say sorry, for abandoning and being unable to protect, which is too far from the man in front of you. The one who a spotless image and has no care in the world about who he touches. If he was closer, you’d tell him all about it, explain in your best terms how it touched you. You’d further consider the possibility that he hasn’t changed much from the man he was then, emanating the same warmth. You’d soften your gaze and let your mouth fall open the way it should without time stopping cold.

Instead of pinning you with his stare, you imagine he’d smile and mirror your expression. He wouldn’t make your sphere this small, like he wants to take from you and only for himself. He’s not downplaying his intensity, almost pleading with you to answer, like it was a moment shared between the two of you and nothing else, like he needed your answer. He doesn’t budge. He waits and wants.

“What do you need forgiveness for?”

And when you’re too scared to give, he still speaks.

You don't want to break yourself apart from this moment, content with the tension and the constriction in your chest as it is allowing you to see bits of him not yet explored. Your silence makes you feel you went too far to keep him close, built the same hope to him, as your willingness to tell him about it scatters. There's not enough time to explore his true depth, no time for you to open up and bloom as he must have liked. Two fingers up serve as a reminder that your conversation is nearing its end, and you're hyper-aware of it, lips rubbing against each other and pulling bits of lipstick off their creases.

“It's a lot... a lot of responsibilities that I've neglected,” you say because you can't find it in yourself to leave him empty and he carefully follows your trail. “Do you think it’s a responsibility now? That you’re the face of a genre right now, are you pressured to put out songs that deliver strong messages?”

What you wished to avoid on your part manifests upon his, as his mouth opens in recognition and his body falls back on its ordinary, relaxed position, at the same distance it was in the beginning.

“Responsibility? It sure doesn’t feel like one. Freedom and responsibility–they’re not tied together. I have no sense to be a role model, but if the public takes my actions, my lyrics and makes them into something freeing, then all props to them. That doesn’t have to do with me personally.”

“What should we expect for this year? Is promotion going to continue with no televised appearances or are we looking at another possible hiatus?”

“You'll have to wait and see, but I…I wouldn’t call it a hiatus. I’m never far enough from music to say I’m taking a break from it. I’m still gonna sing, I’m still gonna write.” He looks away from the cameras, head leaning on his hand–“I just leave it for me sometimes.”

The last finger up rushes you to the written ending, gazing for one last time at V, but your previous excitement is replaced by something more demure whose rise blossoms from underneath your vocal cords.

“What a way to end this. Thank you to V for joining us here today, and thank you to everyone else at home watching. Make sure to tune in next Friday for more in-depth looks at our latest stars! Have a good night!”

He stares at you, forgetting any acknowledgement of your mention, and while you get up to bow, he remains seated. You don't stay and question, choosing to have this moment for yourself, to collect your breath before you walk backstage. As you reach your corner, you squeeze your eyes shut, wasting no time to take your blazer off and hug your shoulders, letting your head rest in that space. It doesn't erase the past hour in its entirety, but it silences your thoughts, and you're grateful for the moment of silence you get as the rest of the crew wraps up for the day.

The volume rises with your guest's voice again and you turn around to follow the sound, “PD! What a great choice you’ve made with this one!”

He says his congratulations as he grasps the man's hand and shakes it once, impassive. “Thank you for having me on your show, I look forward to working with you in the future,” His attention switches to you as he notices you staring back, and he makes a point to pat your director's shoulder before dropping it entirely, “If you’ll allow me, I’d like to congratulate our interviewer too. Don't want to keep all of you for too much.”

The same hand hovers over the small of your back as you lead him back to your vanity, and it only grips when you're under the safety of the lights and his body covers you from the rest of the scene.

“Before more pleasantries, I want to know whose idea was it to ask those questions? And don't lie to me.” His gaze is intense, yet his demeanour screams calm to the point where even his demand sounds gentle. “Was it you?”

“I…well…the writers are the ones responsible for my speech, but I was curious too,” you say as your eyes linger on the ground. “You gave me a hard time. I had to ask things of my own since none of the ones from before were working.”

He nods as if he takes it all in, and you switch back to him, wanting to grasp his expressions, understand his actions better.

“Curious too, huh...Did I satisfy?” He quirks an eyebrow at you, tongue prodding at his cheek. “Or would you like to know more?”

“I...of course I want to.”

“I’d like you to have dinner with me. Have more with me.” He’s testing your reaction more, next words slow and languid as they roll off his tongue, “Would you?”

“Are you… are y–…”

“If you’ll take me.”

You don’t register what comes first, your nod or how he grins before gripping your hands and bringing them to his lips, quick, grateful. No longer are you surprised at how your heart jumps, you find the feeling pleasing–after all, it's better not to worry about it. There are much more putrid thoughts eating at you.

You never know what to expect from him, and you guess it's one of the things that incited you the most about him. It left space for you to make your assumptions, to twist the narrative in any way you liked about his stare, his intentions. His contribution, the invitation he extended rose hopes for you to give new meanings to his actions and mould yourself from those pointers in the time you spent away.

You talked to him for such a short time, yet it was enough for you to wonder. You wondered why and where he would take you, if he would choose places which suited his fine taste or matched the raw core of his character. If he wanted his girls like he guided his grip, a little caught up and tight around the edges or loose and ready to move with his flow. If he left enough space for you to squeeze deeper within the cracks you have scratched across his surface.

An address and a time is all that has been given to you, and you should be more nervous, since you were left in obscurity for the most part of this meeting, but all you feel is a thrill that moves along your spine and makes your chest rise up and your smile widen. You had no qualms yet regarding what he needed from you, and you found that in moments where your face wasn't grazing his line of vision he wasn't too keen on revealing more. It did not bother you, since you’ve seen him more in passing, a word here, a promise and a thankful smile there. He mentioned how he would love for you to meet him soon since he'll be leaving town in the next two weeks to perform at the Arts Center. You can't blame him for his decisions, you really can't, because he needed the privacy, and hadn’t it been for his clear sincerity, the depth of his words would have risen and vanished like smoke later when you lost sight of him.

It was an interaction which needed you to be close, needed you to speak it into the existence in the rhythm of his exhales, or else the string would be broken and the linearity of him opening up further would lose its path. The invitation was there, no shame or misunderstandings: he knew he was the lock and you the key, and he dared for nothing else than you opening him up yourself.

That's how you chose to go for now, sure and easy to open, had everything loose on you as opposed to the constriction you felt in your first interaction, part from the clothing and part from him. You smooth over the material of your two piece as you step out of the taxi and into the lobby of a four-star hotel with the same uncertainty you felt upon approaching him; only that this time it diminishes when you catch sight of the same metallic choker, sat over the dip between his exposed collarbones.

Taehyung raises from his seat when he spots you, a tint of a smirk gracing his lips when his gaze follows the curve of your hip and falls into the nets of your stockings.

“I’ll have to apologise,” he muses as his hand hovers over your waist in the same way he did before, fingers brushing against it only serving to make you more alert. “A rundown bar full of beer and rowdy bikers is more my style, but all of them were closed. I hope this will do.”

“Disappointing indeed. I didn't take you for a man with such elegant tastes,” you say, yet your tone is teasing–he had all the ground to represent any style, class or level of luxury there was. And by the fine silk that gave peeks to the planes of his chest and his smooth stomach, there was no doubt he loved to be surrounded by the same delicacy that his voice gave into the world.

“But I'm standing with you, aren't I?” He slows his step as he leads you towards the elevator, pushing the button for the secluded area on the second floor. The gold of the chandeliers and dark of the night painted between the window frames accentuate the atmosphere, making his words sound all that more intimate. “And I still want to sit with you. I say I'd need a little taste for that.”

You cater to his wish with a smile and he lets you pick where the two of you will sit. The place is crowded for this hour, and you find yourself at ease within–there are not many faces paying attention to you, most who do choose to watch are glued on V. On Taehyung. The Taehyung who left his leather in his closet for a shirt opened at the first two buttons. Each wrist tinks with the gold he wears around it, complementary with the fine chain that starts at his cartilage and meets the diamond stud on his earlobe. The colours only serve to complement his tan skin, a portrait of holy aura which shifts its focal point when he takes a glass of champagne from the tray and returns in your proximity.

“Is this usual, or did you need a change of scenery for now?” Now. The moment where you're closer to him than before, where you sit on stools next to each other and wonder out loud, part confirmation, part you wanting to know more about him, to hear him talk and never stop.

“How much is this for another interview?” he retorts, fingers rubbing the glass surface of the counter as he leans his head into his left hand, eyes on you. Mischief suits him well and paints a splitting image of a poster problem child for all the right reasons. You lick your lips as you watch him, pondering on the right answer when he changes the game, plays you as he likes, “Then how much do you want to know me?”

“I...I told you already. I was curious too,” you pout, chest constricting for the same right reasons and this time you can't control it. You had an eagerness about you which you didn't explore till now, didn't know yourself how much it aches when you let it free and you’re met with the wrong reaction. Sure, you were young and starry-eyed and willing to be swayed, a dream for the producers out there–but too much eagerness also showed inexperience you wished to avoid.“I could ask the same about you.”

The pure that Taehyung saw in you comes and goes, and he hopes he can see it clear enough to cut through and sink his teeth into it. This game that you're playing, the bits of vulnerability that you give him, they all serve to tease him, to pull him in more. He knows how the rules work and does not mind bending to them as long as it meant more of you. He's looking to prompt you, get the things you want from him out of you, so he lets out a soft 'oh?' and waits for your reaction, waits for you to continue.

“You...you didn't invite me here for nothing,” you whisper, fiddling with your thumbs as you lean in more as if you're telling him a secret he sees as endearing. “You want to find something out as well.”

“And if I do?” He chuckles, tongue toying with the edge of his canine, making a show of the syllables that make his mouth gape. “Will you be nice and tell me what I need?”

Your career path has led you into being taught what to say, and your mind doesn't grasp all the meanings in his message and the speed at which he turns things around. Without a clear string, it's too easy to get lost in him, to say yes baby, I'll do what you ask. He doesn’t try much though, and you suppose it’s a trait quintessential to him since you haven’t seen anyone behave similarly in recent years.

Because of him starting at your current age, the four years of experience place him ahead of you in the search for answers. The bits and pieces you found about his private life, you discovered he’s never tried to flaunt his experience to anyone–but in the league he is in, you imagine he is not lead by his impulses with the ease that you are.

A fight for control from two different sides of you, that's what it is, in which imitating his game is too dangerous but letting him win is overwhelming to your senses.

“Words,” he reminds with sweetness pouring out with every hit of tongue on the roof of his mouth.

One beat, then another.

“I made the time,” is what he says when you remain quiet, “I wanted this. All I ask is for you to talk to me.”

“What would you like then?” You tiptoe on a high edge, one which gives him far more reign than you have wished for.

“I'll let you ask your questions, answer the best I can,” he suggests, the steps pleasant to your ears. “Then I'll ask mine. I only want your honesty. Can you do that for me?”

The intensity of his gaze, laced pretty in carefulness has your shyness taking over and your head dropping down to stare at how you continue to play with your hands that are grazed by his long fingers. Other times, his touch served to bring your focus back to him, but now you concentrate on the opportunity he offered as his fingertips linger on your skin.

“What made you take that step?” you make eye-contact when you're sure your voice doesn't waver. “You had a stable career, not the best. But how could you know breaking off from your label was the best option? You had enough there.”

Your breath leaves you at once in a mirror gesture of his, since you're aware you dipped into the curiosity of others before you, the one he was asked at his past interview. The one where he made sure the media didn't toy with his boundaries, answers echoing deep within the man who overstepped his status. V stared at him with a fire untamed, questioned about the other's worth to talk to him in such a way, and the same fire is reflecting against you, only that it burns in both his hazy eyes and your belly.

“That's a little personal,” he comments, and his fingers squeeze your own. “Are you sure it's worth it?”

You know you made a bold move, maybe even too bold for you, but the impulse does not care about the implication. The rough edges and insistence to never cater brought you to him, and in his way, he was an inspiration, a dream forbidden for ordinary people like you. In his way, he ended up laying a foundation where you’re free to live through him as you wish–and you needed to further your fantasy.

“I followed their ways,” he begins with a calamity uncharacteristic to how he's looking at you right now. “And I'm not saying that they're bad, but in time I realized my way was the best way. I got to that point where I was comfortable with them telling me what to do and what to write because I had a promise it'll be well.”

“And it was.”

“But it wasn't what I wanted to do. On stage, what you see, that's part of me. I didn't want to sell it, to act and be a character, and I...” His stare is blank as he ponders over his thoughts before the corners of his mouth rise on arches, and the core of his composure changes, lifted to his usual spirits once again. “What you see is what you get.”

It's a surprise to you how it hurts. Your past assumptions match his description and with the discovery, you feel like too much of a familiar for him, a place you were never supposed to reach in any daydream of yours. You couldn't have anticipated anything close to it, for him to speak to you with such candour, but, unlike you, boldness has always been a trait of his. Chains pull at your heart's desire and deep down you wish for him to stop, but the temptation, the stakes, they're all too high, and the possibility of him telling the truth, you can't–

You can't stop now.

You lean in, and your hand slithers under his so that yours is now half-covered by gentle fingers. “We saw a different side of you before that. We saw Taehyung, the music you made before, the vulnerability–”

He hisses at the mention of his real name but doesn't press it further, too caught up in you. “Those are me too. But it's not what the public wishes to see until way later. Why shouldn't I have fun then? I'm not stupid, I–”

“You didn't seem to care about it when you started out,” you interrupt, a habit unheard of from your part coming to light because of images of the man you admired, the one on stage and the one in front of you not matching.

“I didn't know a thing when I started out. I didn't care about implications or labels or processes, I wanted to sing. They sure were quick to tell what they thought about that.” Patience hasn't been a nice cloth for him, and now it wears him down, trying to hold down the revolt simmering under his skin. His tone remains gentle, but you pick up on how he is abstaining from saying more.

“I didn't know I'd make music on demand and that I'd be either ogled or treated like I'm loitering. The label didn't anticipate for me to be the teenage girl's dream or some rebellion the tabloids get to write articles about.”

“But the attention you get...do you hate it?” You're aware of the superficiality of your questions, but you don't have enough experience or knowledge about him to add anything of value. You hope for him to continue.

“I don't. I like that my word has worth. I don't like that I had to compromise and give up songs with emotional value. I hate that I can't have an actual impact unless I act upon this part of my personality.”

“I don't understand.” The assumptions you made and narrative you pushed for yourself make it impossible to wrap your head around him telling you he wanted to continue the way you did. The route he's taken is plausible by itself, but with his attitude and his image in mind, with what he is presenting, you'd associate it with anyone else but him.

“What is so hard? They don't care about my emotions for now. No one made a career out of feelings.” The air he takes tastes bitter, and it's obvious by how it filters through his clenched teeth. “They'll be happy to see me in a scandal, b...break down a little, and I can't stand for it. Better to let it out early than have it be my downfall later.”

The single word sounds foreign to your ears in the situation where you allow for the both of you and no one else. They, he says, but you have a feeling it's half meant for you as well. You have no time for offence, his guilt is your guilt–you spoke in plural too, when you were too scared to speak for your own person. When you wished to detach yourself from the situation, to take the blame and place it onto others, onto another evil which would minimize your own interest.

Thoughts of personal feelings mingling with those which said your curiosity rose from the media's obsession–just like the others. It makes the situation blurry. Maybe you were a copycat looking to get her entertainment, maybe your head was empty and you'd get your excitement from the exploitation of his emotions. Maybe you saw a distorted image of yourself in him, one who instead of wondering and searching attempted to act and not let herself be pushed around.

Your job, your status, your inferiority in media–none of those had to do with anything you were asking right now. You craved to know for yourself, and the realisation sets another ache in your chest. What made it such a thrill that at the slightest loss of composure you would do anything to keep pushing once the barriers were lost?

For what did you need to always go deeper, and why did it satisfy you so much, pushing his buttons further until he snapped?

“You can't know if that's true.”

“Humour me, how many people would have listened then? Two? Thirty at best?” He shrugs, reminiscing of his teasing aura, yet stiffness is palpable in his movements. “I don't take directions from anyone in what I say or the person I am. Beyond that...”

He sighs and leans into his free hand, and the action further brings him in your line of vision.

“I'll be kind and say it's up to the audience.” The grin he gives resembles the mannerisms of the puppet he makes himself seem as it is pulled up against his will. “My job? I talk back, I sing, I make my money. That's all.”

The lines supposed to differentiate you from the mass of his supporters blur, since there was comfort in anonymity, in making statements which cannot be traced back to you. Before you can ponder more over your decision, you find yourself speaking.

“No, that's not what the audience asks for. They want a model for those with attitude, a reason to justify their actions. They can watch you, grow with you and if you succeed, they'll think they're the ones who made it.”

“I'm not looking for that.”

“It's not about what you–” are looking for, but it dies on your lips. There is pain and truth in how the public doesn't care, each selfish in their own purposes, as it was what all of you were made of. Dreaming and chasing an industry that benefits off exploiting your being, for the illusion of spotlight. To assure you will not be forgotten.

That’s what you craved as well, why you are pursuing your career and why for the first months, your satisfaction with your job has been held constant. Seeds of doubt blossomed here and there, yet none of them grew enough to have you fully aware–until him. You felt it with him, what it means for the light to be on too long, for the things you meant to be private to burn under the watchful eye of hundreds.

You can’t say how much you have left, but with how he has been holding on, he still has a say in it.

“Guess I've been lucky then, huh?” In this position, luck was subjective. With the minor role you have, your actions will never be justified the same or thought of as your original intentions. For him, whether he plays nice or not, there will always be reasons to defend and despise him for, no matter if he’ll ever do it again. “Living with the idea that I get to decide what matters. That's not the case.”

His reaction is not entirely triggered by you, but also the obsession regarding ownership of his work, with releasing music on his terms and at the time he felt like it. Topics of money were mentioned, but you're sure there was no issue with money from his side, and your theory is validated by the lack of articles about royalty scandals in the last two years. Irony seeps through the cracks whose foundation crumbles more and more.

“You might be right. Did they tell you to say this for confirmation?”

“Nobody’s telling me what to do,” you huff in indignation before your body takes a more mellow stance, “It’s just… It’s how it works. Always about them.”

“You think you know what this is about?” he prompts, and panic settles in your gut, mixing with rotten curiosity when you spot how his jaw ticks.

Chaos and disorder, fame and surrender, you need to experience those for yourself before you speak out.

“I–I learned a thing or two.” Of course, it's nowhere near what he learned, but you have your pride, you have to fight to reach his level. Fame is the only thing that's missing from your list, as living in the sphere of disorder comes with the erratic hours of your job. It’s not about having similar experiences though, it’s about drowning another boundary, one for which you're purposefully provoking him.

“Is it enough for you to talk to me like that?” He furrows his brows as he speaks, and you'd take it for a display of superiority if it weren't for the desperate edge in his tone, one which tells you he is demanding the respect he deserves. “I don't get it. What do you want to see in me?”

He doesn't let you answer when he sees you hesitating, prompted by your lack of self-assurance, by how you can't own up to the things you ask.

“Are you not the same?” He continues, but instead of the rebellion he accustomed you to, he sounds defeated. “You're also in the public eye. Did you think it would be different for you? There you have it, what happens when you grow.”

Throat stuck with thorns, you struggle to get the words out. “I'll never be like you. Our fields, our personalities... they're different. There's no one to back me up if I don't move as they like.”

No one. Your face falls when you realise your mistake, realise how you denied it in front of him. He had the status to afford to mess with you and leave you the consequences to sink into. With time taken to reflect, you don't see him as the shadow of a persona. You're sure about who he is now, the one who challenged you and provided you with the safety to get out of the norms he kept breaking.

“Then why ask in the first place? Why go off track? I got the script beforehand, the dog got on his knees for me to be on his show,” he retorts, careless at how anger and disbelief pour out of his mouth with the loss of composure. He looks lost as he switches from you and returns, he is searching your eyes for an explanation. “Was it some sort of plan? I knew everything you were gonna ask, I thought there would be no more surprises, but–”

“But?” you press, newfound desperation making its way through you and pulling you towards Taehyung. V. You can't comprehend the single letter anymore, don't care about whatever peace symbol or the relations, part of your past which brought you here is erased. You care for now, for him, for Taehyung.

Taehyung. His name is so pretty. Taehyung, Taehyung, Taehyung.

“Why?”

“Because I–because they–” You babble, too lost into chasing more of him, elbow sliding on the counter as you lean closer–until you're centimetres away from his face. Your thoughts turn frantic when you see his head down and hear nothing else from him, and you're reminded of the same nostalgia you saw backstage the first time–how more than ever you want to soothe it. You're scared to touch him, to offend or unnerve or do anything which would bring him back to you when you don't have the right words to mend his ache.

There's so much to say, how they never planned to make such an effort, how it was you and your curiosity and no rehearsed plan could have saved you since he was too much for you to handle. You gulp, throat dry and incapable of more when you hear his shaky exhale. It pains your heart and your breath when you force yourself to whisper, yet all you manage is a whimper when he looks up, hazy eyes staying open for one last moment before his forehead softly falls against your own,

and your world shuts.

His shaky hand reaches out, but it never ends up touching you. The shadow of his figure falls upon your exposed skin–you see it when you look down to hold onto the last bit of control you still had.  The brightness of your dress deepens into a much sultrier colour where his shadow brushes it, and he gasps when he sees the same connection. He's lost, and that leaves only innocence on his features, innocence that screams his need for guidance and begs your palm to settle on his neck. You crave for nothing more than to steady him, though all your touch does is bring him closer. With his lips hovering over your own, your heart breaks and falls into the pit of your stomach where it melts into heat. Why, why, why.

“Why me? Why are you not leaving me alone?”

He is too much, too close for you to think of anything else and it weighs on your conscience, manifests as a visceral press on everything that made you whole. The syllables sound broken, whispered in a breath you swallow as you lean in more, thumb stinging with the sensitivity of the touch when it brushes against his bottom lip. He has given it to you. Whatever state of mind or information you needed from him, he has given it up in place of being raw and open for you despite your ties with a world looking to break him apart. It's hard for you to pin what he expects from you now, if he expects pride to swell in your chest instead of the ache building in your core. You can't think beyond this moment, you can't care about anything else.

You want to kiss him. You want it so bad.

“I have no responsibility towards anyone, I don't owe anyone anything. Just like you had no responsibility to deal with my tantrums and how you still have no responsibility to give into me.” His lips tremble, and you catch the movement, fixed on nothing else but his open mouth and the laboured breaths he's taking. “You'll only do it if you want to. Why is it so hard to understand,”

“I'm sorry,” and you hope the broken words can convey their meaning. The distance cuts through you with the realisation of how far you are from attempting to seal it with a kiss.“You don't seem to take yourself that seriously, maybe it's why everyone assumed–”

“But that's what I'm doing. I am looking for someone that can take me seriously.”

You're locked in the sensation, locked up with the anticipation which prolongs the moment and you wait for the trigger to be pulled. He presses on, but the effect never comes.

"Oh, in that case, I–I'm..." you mumble, lost when your expectations aren't met but Taehyung silences any apologies you had when you feel his hands on you.

He cups your cheek with the utmost care, and it's unclear whether he wants to bring you back to earth or to bring you closer so that his mouth swallows the breaths you've been taking over his bitten lips. His hand glides up and down, uncertain in its movements as it descends to your neck, one step away from covering it whole. The delicacy of his gestures has you chasing after the warmth, head following after the motions of his palm, bending how he likes, easy.

“You risked so much. No one knew how he was going to react.” He takes you back to his previous question, the reason why he sought you. He's talking about the PD, the man in his forties who let no ground for the younger staff to express themselves, had no consideration for his employees when the cameras were off unless he had something to gain from it. Of course, he was not the only one with authority over you, but he is the one whose characteristics you can list in the eight months you have worked under him. You recalling how revolted you were in the first weeks–complaining to your mother endlessly before swearing you will not be rendered by it. If you weren't part of the situation, if that scene was not part of your current reality, you suppose you would react the same, but now the thoughts leave you voided of any emotion.

Taehyung is right, you are aware, but you cannot process it.

“Who would you have done this for? A friend?” He smiles for the show, eyes closed as his lip drags across your jaw, shy. “A lover?”

You let get lost in the sensation, let him play you as he wishes in hopes to avoid his question. His lips tease the curve of your jaw, but he never takes it further: he holds you in place as you search for an escape to cling to so you won't say it–how you wouldn't have done it for anyone who wasn't him.

“Your honesty. That was all I asked.” He sounds like he's begging, tampering with his tone and letting you see him for what he is to weaken your resistance. A fighter who refuses to die off gently. “That's my question. Indulge me a little, won’t you sugar?”

The plea shakes your entire being, and only when he moves to say it into your ear you can breathe again. You're brought back to a thread of reality he pulls at, though his presence and aroma still linger. You can feel your surroundings, and they still mess with your senses when you notice the gold all around you, how your thighs are resting between his spread ones. “I'd do it for anyone who needed it.”

Taehyung laughs in your ear, and the vibrations run shivers down your spine. “Quite the interesting answer. After what I've told you, I didn't think there was any way left for you to surprise me. Didn't take you for a liar.”

With how wrecked you feel, body walking the line between tight and boneless, you can't understand how he can be so sharp and articulate. How much experience does he really have with strings to bring a new star to light, alternating between your loss of control to his vulnerability which goes away on whims. You're taken aback by how his voice is drained of emotion and replaced with a sensuality that serves to tempt you. It comes naturally to him, and so you suppose that is why it’s easy to forget, because with him experience every moment in the present. You see him as a new person with each reply.

“I'll lead you back if you don't want this. I shouldn't have to beg,” he whispers and you jolt, too shocked at him suggesting leaving as he rests in your space, touching and breathing on you.

“I can’t,” you admit, weak, “I don’t want to humiliate myself.”

“How is it humiliating? You did not feel a thing when you asked me those questions. You had a lot to say before,” he teases with his tint of condescending before setting on gentle. “We can talk another time. We can do it when you’re ready.”

He gets up and waits for you, and the graveness sinks your stomach to the ground. You walk the same pace, steps slow and deliberate, and you fix your gaze on the floor to avoid looking at him, as if you'd announce your defeat, your weakness if you were the first to do so. Every move bringing you closer to the point of departure gives more heaviness to your legs and alarms ring in your head in the rhythm of your heartbeat. You need to say something, you need to stay–

“It's still a truth, no matter if you choose to believe it or not.”

He says nothing, smirking when he spots traits of him in your stance, in your words. “Pretty games for a pretty girl. Too bad I won’t get to play them.”

You press the elevator button, the indicator lighting up to signal the following descend from the tenth floor. Crossing your arms in indignation, you lean against the cream wall and in his personal space, looking at him from under your lashes. “You can’t say that, you’re hurting my pride.”

“Come on, I have no intention of doing that, I’m just trying to work you a little, get my entertainment. It gets tiring–kinda lonely after a while.” He is rambling, distracted by the change of position and how you seem to be pulled in his direction. He gulps, eyes wide at his own actions, as if he surprised himself by holding onto a mask that cannot stay any longer. In your mind, the meaning blurs. You can't make the difference between the two variants of his truth: if he is selling you the transparency or if it is a figment of your perception. Acknowledging how it might not be an act would only bring you back to where you were before, too scared to admit you’re wishing for it to be true.

“Is this why you want to hear this from me?” you urge, pulled towards him no matter the implication or how much you lie to yourself that you're not affected by it.

“Yeah. You don’t know how lonely it is. You don’t know how bad it is to be in need of a touch,” he smiles but it's full of need and bitterness, the heat of his exhale falling on your neck as he speaks into it. He's far too close for you not to notice every move, how your hairs rise as he noses along it.

“There’s all these people–” you protest, but instead of pulling away, you grip the hair that's touching the nape of his neck. You're not sure if you mean for an ode his audience, or a warning about the people around you whose interest you lost, but who could turn around any minute at the slightest sound.

“So? Are they going to touch me? Fuck me how I like it?” he demands, chest pressed against yours, and it's so rare to anything dirty spew out of his mouth. The effect is far more powerful, far more wrecking. Oh, how it bites. “What do they have to give to me?”

What do I have, you mean to say, but your thoughts are blurred by the groan he lets out as his lips seal over your own, hand pressing on the wall to steady himself as he presses into you more. His pace is frantic, hands gliding across your body and your rationality spreads all over the place till you have no sense of surroundings, till all you can register is his touch. The first sound is what gets to him, makes him push his knee between your thighs and spread them as his for the taking. You can't take it, impatient in your gestures as your splayed out fingers travel across his ribs, searching for more material to grip. Half-lidded eyes meet yours before falling on your jaw. His fingers reach to caress it for the briefest second, gentle hand pressing over of your throat as he sucks hard enough to bruise.

You can't explain it, how much you like him filling up your space, how much you like it that at every angle there's a piece of him on top of you. How he can't wait any longer to take from you, how he pins your wrist away as his other hand reaches and toys with the ends of your dress, lifting them so he can grip the fuller part of your thigh and wrap it around his own. Satisfaction floods your senses, since there’s no way around it anymore: you’re getting a side of the real him. The part of him who is reckless, who can't wait to rip the same hems apart so he can reach deeper, move your underwear to the side and make a mess out of you.

Despite the roughness, despite how he handles you in a way you can’t do anything about it, you still feel safe. But it's not enough right now, no, no. You crave to lose that sense as well, to get so lost you'll never find your way again. You crave his mark, yes, you want for him to soothe the desperation eating at your conscience with no regards, take the pure part of you and wash it away with traces of his tongue. You’re about to voice it over his mouth when the sound of the elevator opening brings you back to earth, and you hold onto him to find a balance for your weak legs.

His hands cup your cheeks in support, like he fights to pull away but he can’t, heavy breathing falling over your lips–only that this time he bites at them and soothes the sting with another kiss.

“I'm not some tragic story. All that they say about me, my lifestyle and the shit I thought you were going to ask–those are true as well.” He grins, no regards to the people who pass by you. “Not even a little bit curious about those?”

Your body lights up at the words, familiar with the rumours of the things they do after performing, though it holds no fear or judgement. You couldn't say no to him right now, not after he kissed you, the dark red of your lip around his mouth a clear reminder of your act. A reminder that you’d love for your stain to reach deeper and take parts of him yet unknown.

Too lost in the possibility, you choose not to answer and pull him inside the elevator, hands brushing the satin as they glide down his back till they reach his hip bones. You don't think, pressing him against you once again as your hips drag against each other. He nods against your neck, a wrecked chuckle passing him as your breaths become weaker, needier.

“Fine. Eyes on me and I’ll show you.” With that, he distances from you and turns to press the button for the penthouse, eyes flaring with promises of more than you could handle.

The doors to the elevator open, the foreign space they hid making you shift closer to Taehyung, whose hand now remains tight around your waist. Throughout your interactions, you've made yourself one between the tints of gold, shone and felt burned under the bright lights–each colour scheme bringing the best version of yourself for everyone to see. This time, with no shame, dark surrounds you and overshadows your presence. With the exception of the ambient neutrality of the walls, all around you can find leather and recklessness, people who drink in motion with the bass, images you’ve taken as universal truth before meeting him.

The penthouse covers the same surface as the private area, might be even bigger at a deeper glance, only that the silk on tables and the big windows are replaced by accent walls and liquor stains on wood. You can't name most of the bottles you see, much less the faces, but you catch sight of the signs of luxury, how the drinks are adorned in coloured glass and cursive writing. Seems like that's the place Taehyung left his leather at, as everyone has a quintessential part from its element, from pants to chokers, to jackets that sit pretty over bare skin. At its core, the scenery is modern, but it keeps tints of the classics, with an imposing chandelier being the only source of light, the bulbs inside covered in translucent reds. Pairs of eyes turn to you as they see you, careful to move with him at once.

A shadow of scarlet falls upon the centre, where most of the group sits, where most of them turned to watch the both of you, giving meaningful glances to Taehyung and studying your figure, from the crossed model on your stockings to the slight rip in your dress. He grins when the attention lingers on him, pulled by his string, and he turns to you with mock curiosity gleaming in his eyes. “Looks like anything you've imagined?”

“I haven't got to that yet,” you confess, thoughts of Taehyung's presence alone overwhelming you. “Is this the place–the place where...?”

You haven't considered this aspect of his life in its entirety, too caught up in untangling the wires lost from the start of his career and up to the point of now. As you see him, he is in control of every aspect of his identity, making active choices of where and when he'll show his vulnerability–it's hard to imagine him losing that control without his will like the ones here seem to do. Your mind swims in all the possibilities, mixing the scenery with what you have heard and what you have experienced with him. His inhibitions were limited regardless, though their level has yet to be discovered.

The picture snaps on the newspapers you read were blurry and inaccurate but captured the same essence: he hung around places where someone could mingle, make relations, drink, hold no inhibition when it's about feeling each other, no matter the person, no matter the number. Places where he had the opportunity to deviate from whatever it was imposed from his lifestyle as a songwriter and a chance to experience the fantasy people associated with his kind. As the clarity of the area is faded by incense, opulence drowns your remaining senses. You feel out of it, and oh, how you'd shame this if it was anyone else but him.

Him, you think, for him it's not enough. He deserves more than that.

Taehyung ponders over his answer, slight pout shaping his mouth, confirming all your thoughts. He does deserve more. “For now.” He leads you towards the corner where the appetizers are, parallel to the line of instruments and sound equipment. Ever so careful, he avoids the centre where people stare and nod at him. “They needed a place to bring all the instruments till we move to the next city.”

“I'm sure this is the case,” you state without much conscience, and there would be more sarcasm laced in your tone if it weren't for your disbelief and closeness to Taehyung, which has you reconsidering the roots of this place. “What do you do here?”

His brows raise, free hand gesturing towards the groups. “You're free to do as you like.”

“I'll stay with you” you blurt, feeling your cheeks heat up at how fast you made your choice. “I mean, of course. Is this the rule for everyone?”

“Well, who am I to tell them what to do? Mm?”

“What if they ask you to?” The question has you holding your breath as you watch his gaze darkening, the intensity from moments ago blazing in his eyes. He reaches out to cup your face, thumb massaging your lip and your lids are already dropping when he presses deeper–moments before a hand slaps upon his shoulder.

“You said you wouldn't be here tonight,” the man says as Taehyung cuts to him, confusion morphing into acknowledgement. “We didn't expect to see you so soon.”

His tone is snarky, more scolding than playful but you suppose it is a casualty since Taehyung smiles at him. The latter mentions how he was not planning to do so, and his eyes travel to you by instinct, making the stranger watching with intent, doll eyes sharp as they study you. Taehyung introduces him as Yoongi, mentioning how he plays the keys and works for his previous label, the one deciding to stay while Taehyung left.The dark-haired man nods at you and disappointment spreads under your sternum at how he doesn't pull you closer to introduce yourself like you've seen around here. Like you've seen the two women in cut-out shirts do, shake hands and whisper to each other before embracing. Last you've seen them giggling, tangled in each other as you passed the fuller part of the crowd. Thoughts of sticking out too much overshadow past desires, and anxiety climbs up your spine once you make eye-contact with Yoongi again.

“We worked on a couple instrumentals together. And this is–”

His talk is interrupted by another presence, and if Taehyung had the looks and emanated the thrill of the rockstar, the man in front of you had it pouring out of every pore. While Taehyung is a subtle controlling aura, asking for what he wants through tints of games and teasing, the other man's smirk tells you he had no qualms about being upfront about his needs. His body tells the same by the open shirt halfway down his chest and the way his hands lay his pockets, how he stands with his legs spread. Even with the blur around, you can make out shades of messy pink hair and coloured drops of sweat which have dripped down his forehead. He looks like the kind of wanderer you'd lose yourself in with no mind, one who seems like he doesn't care for hiding, skin glistening and pairs of hoops hanging from the cartilages. Crystals adorn the translucent silk brushing his chest, sticking to bits of skin where sweat has sunk in. It didn't take a lot to figure out that if Taehyung was the core of this place, this man was a split image of its surface.

“Jimin, good to meet you.” His aura shifts and you're marvelled at how young and pure he does look when the grin he wears emanates warmth and self-assurance in the way Taehyung's does. “The one responsible for all of this.”

You suppress the reflex to bow your head as you introduce yourself, aware that there was no room for respect and formality in a place like this. He seems to lose the last tints of shame as you take him in, and you presume he wouldn't mind more arrangements with you. Jimin, in all his careless glory, is a pretty face the tabloids wouldn't mind. A face you wouldn't mind seeing every night from your TV screen as you breathed out the worries of the day. While fine taste suited Taehyung the best, Jimin's luxury was written in the same cursive next to the signature of his name.

“Say, how did you meet V?” Jimin throws, focused on you, and Taehyung's hand on you splays out, a change of position which lets you know that he is listening, more carefully than you'd like to consider. Heat is still simmering under your skin as a reminder of his touch he is not keen on letting you forget, back arching when his hand moves to your stomach over your belly button. It's not fair, he can't demand answers from you when Taehyung pulls you in like this and you feel his solid body on yours.

You can't think when he touches you like that, with warmth burning at your side and your mind focusing on nothing but how hard it is to bury the urges of following the trail of his mouth. Pressure lays upon your shoulders but it sinks in your stomach and manifests in how you pulse from it. It's too much, the attention that makes you feel small under their gazes, makes you steel yourself to hold eye-contact with the man in front of you. “I was with him in my last interview.”

Jimin's face lights up in recognition, and a wicked curiosity stains the previous warmth of his smile. His gaze is lost in the red marks on your throat before switching back to your eyes, not bothering to hide his interest. “The bold one, huh? Are you like this always or is my Taehyungie over here making you act like that?”

“Jimin.” What comes off your date's lips is a warning, but he fights against his lips curling. “You're too much.”

Fake innocence settles over the man's features as he tilts his head at you two, peering at how Taehyung's holding you. “What, you can't blame me for wanting to know. I'm sure she had her questions too.” With another glimpse at Taehyung, Jimin abandons the focus, taking a step closer towards you. “Did he satisfy? It's hard to get him to talk when he insists so much on being an ass.”

Another one and he'd be in your personal space, body pressed to your front.

“He's a little impatient, isn't he?” Jimin chuckles, but the connotations are open enough to include you in his game. “I didn't expect him to bring you here so soon.”

“She wanted to know.” Taehyung shrugs and says nothing else.

“Did she? In that case, you can ask me all about it.”

Although Jimin himself resembled the protagonist of any fantasy you’ve had arisen from the crescendo of the moonlight, had the boldness you so much enjoyed in his approach, you couldn’t comply. Your presence there was owed to Taehyung. Your interest laid on discovering parts of him yet unknown, untangle webs from such a complex character that details beyond him overwhelm you–aiming to get to know Jimin would be too soon, too much.

“I asked him,” you begin, words forming with difficulty. “I do want it...from him.”

Jimin purses his lips and nods with you. “Such a sweetheart, and so eager to ask...him. Who gave you the reign for it?”

The question makes your blood boil and your walls rise in defense, possibilities of forgoing the thoughts you've had of him running rampant. A part of you feels that Jimin's approach comes from how protective he needs to be, of both the collective and Taehyung. You're sure exclusivity must be kept, and the stamp comes with being a judge of character, an ability to look beyond and into the transparency of outsider intentions. With the way you're clinging to Taehyung, you can't understand how Jimin might think you're here for any other reason. More than pissing you off, it is upsetting you.

“What did you do to deserve it?”

You unlatch from Taehyung in need of something to prove, hoping that Jimin can see through you without your use of words or the need to scream for it. Despite how fresh into the scene you are, you can figure out that once you have to say what you mean, the words lose their value.

“Or what will you do, hmm?” Your breathing is heavy as Jimin zones into your lips. The tension lays a thick web in your stomach that's grows all that more intricate when he arches an eyebrow at you, provoking you with the same vigour. Anger and craving tighten against each other like vines, you wish to prove him wrong so bad it fades the lines of morality you built. Teeth clenched, you take the remaining step towards him and break the barrier as you fist his shirt before turning around and roughly pulling Taehyung into you.

You feel restless, impatient in your own skin as you cup his face and slam your lips against his, and he lets out a choked moan as presses against you, grip tight as he sits you on the table. The sound of glass shattering is deafening to your ears before you sink underwater, muffled by his breath. Your tongue licks at his bottom lip and he opens his mouth further and lets you lead as you fall back, dragging him with you and spreading your legs further to accommodate him better.

There is a rush you get at the fact you know Jimin is watching, the image of his expression stirring you on further and making you spread your legs as much as you could to bring Taehyung closer in his rut against you and prove something to the man. Your thigh knocks against Jimin's hip on purpose, and his fingers fit themselves into the dark nets, and oh, how you like it when he pulls on them.

“Take a shot with me.” Jimin offers to Taehyung as big hands drift to pull your skirt down, until he could slip his fingers under your stomach. Taehyung struggles to break apart from you, the softness of your lips molding on his tempting him to forget anything about paying attention. You whimper against them, rotten satisfaction burning your loins as you feel his hands falter and how the rhythm breaks, and you can't stop thinking it's all you. You're making him feel like this.

“I’m not drinking,” Taehyung states as he lifts your thigh to press deeper into you, rough drag of his cock against your clit.

“From me. He'd drink from you though.” You break apart at the affirmation and look at Taehyung to confirm, mouth gaping at how wild his eyes are, though there is no sign of denial. Confused, you grab a cup and wait for Jimin to fill it, turning back only when the whiskey nears the tip of the glass. He doesn't budge.

“Not like this,” Jimin tutted, tipping the glass so the liquid falls on your exposed skin, over your low piece and hipbones, and before you can express your shock you feel Taehyung pulling down your skirt, drops dipping into your belly and gliding further down. He falls to his knees, grabbing your hips and pulling you close to his mouth as his tongue cleans it all up, lips sucking on the skin there, so close and yet nowhere near enough.

“I could show you more,” is uttered through reddened lips before big eyes plead for your confirmation.

“Here?” you ask when he takes a step back and fumbles to take the belt off. Molten pleasure runs through your core at the idea and it lights up ablaze when you're met with his smirk.

“Where else? I'm sure that they don't mind.” He looks like he wants to say more, but something is stopping him. “Come here,” he motions as takes his belt off.

You take deliberate steps until your thighs brush against his, hands rising to splayed over them. There’s a hesitation on your part, used to him making the first move–some could say it’s shame burning in your belly at the faces watching, distant memories that remain in dark corners of your mind as the star twirls in his toybox. Taehyung stares at you with his head tilted and intensity sharpening his features no sooner than you feel the leather of his belt snaking over your shoulders till it reaches the back of your neck. He pulls on it teasingly, bringing your face to his. “I said closer.”

He leaves a fleeting kiss on your lips, enough to have your mouth chasing after his.

“Usually you're so well-mannered, why is it so hard to get you to listen baby? I've been patient with you,” Taehyung pouts as his hand reaches between your legs.“I think I deserve an apology.”

“I'm sorry,” you mumble as you throw your arms around his neck, face attempting to hide there as his finger massages over your underwear before deciding against it. He dives in, sliding his fingers in and circling your bare clit. Your mouth gapes at the sensation and at just how easy it would be for him to go further.

“Who are you speaking to?”

“I'm sorry, Taehyung.”

“That’s right, say that again,” he commands, but his voice is breathy. “Say my name again and I’ll give you what you want.”

“Why are you teasing her like that,” Jimin, whose presence you have forgotten about makes your breath hitch up in your throat. “Can't you see how bad she needs you?”

Your unfocused gaze falls on him, leaned against the same table Taehyung kissed you on with Yoongi not too far apart. You’re aware of how Jimin’s eyes devour you, taking in the image of your loss of control, but you’re not shy. You’re grateful for him, for the interruption, believing that his provoke Taehyung into hurrying up. And hurry up he does, unbuttoning his shirt, giving you all the space to roam over bare skin and over the band of his boxers.

Based on first impressions alone, Jimin is slim and chiseled, straight line defining his abdomen. He is a stark difference from bodies you have seen before, and trying to get used to it grows the surprise you have when you get a peek at Taehyung, who is solid in all the right ways and feels warm under your hand. A tiny sound from the back of your throat leaves you when you squeeze his shoulder and splay your palm on his chest, finding how his heartbeat matches yours.

“And just how am I teasing?” Taehyung smirks, pushing one finger into you, making you clutch the collar of his shirt. “Hear that? That’s what he believes.”

His free hand drifts higher till it reaches the belt still resting on your neck, gripping it to have his mouth brushing over yours as he takes his time spreading you open and curling them. “Am I so mean to tease such a pretty baby when she’s already this gone for me?”

You can’t say anything, too focused on trying to push back against his fingers so you’re getting more of him. Your head shakes in an attempt to soothe him before his tongue licks into your mouth and laces with yours, hints of champagne still on his tongue. When he parts, he takes the belt in his grasp and raises it until it reaches eye-level, the hand slick with you remaining on your mouth. “If I were teasing, I’d say this.”

You let your eyes close as the leather wraps around your eyes, presses on your lashes. You're more vulnerable like this, more easy to be watched without a shame in the world but you can't find will to care about it, too busy running your mind with possibilities of what Taehyung will do. The action heightens your other senses, hyper-aware of every move happening around you, so it comes as a no surprise when you feel Taehyung leading you backwards, pushing until your back makes contact with the table.

“I’d say you know me.” It is not a hypothesis, it is a statement, one that has been tested throughout your evenings and which gave you an illusion of hope. “I’d ask you to tell me where I'm touching and I'll let you cum.”

You don’t grasp the full meaning of his words until another hand lays softly upon your shoulder and your back arches from the touch. “Yes, yes–” you breathe out, pushing your chest up to slide the touch lower, to dismiss the softness in place of something bolder. The blazer you are wearing is pulled down and the skin to skin contact intensifies as you’re left with your two piece before you’re pulled into another body, bold teeth grazing the zipper of your top. Your back is left exposed, top still hanging by the straps on your shoulders, and no further move is made. It leaves you feeling that much more vulnerable.

Footsteps are heard to your right and the grip on the belt is released until another one takes Taehyung’s place. You can’t make accurate guess, but you follow the motion of his fingers, know that the large palm below your breast and brushing over your rib belongs to him before he moves again. Others are too soft, respectful almost, and your train of thought is confirmed when lithe fingers dip into the curve of your waist. It’s all too much, trying to keep up with his trail when the touches mix and hands intertwine and lay upon the other on your body until his fingers fuck into you again, making you moan into his mouth.

“Taehyungie, look at how much she likes it.” Jimin says into your hair, marvelled and Taehyung’s pace increases, a third finger teasing at you.

You’re getting closer to your orgasm, voice left free and inhibitions gone as you whine and whimper at the smallest touch, at every motion inside of you. Your reasoning pours from your mind right between your thighs, yet no matter the moans and how wrecked you feel, you still can’t prevent your mouth from speaking, questions left unanswered still gnawing at you. “Do you do this with a lot of people?”

“I do,” he admits freely, breathing into your neck, and you hold no judgement. He seems to press himself deeper into you as he anticipates your next question. “Most of the time with however many Jimin wants. You should see him, he's very demanding.”

His reply births another meaning to his words and spreads heat to your core, burning the remaining sanity you had so hard you jolt, clenching around his fingers. Taehyung, surrounded by more bodies. Oh.

“In the future, you could join us if you ask. Jimin doesn't seem too upset about it.”

“Aren't you happy? You'll have to ask.” Jimin teases, and he seems to hold it over your head, yet all his remarks do is make you roll your hips harder into Taehyung.

“That’s all it would take to make me do so much.” Taehyung pauses to laugh, a little wicked and breathless and right as you want him. “Scream your name? I’ll scream for you. I'll do it if you want it.”

He scissors his fingers inside of you to support his claim, that you throw your head back, sense of reality alternating the balance. Jimin holds you still, darkness muting everything else surrounding you.

“Ask me.” Taehyung demands, adding a third finger, and the knot in your stomach tightens until the friction has the fibers breaking the foundation apart. “Ask.”

“Make me cum,” you whisper, defeated. “Please make me cum.”

At your plea, he press on your clit, touch firm and tight and you unravel, thighs shaking as Taehyung mutters little praises. Before you can catch your breath, you don’t register how he keeps going until you feel how sensitive you are, body trembling against him but he is relentless, tone sweet and apologetic. “I’m sorry baby, you’ll need it.”

You hiss at the overstimulation, unable to register what he is talking about until head of his cock pushing against your sore clit and slides further, length reaching your stomach. You gasp as he repeats the motion, your thighs closing around him.

A higher, sultrier voice speaks and tangles you deeper into Taehyung’s nets. “Look at him, such a wicked man, and you'd let him touch you? Let him stretch you open? My, my.”

“Jimin's right. You'd let me do whatever I wanted, right?" he taunts as he pushes in inch by inch, stretching you beyond what you'd normally take. He's so big. "What a little deviant.”

Your moans are swallowed once he thrusts into you messily, all senses of morality gone. Yes, you would do whatever he asked, you realise as he sets a rhythm, slow and reaching depths that haven’t been stained before. Your morality ends in downfall as your head falls back, dizzy. In your haze you can’t think of anything else, only Taehyung, Taehyung, Taehyung, how let him take and take no matter who is watching and what might come after.

“Do you even care about the consequences?” Jimin's condescending tone makes its way to you, the world outside is so muted you hear it right by your ear. You whine, ashamed and needy, because you don't and you wouldn't even consider them if it meant getting your pleasure. Jimin takes it as a cue to push you further. “Oh, you don't, you're so close, you want it so bad, yeah? Poor baby.”

“Ah, fuck–please.” You can’t help begging when plump lips kiss behind your ear and the grip loosens, belt falling off your eyes, and you can’t understand how he’s in front of you, inside of you, moaning because of you. It’s not possible that you have such an effect because how far up he is, how unreal he is.

Taehyung gazes at you with unspoken promises and primal need to claim, and you want to scream how you’re his for the night, and you’d remain that way for other times, titles which dance to the night in fear of what the light brings spinning in your head.

As much as he toys with the idea of sharing, he is possessive, you can sense it in the way he grips you harder than the others, how he groans and keeps you at a closeness where your breaths mingle. You can sense it in how his body shields yours despite the setting and how he asked for you in the open and under scrutiny.

It turns out you get a sick pleasure from it, from the low pitch he can't shake off, familiar yet contrasting the playful aura resting within the shape of a classy surface. From what you have noticed, Taehyung as a man and in regards to his own self must not allow anything far away from the untouchable. Like this, he looks disheveled, messy from his sticky hair to his clothes and down to the way he is handling you.

“Look how well you're taking it, you're so good for me, shit.” He mouths at your neck and grips your chin before tilting it down, fixing your eyes on the motion of cock sliding in and out of you. “Gonna let me be a man, mm? Watch me stretch you out?”

You can’t nod, the breaths you’re taking and nothing else overwhelming you as you get closer, knot building so soon and with no regards to your feelings. Your hand travels and reaches into your thighs, opens you further for him as he fucks harder, faster, until your toes are curling in your satin heels.

“Oh–fuck. Too much.” you cry out when coming down from your orgasm you still feel him rutting into you.

“I know baby, I do–” he gasps, pace turning frantic as he pulls you to his chest, little whimpers leaving you at his insistence. You can't make out the ties between how weak his voice is and how hard he fucks into you, chasing his release. “Just a little more.”

He uses the last bits of his energy thrusting in deep, slow drags of his cock into you, a primal growl makes its way from his chest before pulling out of you.

His cock pulses on your stomach as he cums, and your fingers follow its path, bringing them to your mouth for a taste. The substance stains your lips as you dip it in, craving to swallow though you can't bring yourself to do it. An urge deep within tells you to await his request, tying you to him, “Open up.” You obey, letting him see his cum in your mouth, how your tongue swipes across it and Taehyung coos, reaching to caress your jaw. “Want more of me? Close.”

He drags his finger down your neck, throat bobbing under his thumb as you swallow. “Very good, such a sweet girl.”

You find comfort on the feel of sturdy wood, still pulsing from sensitivity and need, Taehyung's embrace holding your threads to reality. The bass is thumping along with the beat of your heart, but you can't hear anything else for now, senses surrounded by a thick fog that clears up only when you feel another hand turning your jaw. Jimin drags the wet tissue across your mouth, careful not to miss on the corners and you stare at his plump lips, remember how wild his eyes were as he dug the same fingers into his thigh, pushing himself not to touch you any further.

Your fingers circle his wrist, guiding his soft gaze to yours. You pucker your lips and he grants your wish, covering them in a gentle caress, almost shy. His touch barely there, treating you with such tenderness it has you whimper at the contrast between his words and his kiss.

“I…” Taehyung watches you with expectations gleaming in his eyes as you push your hips up. He stills them and bites his lips as Jimin taunts him further, poster troublemaker for all the right reasons.

Taehyung has no reason to hide. He doesn’t play with the honesty of those who lie behind closed doors but rather toys with it in a secret meant for your eyes, with the way he throws his head back and bends you the way his body demands. Up close, his half-lidded gaze is unfocused yet untamed, and it moves towards an end only he knows. He grips all that is inanimate with the tightness of a viper’s fangs and reserves the delicacy of a lover for when he touches you, fingers trailing from the ends of your mouth to your jaw and through your hair as he fucks deeper into you. More often than not, the actions make you wonder how it would feel if the nailbeds stained on his jawbone would remain as yours.

“How is it?” he asks through the haze you’re in, messy hair and scarlet around his mouth, expression far overstepping the sinner title. “Feeling sated?”

It must be natural for him to misbehave, to strive for a tight grip on the attention he’s given, and he’s working it however he wants to. Even as the brattiness he used to display is making itself visible in full smiles and head tilts, it doesn’t hold much of a bite. Innocence sits pretty on his cheekbones and runs through his tongue, through your body that’s covered by his marks and feels coarse from every angle.

What is about to follow makes sense to you, because it is a matter of when, and one of power. A power you surrender as pleasure pushes at you until it stings, until you shake your head and shake off any past thought you have wished to bring into this.

“More,” you say and spreads you further and claims his space till there’s no part of you he hasn’t covered, no root left untouched. He nods and teases you in the way it makes your head swim as buries himself within you to the core, taking and taking until his lips are over yours again, bitten and about to taint the tears on your cheeks.

A moan tears out of him as he praises you more, voice rough with effort, and he seems to have the same reaction you do as he hears himself talk. The words reflect the effect, however unassuming they might be, and with the heavy breaths of a clear desire supporting his every claim, it’s possible even for atheists to catch their glimpse of God.

a/n: for my sweethearts who might have caught it, taehyung’s character is partially inspired by prince and his songs, and the interview scene was inspired by his interview with maria bartiromo in 2004! scream to me about him please. chaos and disorder wasn’t much of a happy album for prince, but i thought the title was cool. i killed 2 of my 3 braincells writing this and slaved away for ur consideration ok byye

#kwritersworldnet #networkbangtan #bangtanarmynet #btsguild #kwordsmiths #thekpopnet #ktaenet #bts smut #taehyung smut #bts x reader #taehyung x reader #bts scenarios #taehyung scenarios #bts x you #taehyung x you #v x reader #v smut #bts fic #taehyung fic #taehyung fanfic #bts fanfic #bts aus #rockstar au #kpop smut #kpop scenarios #bangtan scenarios #bangtan smut

[fortitudina]

                DETAILED CHARACTER BIO QUESTIONS.

Name: Cillian Diarmuid Brockhurst ( Kye-Lan )

Nickname(s): Ci ( Kye ), Brocky, Snipes.

Name significance/meaning: Cillian ~ This name has several known meanings, including “war,” “strife,” and “bright-headed.” The word cille also means “associated with the church,” so the name is often associated with the word “church” or “monastery.”

Gender: Male

Age: 32

Birthday: 11th November

Deathday: ~

Star Sign/Astrology Sign/Zodiac Sign: Scorpio

Location: Los Angeles

Birthplace: Los Angeles

Ethnicity: Irish-American

Nationality: American

Race: Caucasian

Physical Appearance: Clean cut and well presented average height male with brunette hair and blue eyes.

Skin Tone: Sandy-Tan ( https://www.schemecolor.com/skin-pastels.php )

Complexion: fair, smooth & soft.

Eye Color: Old World Blue ( x )

Natural Hair Color: Brunette

Height: 5’10” / 1.78m

Weight: 77kg / 169 lbs / 12st 12lbs

Body Type: Mesomorph

Build: Muscular / Athletic

Posture: Healthy [ x ]

Birthmarks: Strawberry mark on his right hip.

Scars: Gunshot scar on the right side of his chest & left side of the hip region of his abdomen. Stabbing scar to his abdomen and one on the back on the right hip area. One on the back of his neck.

Left Handed/Right Handed/Ambidextrous: Right handed

Age Character Appears to Others: 32

Dyed Hair Color: undyed

Usual Hairstyle: Short

Tattoos: Army tattoo on right bicep

Piercings: none

Makeup Style: ~

Clothing Style: Smart-casual

Clothing Size:  Chest ~ 32inches / Waist ~ 26inches / Hips ~ 32inches

Shoe Style:  Steel-toed boots, sneakers, oxfords.

Shoe Size: 10

Nail Appearance: short, well kept.

Eyebrow Shape: Straight ( x )

Features: Soft features overall; perfectly symmetrical 

Face Shape: Oval

Facial Hair: Light stubble

Voice: Deep

Distinguishing Feature: Smile

Extrovert or Introvert: Ambivert

Personality Traits: Cheeky, Compassionate, Loyal

MBTI Personality: ESFJ-A

Optimist or Pessimist: Optimist

Temperament: Cheeky disposition

Mood: Cheerful

Attitude: Positive

Strengths: Caring, Kind, Giving

Flaws: Blunt, Hero Complex, Brash

Mannerisms: Smirking, quirking of eyebrow, cheeky grins

Habits: fiddling with pens or small objects

Morning Person or Night Owl: Morning person

Pet Peeves: idiots, bad lying, loud eaters, slow people ( walking etc )

Favorite Sin: Gluttony

Favorite Virtue: Patience

Weakness: Loved ones or friends & colleagues getting hurt / involved.

Strengths: Sharp-shooter, Skilled hand-to-hand combat.

Expressiveness: strong use of both facial expressions and hand movements.

Ruled by Heart or Mind: A little bit of both; more heart though.

Mindset: Positive

Philosophy:  “We are what we repeatedly do. Excellence, then, is not an act, but a habit”

Motivated by: Food, Justice, Happiness.

Everyday Speech: “The past is behind, learn from it. The future is ahead, prepare for it. The present is here, live it.”

Life Motto: “Don't count the days, make the days count.”

Energy Level: High

Memory Level: Eidetic (Photographic) Memory

Disabilities: none

Phobias: Incredibly small spaces. 

Addictions: Does pizza and poptarts count?

General aptitude: Fluid Intelligence

Mental Strengths: Problem-Solving, Psychoanalysis, 

Mental Weakness: Not a Genius 

Physical Strengths: Physically fit, keen hand-eye coordination, 

Physical Weakness: weakened cervical vertebrae from an old injury during a tour in Afghanistan

Past Illnesses: Chicken pox twice as a kid

Major Surgeries: Surgery to pin his cervical spine. Surgery to remove various bullets.

Accidents: Had several bumps and scrapes whilst at work.

Stability: Very Stable

Allergies: Pollen, Shellfish

Job Title: Detective

Company: LAPD

Career Type: Police

Education: High School, Military, Police Academy

College: ~

Work Ethic: Hard-working

Job History: Sniper in the Army, Beat Cop, Detective.

Income: $74,000 per anum

Political Party/Organizations: Doesn’t do politics

Volunteer Work: Helps at the Veteran’s housing association.

Dream job: Got it

What job would s/he do poorly at: Doctor

Career satisfaction: Love the job

Diet: Coffee and any food easy to grab on the go

Favorite Foods: Poptarts, Barbecue-based, Chicago stuffed crust pizza.

Favorite Drinks: Coffee, Beer, Cranberry juice.

Favorite Movie: Top Gun

Favorite Music: doesn’t really have a favourite

Favorite Book: doesn’t have time to read

Favorite Place: Does bed count?

Favorite activities: Running, Shooting, Cooking

Favorite time of day: Morning

What makes them happy? Catching the bad guys, seeing friends & family happy.

What makes them sad? Losing someone close to them.

Hobbies: Shooting, Running, Cooking, Singing

Interests: Films, Artwork

Favorite animal: Hyena

Loves to do: Wind people up and be cheeky

Hates to do: Paperwork

Inspired by: Former Army Colleagues

Raised by: (family) Mother and Father

Parent Status: Married ~ alive

Mother’s Name: Siobhan Marie Brockhurst

Mother’s Age: 63

Mother’s Background: Irish

Father’s Name: Patrick James Brockhurst

Father’s Age: 68

Father’s Background: American

Relationship with Mother: Close

Relationship with Father: Okay..

Parenting Type: Strict

Only Child? One of Three

First Born, Middle Child, or Youngest? Middle

# of Siblings: Second of three siblings

Relationship with Siblings: Close to brother; Distant with sister

Extended Family: ~

Family Relations: ~

How has family life shaped the character? Helped to both break him and make him who he is today

What they like most about their family: They will all get together for holidays and birthdays

What they dislike most about their family: The religious side

Children: Nil

Pets: Two Dogs

Best Friend(s): Doesn’t have one.

Worst Enemy: ~

Many acquaintances or few close friends? Few close friends

Sexual Preference: Any

Orientation: Pansexual

Relationship Status: Verse Dependent 

Marital Status: Verse Dependent

First Love: Carlie Anne Vaugn 

Current Love or Aspiring Love: Verse Dependent.

Notable Ex-Lovers: Azrael Mortem

Top 3 Loved Ones: ~

Top 3 Disliked Ones: ~ 

Who knows the character best? Eoghan, his brother or Lupita, his work partner.

Childhood: Cillian had a fairly stable upbringing; his parents in a strong marriage and with an older brother to help teach him the ropes, Cillian did well during his early school years and thrived in all of his subjects.

Adolescence: As he got to high school, he joined the football and soccer teams; being rather sporty as a child meant his fitness was impeccable. When he finished High school, instead of going to college, Cillian got in with the wrong crowd and ended up being arrested for Breaking and Entering and several counts of theft.

Young Adult: Went through Military training then, Cillian’s Regiment was sent to Afghanistan where they served three tours before he was shot in the Line of Duty after going through Hell being tortured with one of his comrades.

Adult: After being medically discharged from the army, Cillian took a year out for convalescence before joining LAPD. Given his history with the army, he soon shot up through the ranks until he became a Detective. He will also play the role of Police Sniper/marksman if they have to go into particularly tough situations that require an overwatch. 

Moments/Experiences that shaped them: Getting into the wrong crowd after High school. Being sent into the Army. Being captured and tortured during his final tour in Afghanistan. 

How have they changed as a person throughout their life? He has matured a considerable amount and become regimented and organised as an adult, with a respect for the law and bringing justice.

Major regrets: Getting involved with who he did as a teenager and ending up getting arrested.

Biggest life lessons learned: Don’t get arrested.

Religious Beliefs: Catholic

Upbringing: Strict & Religious

Core Values: Dependability, Consistency, Loyalty, Reliability, Integrity.

Morals: Always tell the truth, Treat others as you want to be treated, Be dependable, Be forgiving, Have integrity, Take responsibility for your actions, Have patience, Be loyal, Have respect for yourself and others

What does s/he believe is evil? The force in nature that governs and gives rise to wickedness and sin.

What does s/he believe is good? Morally excellent; virtuous; righteous; pious

Risks Worth Taking: Those that keep both the city and loved ones safe.

Important milestones: Making Lieutenant in the army. Reaching Detective in LAPD. NOT DYING whilst in both the Army or LAPD.

Achievements: The Purple Heart as a result of his capture & suffering endured during that time.

Failures: Getting Arrested as a teenager

Lifestyle: Busy

Character Traits: Hard-working, Brave, Compassionate, Honest, Successful, Fighter, Mischievous, Thoughtful, Sassy, Humorous, Helpful, Independent, Loyal, Courageous, Responsible.

Culture: 

Main Goal: Have a long and happy life, full of hard work, fun and family.

Minor Goal: Drive the damn car at work.

Desire: There are several.

Biggest mistakes: Getting in with the wrong crowd.

Life lessons: Not everyone is going to like you.

Dream Life: The one I have now

Worst Nightmare: The Hell I endured whilst on my final tour.

Favorite Memories: Winding my brother up. Making Detective. 

Least favorite memories: Getting Tortured

Things they want in life: Family. Love. Fun.

Things they don’t want in life: Suffering. Pain. Heartache.

What obstacles are currently in their way? Work.

Any secrets: Yes, but if you think he’s going to tell anyone, you’re idiotic.

Worldview: It’s just a little bit fucked.

Personal Hero:  Former Sergeant Major. 

Internal Conflict: Questioning if he’s good enough for his job at times.

External Conflict: Seeing the scars upon his body and being reminded of each event; wishing he could get rid of them all.

What others think of them: Fun and loveable; a genuine and caring guy. 

What they think of themselves: an idiot; not good enough. 

What they wish they could change: What they did in the past.

What they wish they could have: less strict father.

What gets them fired up: Liars. Suspects who think they’re clever. 

Their definition of a good life: A steady job with a family and friends surrounding them.

Risks worth taking: Anything that keeps both family and friends safe.

Things they take for granted: Coffee. Beer. Time at times.

What inspires them: Seeing justice get served. 

What they have doubts about: being good enough.

What makes them feel alive: The thrill of the chase.

What makes them want to do better: Any case they do not solve / Criminal that doesn’t get a guilty charge.

What do they want to be remembered for? Being a good and loyal man.

How will the character change? He might become a husband or a father? Perhaps even Lieutenant or Captain of LAPD some day.

#* CILLIAN { HEADCANON }

[butyouvealwaysbeenthecaretaker]

AND MOREOVER

An understanding that a lot of the gay literature I had access to as a young person - I’m a Brideshead transmasc, so you know, Waugh, Wilde, all that - an increased understanding that those guys were so saturated in their own shame, and they were NOT good gay icons in the slightest!

I talk about Giovanni’s Room a lot because my mind is still blown that someone in the 50s wrote a book about a man collapsing under the weight of his own shame because he wants to fuck other men, while all his friends and lovers around him are saying - you have to get over this. You have to love yourself, and the man you’re with, and overcome your shame because otherwise it will eat you alive. And a black American author at that, someone who already had so many barriers to a published career.

I suppose this ties in to, “when the system does permit {marginalised demographics} to be depicted, what narratives does it allow?”. Like, there were openly gay, happily married to another man across class lines, radical socialists who wrote openly about their lives and politics in the 1880s. Were any of them in my school library...?

None of this “in the closet married to a woman writing about how sin is the only real pleasure and the sublime delights of shame” bollocks that Wilde is known for. Even Bosie, the bad guy, when you look at his actual writings is far, far more radical in saying there is nothing wrong with him or the way he loves. You never get that from Wilde.

Like, maybe we should also be more critical about why the narratives we are able to access, are those which filter through? Even among {marginalised} creators. And again, you only start to notice this when you step beneath the surface and really dedicate yourself to media by people like you, and consume a lot of it!

#the gay tag