#especially not in a genre ive never even encountered

[cherryo]

Love Game

So,,, ive been working on this for a little bit!! im really proud of it lol, i also listened to lady gaga the entire time(hence the name) 

Pairings: 2012! donnie x gn Reader genre: fluff? pronouns: gn word count: 2.8k warnings: assault, attempt at kidnapping, slight stalking from Donatello, nightmares from the attempt, i think thats it?

Walking down New York City was,,, interesting to say the least. In the daytime, it was mostly okay, but at night that was a totally different thing, especially when it was cold and snowy. You can never be too careful and wary, looking around constantly to make sure you weren't being followed. 

Even though no one was behind you, you could still feel a pair of eyes locked on you. You couldn't find where it was coming from at all, you wrapped your purple scarf around your neck and lower part of your face tighter. Hoping it's just your paranoia and not someone actually following you, you wished your job wasnt so far from your apartment building. You were only a block away from the building, speeding up when you felt the gaze intensify. 

This wasn't the first time you were watched while you were walking home, sometimes when it got to be too much you'd call your roommate or record and talk to yourself. You can absolutely never be careful enough. What was weird about it was that this had been going on for weeks but only started after you had been nearly kidnapped on the way home. 

—--

You didn't have a car or any other transportation so walking was your only way home, you had your pocket knife in your hand but you stupidly had both earbuds in blasting Lady Gaga's song loveGame. You had just needed the song to fix your already bad day, that's when you felt someone tug your shoulder back. It got tugged back hard making you fall backwards and into a random man's chest, your earbuds popping out and going in different directions. 

You started screaming but a hand quickly covered your mouth, preventing you from screaming or biting the assaulter. You stomped your feet, trying to hit something on this man, eventually your squirming helped you out and you hit his foot, hard. He clearly wasn't aware that you weren't going down without a fight, crying and cussing out of pain  he loosened his grip. That gave you the perfect chance to break free from him and bolt, he chased after you only a couple seconds later you didn't hear his footsteps. 

Curiosity got the best of you and you looked behind you, only to see what looked like,,,,, a turtle? The attacker on the ground out cold, the turtle (?) Turned to meet your eyes with their white eyes.

 "Huh? " their eyes widened in surprise that you acknowledged that they were there, you were just surprised a turtle grew this big. Not questioning the fact the turtle knew how to do anything human like. 

This turtle was tall, with a purple bandana wrapped around their face, holding a Bo staff, the end currently pressed to the man's chest. 

You decided that that was enough interesting things for you for the night and made a run for your apartment, not stopping till you were in your kitchen.

—

Even after that encounter, you were oblivious to the fact it was most likely the turtle who saved you that was making sure you got home safe. Being easily distracted was just a part of you, and the best thing to distract you with? The stars, even though you lived in New York City, you got to see the stars every now and again. Not often, so it made this moment of the night sky being lit up so special, forgetting that this was the exact spot you got attacked at. 

Shivering hard brought you back to the current time, Realizing you definitely shouldn't be lingering at night. You could always go onto your fire escape and watch the stars there, setting off again quickening your pace. Your apartment building was right around the corner, seeing the glass doors to the lobby made you feel warmer already. 

Making your way to your room, hangin up your scarf and heavy winter jacket. You made sure your shoes were all nice and neat on the shoe rack, lest your roommate come after you while you're asleep again. 

Finally in your room, you stripped and went to take a hot shower.  Washing away all the dirt and paranoia of the day felt nice, knowing you were safe in your apartment made this shower all the better. Stepping out and drying off, you threw on some warm and soft clothes, it was nice getting out of your job uniform. 

Stepping out onto your fire escape, you sat down and watched the sky for a good thirty minutes. All of sudden you felt it, that same intense gaze that you could never tell if it was dangerous or not. Trying to ignore it in favor of the night sky was hard, looking around you did nothing, you saw absolutely nothing. Mostly other people's fire escapes, the dark windows, that purple clad turtle, the rooftops of other apartment buildings, clothes line- wait? 

Slowly moving your gaze back over to where you saw the turtle, only to see nothing. Great, now you just felt plain crazy, your roommate had ignored your pleas of her believing you on being saved by a purple turtle. Simply saying you were seeing things, there's no mutant turtles around New York City. Sure there were giant rats and crazy scientists, but definitely no giant mutant turtles. 

You felt a shadow loom over you for a quick second, snapping your head to above you, seeing nothing again. 

Thump. 

You shifted your gaze to where you heard the noise, again seeing nothing. You got up, dusting your ass off, you walked up the fire escapes. Hearing thumps as you go, seeing nothing there to go with the noises. realizing that you no longer felt safe outside you made your way down the steps, looking back every time you felt that same stupid gaze. 

As soon as you made your way to your fire escape and into your room, the gazes stopped. Leaving you in your room thinking about how stupid it was to follow the noises. 

—--------

Waking up drenched in sweat was not how you wanted to start your morning, looking over at your clock only to realize it read out 3am and not 6am. "Great, if I go back to sleep now I won't wake up for my alarm" mumbling out to no one in particular, "well, might as well get up."

Staying as quiet as you could, you made yourself some breakfast which included scrambled eggs and potatoes. of course you couldn't start your morning out with no coffee, so you made your cup and had some leftovers to come back to. Deciding to be spontaneous you sat out on your fire escape, which wasn't a good idea with how cold it was but as soon as you got a blanket and a jacket it was fine. 

Finishing your breakfast, you sat there looking at the city already bustling around you, and staring at what little stars you could see. You decided today was going to be your adventurous day, as you bagan your way up the fire escapes to the roof. You had left your dishes, knowing you'd be back for them. You wrapped yourself tightly into your blanket, you had already worn warm pj's to bed but it wasn't enough against the New York winter weather. 

Stopping to step over the lip of the roof onto the stable part, you walked around admiring everything you could see from your spot. Never being able to find time to come up the roof, the view left you in awe. That awe was cut short when you felt that familiar gaze, shooting around to see where it was coming from. You couldn't spot anyone or thing, you gave up and went about your morning night? 

You laid down on the roof, still wrapped tightly in your nice, warm blanket admiring the clear skies for once. Stars were surprisingly bright out, even seeing a shooting star. You shot a quick gaze to your right, seeing a flash of that same green and purple you'd seen weeks ago. 

"Hey!" You didn't know what came over you in order for you to yell out to the person, but you did, and that didn't stop them from running away. You laid back down, as you had gotten up to yell at them, not feeling the gaze on you anymore. You stayed like that for a good hour, making the time 4:30am, you groaned at the time. You still had a while before you were supposed to even be up. 

"why did I have to have that stupid nightmare" you said to an empty roof, not particularly wanting anyone to respond. You'd been having these debilitating night Terrors about when you were almost kidnapped, your hero nowhere to be seen in these dreams. Shamefully you'd tried all those 'sleep hacks' but you usually downed a couple melatonin, hoping it was enough to knock you out. It almost never was. 

You spent a couple more minutes on the roof just thinking about life, getting up to head back down to your apartment and clean up your mess. As you're almost to your apartment you feel the gaze, you look around, again nothing. At this point why do you even try, this person doesn't want to be found, until you look ahead of you to see the green and purple clad,, turtle! So you were right, there are in fact mutants, or at least turtles. 

You stared at each other before they scampered off, leaving you alone once again. 

"Hey!! Hey wait!!" That did shit, if anything that made them run away faster. Sighing, you decided to just head to your apartment and get ready for work. 

—--

Weird things were starting to happen since that night of meeting face to face, things such as having notes (horribly written and unintelligible) left at your window, tiny trinkets, shiny things and sometimes tiny robots appearing on your fire escape. Most of the notes you could decipher after a little bit of studying them, others you just,,, couldn't figure it out. 

The shiny things would be rings or coins, or even sometimes metal shards shaped into a turtle or pizza slice. Regardless of the items that had been appearing at your window, you've yet to see the turtle again since that night. You've felt the gaze, just not the eyes that stare at you. 

You've still yet to figure out why, why this turtle ?  Has taken a liking to you. You've done nothing besides been almost kidnapped, to attract them. You weren't complaining, it was nice to walk home and feel safe. It wasn't every night that you got to slow down and take a minute to look up at the stars.

So, you decided the moment you got a shiny bracelet and warm red beans and rice, you would leave out gifts of your own. You started baking like crazy, leaving out loaves of bread and cookies, finding them gone the next morning and a thank you note in its place. The handwriting on said notes was getting better each time, it left you wondering whether or not the gift giver was practicing.

This went on for months, only getting glimpses here and there of the purple-clad hero, the notes that were left were getting longer becoming more like letters to each other. Every day or so you’d turn on the news to see if the turtle took a spotlight, but nothing came up from the news station. Now, research forums were a different thing, there were hundreds of posts of not only the purple-clad hero but also three other turtle heroes.

At this point, you weren't shocked to see that there were more than your turtle friends, but it did seem that there were only four of them. You thought it was cute that they all had different colors associated with them, even though you knew nothing about them it felt like their colors really matched.

—--------

Like every other night, you sat out on your fire escape waiting to see if you'd catch a glimpse of your hero. It had already been five hours since you first came out here, you had a day off the next day so it wasn't any trouble to spend the night out here. 

You already expected to see nothing, to wake up from a power nap to your gift gone, a pretty note, and a blanket covering you. So it was surprising to wake up from yet another power nap to a turtle sitting across from you, they were just as surprised as you were. 

You sat still in fear of scaring them, a giant smile stretched across your face, making the turtle blush heavily. "So,,,, you're the one who's been keeping me safe?" You had sat up fully, no longer slumped but still making slow movements. 

They looked like they wanted to say something, opening and closing their mouth. "It's okay if you don't want to say anything, but I really appreciate being able to walk in the dark without getting kidnapped again" you held out your hand for them, showing it's okay for them to move closer to you. 

"It's uh,, no problem" they said shuffling closer to you, they weren't making any eye contact but you could tell the blush was still there. "I didn't know what I would uhm, do with myself if I hadn't made an effort to continue to make sure you were safe," finally grasping your hand, you noticed their hands were cold. 

“What’s your name? If you don’t mind me asking,” you had moved closer and fully grasped their hand, but they still look incredibly nervous sitting near you. Staying quiet to let them know to take their time.

“My name is Donatello, Donnie for short.” rubbing the back of their neck, they showed the cutest smile you’ve ever seen. Gasping at how cute Donnie was, the tooth gap included, his smile was absolutely adorable. You gave Donnie a big smile back, taking in his beauty, he looked anywhere but directly at you.

Giving him your name back, you leaned in super close to his face, almost trying to take in every detail. “Your tooth gap is so fucking cute,” saying that made him nervously smile again, showing the aforementioned tooth gap. “Oh Uhm, uh hehe thank you” Donnie stumbled a bit trying to accept the compliment, eventually getting out a ‘thank you,’ gosh, you just met this turtle for real and you already feel yourself falling in love.

A vibration startled the both of you, Donnie groaned as he pulled out what looked like a tiny shell. He started ferociously typing on it, it dawned on you that it was a phone, he paused every now and again while looking at you. You quirked an eyebrow to show your confusion only to get a quick wave of his hand in response. 

“My brothers, are Uhm, well-” he was interrupted by someone calling out his full name, both of you looked up, you noticed that it was the three other turtles that those articles had talked about. They all looked much taller in person, you all of a sudden felt very very small.

“We’ve been looking for you everywhere, Donnie! You didnt even tell us you were going out and now we find you here, with a, a uh-” “A GIRL!” the blue one had started lecturing Donnie only for the orange one to interrupt. Donnie just groaned, putting his head in both of his hands. 

“Why are you guys here,” Donnie really didnt want you to meet his brothers this soon, or at all but here you were, looking scared and nervous. 

“Because we were worried, didnt expect to find you on a date” The red one smirked, purposely teasing Donnie.

“Oh sorry, you must be confused” the blue one had turned to face you, his gaze softening “im Leonardo, this ones Mikey” he wrapped his arm around the orange turtle next to him “and that ones Raph” pointing to the one that was in the red bandana.

“Oh! It’s all very nice to meet you guys,” you waved to them, not knowing what else to do. You turned towards Donnie after hearing him let out a huge sigh, he started to stand up “well, i guess ive got to get going.”

“We should do this again,” he stuck his hand out to help you up, you of course graciously took the help. You noticed his hands were calloused, most likely from fighting if you had to guess, “of course, im out here every night, usually waiting to see if i can get a glance of you” you winked at the end.

Donnie lifted your hand up to give it a kiss, the boys let out a chorus of groans, Donnie softly let go of you. He jumped up to the other rooftop, only turning back to wink at you when his brothers were ahead of him.

In that moment you felt lucky to have met your purple-clad hero.

#chasewrites #2k12 donnie #2012!tmnt #2012 donatello #donatello x reader #2012 donnie x reader

[macarensesangles]

rant about het shit under the cut ig

part of me wants to stop being SUCH a hater about these fics ive read btw like. im beginning to realize a lot of this is ocd, but when something gets me irritated or angry it's difficult for me to leave it alone in that like, if i don't continue to engage with it (effectively doomscroll 90% of the time) i experience this mounting anxiety until i satisfy the compulsion to Continue Looking At It. i could not really tell you why i feel this way. but it sucks. bc i get stuck in these loops of like staring at writing that makes me mad or authors' social media that makes me mad and it's like, Why am i doing this this is deranged and weird (the compulsions is why).

i think part of why it gets to me so much is like. maybe this sounds silly but bc so many of the people i interact with are also queer and very conscious about heteronormativity i am very comfortable a lot of the time. and i've had decent luck in being involved in hobby activities and fandoms that are similar; selfshippers are overwhelmingly lgbt, FL as a source material is very queer-positive and thus so are many fans, etc etc.

so like. getting back into ffxiv and encountering this kind of very very intense heteronormativity and like, implicit homophobia, i was kind of shocked? it's not that i'm not conscious it doesn't exist, like, i grew up in the fucking midwest, of course i've had to deal with homophobia. more that like, it was such a big thing in a space where i'd kind of expected to feel safe on that front, especially in terms of fandom for emet specifically given that as i've said he's very obviously gender-nonconforming in appearance and mannerism and dress beyond the dictates of genre convention (even if part of that is homophobic queercoding).

like it's one thing to encounter homophobia in your workplace when everyone there is a 40+ year old conservative from a town where there are frequent commercials for agricultural pesticides on television. like yeah, of course you're homophobic, you live here in this cornfield-blasted hellhole, so i get it. but like. From a bunch of fellow video game dorks who like the same flamer as i do? that one kind of stings. and especially when you feel like because you're gay your input is kind of unwanted or regarded as sort of a damper on all the fun within that space. idk. it just is rough. i've never fit in in Real Life and have long made my peace with it because i just don't live in the right location for someone like me, but it sucks to seek out like-minded people and still get left out, i guess.

and for a long time i'd never really thought about how homophobia has affected me. like with a lot of things i just kind of ignored it or bottled it up or minimized it because i thought "well that's just the price of entry! haha it doesn't get to me! fuck those losers!" and like. idk. being in this space all of a sudden where such a high value is put on like, how much more legitimate it is to be straight, it hurts. like that's how i feel when people make emet more masculine or when they import these really highly gendered narratives and ideas into the story and create these characters who are so effortlessly and perfectly feminine and then acting like the value and legitimacy of the relationship rests on how well emet and wol perform cishet ideas of manhood and womanhood respectively, and that anything otherwise is just unconscionable and gross, like. man! it really opened the floodgates and made me realize i've been dealing with a lifetime of fucking baggage about all this and it actually does hurt a lot to be viewed as disgusting and less than legitimate and this shit is 100% why i grew up ashamed of liking boys and thinking it was something wrong that i'd done.

so like it's hard for me to look away from it and put it down and not keep picking at the scab bc like. idk. i'm at the point with all this where i feel like if i just keep picking this stuff up and turning it all around one day something will click in my head and i'll stop wanting people like this to make provisions for me or stop being disgusted by me. like i am very frustrated that i still want this sort of approval, to be seen as legitimate by society or even just by the subsection of ffxiv fandom that writes like this. i know i'll never get it and that people this married to such conceptions of gender are never in their lives going to stop being grossed out by me or my interest in other men. it's just like, fuck! idk!

i think sometimes about how like, when i was a kid my dad used to think it was funny to insult people by saying they were gay or just outright calling them fags and faggots, and like, how uncomfortable and scared it used to make me when i was figuring out i wasn't cis and straight (there were a lot of labels, the specifics aren't important). it really sucked, it was awful and scary because he was such a violent capricious jerk. i think about having to grow up seeing the wbc protests and "GOD HATES FAGS" on tv all the time, and other kids talking about how if they found out their friend was gay they'd beat the shit out of him in high school. actively, "i am demeaning gay people in front of you in class" level homophobic teachers. i used to cringe at fag and faggot every time i read them and feel my stomach drop like i was being punched. emet being so like, loudly and admirably GNC and out there and me feeling like he would use those words as a point of pride helped me overcome all that and make it way less painful and make me feel way more comfortable with myself.

people in this fandom only like emet if they can make him as conventionally masculine as possible. all that stuff that helped me feel better about myself is so ugly and gross to them that they have to erase it entirely in order to enjoy him. it really feels like the worst kind of slap in the face, to me. so i guess that's part of why i can't let it go, too.

#tag for complaining

[askseriousrainbow]

Alrighty, here are games 90 to 81 on my list! If you haven't read part one yet, the link's under this sentence now! Here we go!

Link to part 1. Link to part 3. Link to part 4. Link to part 5. Link to part 6. Link to part 7. Link to part 8. Link to part 9. Link to part 10.

90. Saints Row IV

I love the Saints Row series, and Saints Row IV is my favorite of the Steelport games, because of the ridiculousness of it all and meta aspects. I do love meta when it's done right. Also, the flight mechanics just flow perfectly. The gameplay is fantastic, as well.

89. Serious Sam 2

Damn, I love Serious Sam, obviously, and Sam's third adventure (though second game since The First Encounter and The Second Encounter are part of the same game, that's how I reference it) is wacky, insane, and just a blast. You don't have to care about the story, because the game doesn't care about the story, it's just silly. It's not my favorite favorite, but it's still good.

88. Prison Architect

Ah, the building genre, one of my favorites. Prison Architect takes the familiar formula and applies it to prison building. You really need to keep track of your inmates and guards, and make sure no one dies. The story mode isn't too bad either, it helps you learn the mechanics of the game.

87. Shantae: Half-Genie Hero

Shantae, Shantae, Shantae. I love me some Shantae, and Half-Genie Hero is great. This is the best game to start with if you've never played the franchise. It's not a true metroidvania, but that helps players acclimatize to the style of gameplay.

86. Vampire: The Masquerade - Bloodlines

Ah, Bloodlines. It's an underrated cult classic that's been fixed up by its unofficial patch, and it's a great RPG that has wonderful characters and multiple endings. The voice work is great too, getting some real talent like Grey DeLisle and John DiMaggio. Definitely get this if you're into RPGs.

85. Leisure Suit Larry in the Land of the Lounge Lizards

Sierra adventure games are just good, for the most part, and the first Leisure Suit Larry is a fine, if short, game. The remakes aren't too bad either, so go with any version.

84. Theme Park

Ah, Peter Molyneux. One of those creators you have to wonder if they had any talent at all nowadays because of their lies. But in the Bullfrog days, he could actually pull his games off, and Theme Park proved that, especially with the code being written by Demis Hassabis. It's a hardcore management sim with a whimsical coat of paint, and one you shouldn't miss.

83. The Outer Worlds

One of Obsidian's better RPGs, The Outer Worlds takes the Fallout formula, transplants it into space instead of Post-Apocalypsia, and makes a great RPG. While it was partially Epic-delayed (I played it on Game Pass first.), it's still a fun adventure.

82. Blood

I live, again. One of the holy trilogy of Build Engine titles, Blood is as great as Duke or Shadow Warrior, and has its own personality, with Caleb being more “evil” than Duke or Lo Wang. It's basically a Villain Protagonist against an even eviler group, to use TV Tropes language.

81. Hotline Miami

“Do you like hurting other people?” It's a question asked a lot in Hotline Miami. Sure, you feel exhilarated while taking on each level, but you have to walk back through your carnage with a drone of dread. Add the mind-screw of the story and you have one unique game.

Part 3 will be up tomorrow! :D

Link to part 1. Link to part 3. Link to part 4. Link to part 5. Link to part 6. Link to part 7. Link to part 8. Link to part 9. Link to part 10.

#Ask Serious Rainbow #AskSeriousRainbow #Top 100 #Saints Row IV #Serious Sam 2 #prison architect #Shantae: Half-Genie Hero #vampire the masquerade bloodlines #Leisure Suit Larry #Theme Park (game) #The Outer Worlds #Blood (game) #Hotline Miami

[literateleah]

okay hi leah sorry for coming into ur inbox unsolicited but i was wondering if i could get some advice ah 😭 im 14 and ive been been known as that kid into literature and analysis always reading etc etc. but in the past few years ive gotten completely out of reading and im struggling like an abnormal amount w getting back into it but especially the analysis part. like lately ive been reading papers and crit about works before even reading them and i feel like my critical analysis skills are completely depleted or have never been there at all. idk i just dont think im picking up on obvious symbols or themes, or just things i feel should be apparent to me and its really draining and i constantly feel like an idiot when i do finally read. ig i came to you because i really respect your thoughts and obvious intelligence especially in literary analysis, and i was wondering if it came naturally to you? have you ever felt this way? i just hate feeling like i can't pick up on anything and i was hoping you had any advice on idk how to analyze better. i think reading analysis beforehand plays a big part but idk how to stop yknow. ugh im so sorry for this and if it made you uncomfortable please delete! again my deepest apologies

hi anon!!! no worries at all for sending this and asking questions i love asks like these!

i definitely feel what you mean about this stage of sort of reading burnout, and i would have considered myself in a similar stage until really recently honestly. when you’re consuming a lot of content and doing so to somewhat feed into your expectations for yourself and your thresholds and learning drives, it’s easy to burnout or lose focus! this is doubly so when you’re surrounding yourself with criticism that adds to your perception of a work before you even encounter it

what i do in these situations is i often start fresh with a completely new slate and find a new book to start from. i try to be less familiar with the author or critical coverage of it, and just immerse myself in a story that interests me. it’s also helpful to maybe dove into a new genre to be able to apply your skills and tastes to a fresh type of story! afterward, i’ll reevaluate what i read and maybe draft a brief review in which i focus on the following core tenets of critical analysis (for my personal process by no means officially in any capacity lol): plot, pacing, voice, character, narrative themes, cultural connections and implications. once i’ve broken down the story into those key elements, i feel i can more clearly articulate how i feel about it and what i understood from it! staying true to what i really think of and draw from a piece is key before clouding that judgement with the opinions and really valuable offerings of others that i dearly respect, but it starts in ur own mind ya know?

and honestly the main thing to remember is that reading is a pleasurable and joyful experience first!!! bringing urself back to the passion and thirst you had and still have for learning and reading is so important, and as cool as it is to use our incredible minds to dissect a story, it’s always. a good place to start by just experiencing it first. happy reading 💗💗💗

#ask tag #anon tag

[catgirlelric]

had to ask for an extension on my project, i might be a relatively fast writer but even i cant write a choose your own adventure story in a single week

#especially not in a genre ive never even encountered #like not only just not written but like. never encountered #what the fuck is 'seapunk'. i'll kill you #anyways i told my mom i was asking for an extension and she went 'i won't say anything' in her judgy mom voice #like good!! why don't you try to write a whole detective novel in only a week #see how you like it #this shit is hard #i shouldve gone with the kafkaesque short story instead i knew it wouldve been easier #just less fun :/

[floralseokjin]

⤑ made-up love song epilogue (m).

Your first encounter with Kim Seokjin doesn’t go so well, nor your second, or your third… and maybe that’s because it shouldn’t work on paper. You’re an elementary school teacher living with your best friend, and have never left the country despite hitting the third decade of your life not so long ago. He’s the dad of one of your students, nearly a decade older than you and divorced. Oh yes, and just another minor detail – he’s a multimillionaire.

Your lives are lightyears apart, yet somehow, your paths having now crossed, things just seem to fall into place…

pairing; kim seokjin x reader au/genre/warnings; strangers to lovers, single dad! seokjin, ceo! seokjin, elementary school teacher! oc, age gap (oc is 30, seokjin is 37), seokjin is a dilf, romance, fluff, a final resolution, smut; oral (male receiving), penetration, got a lot spicier than i initially imagined, oc was feeling herself words; 6,503

↪︎ chapter index

chapters; i • ii • iii  • iv • v • vi • vii • viii • ix • x • epilogue  (+ drabbles)

author’s note; fun fact, I’ve never actually written an epilogue before, but it felt fitting this time around, to tie up all the loose(ish) ends and satisfyingly bring it to a close – she says as if she isn’t writing drabble upon drabble (and more) lol but you get what I mean. I hope you enjoy! Thank you for reading ~ 

“The rabbits!” Seokjin cried out of the blue, jumping to his feet. 

Immediately you found yourself slumped into the sofa, having been leaning against him, cuddled up all morning. You sat up, confused as you looked at him. “What?”

His eyes were wide with panic. “I need to feed them! Arin will kill me if she finds out.” 

“Relax,” you chuckled, taking a hand in yours to tug him back to you. He stepped between your legs but kept standing. “They won’t starve to death. When did you feed them last?”

“Last night,” he thought. “Just after I came home from work. Maybe 7.” 

You checked his watch, seeing it was just gone eleven. “They’ll be fine for another half hour.” You stood up, tugging his hand again, but this time to lead him to the kitchen. “Come on, let’s take the stuff for brunch to your place.” 

You’d stayed in bed for a while this morning, just happily holding and kissing one another, still buzzed and definitely still basking in that post-orgasm glow. When you’d finally managed to escape the warmth of your sheets, you’d showered together. Your bathroom was a lot smaller than his – obviously – and your shower bath was even tinier, but you made it work, until you didn’t, Seokjin nearly toppling out over the side while simultaneously nearly getting rolled up in the shower curtain. Of course that had given you the giggles, but you’d composed yourself, finishing up, getting dry and then getting dressed for the day. Luckily, Seokjin had some clothes at your place, so he didn’t have to recycle the ones he’d slept in last night. 

You were treating this day like a Sunday, making the most of being lazy on the sofa before you inevitably had to go and cook brunch up. 

He stopped in his tracks, making you turn back. “You sure?” He asked, pulling you to him, nuzzling his nose against your jaw as his arms wrapped around waist. “I wanted to stay here this weekend.” 

You couldn’t stop yourself from chuckling, linking your hands around his neck as he placed a kiss behind your ear. “It doesn’t matter where we are as long as we’re together.” 

He pulled back to see you, his plump lips already curved into a smile. “You speak such truth. I’m forever awestruck by you.” 

“Shut up,” you rolled your eyes, but that didn’t stop you from stealing a small kiss. 

Seokjin decided he wanted more, pressing kiss upon kiss to your lips with enjoyable hums. “I love you,” he declared causally after the last that lingered a little. Then he grinned. “How many time will I say that today before it gets annoying?” 

You smiled fondly at him. “You could never be annoying.” You got the last kiss. “I love you.” 

.

.

A lazy day was a lazy day regardless of the house. After Seokjin made sure the rabbits were happy, fed and had fresh water, you started brunch, eating it on the kitchen island as the rain continued, falling down against the tall windows. Any other day you would have found the weather depressing, but not today. Not when you were bursting with happiness and beautifully content. Besides, that just meant you had even more of a reason to do nothing, cuddled up on Seokjin’s large corner sofa as you picked up the series the both of you had started watching a couple of weeks ago. 

At around 5pm you started toying with the idea of going out for dinner somewhere, but then you hadn’t brought along the right clothes and by now it was raining heavier than it had all day. The idea of putting on makeup made you feel even lazier, so you decided on takeout in the evening and a movie instead. 

As Seokjin was arranging the containers and plates around the coffee table, ready to dig in, movie ready to go, you slipped out a question. There’d been something on your mind all day, nothing major of course, but still, you didn’t quite know how to bring it up. 

“What time is Arin coming home tomorrow?” 

“I’m unsure,” he replied, briefly looking over at you before he opened up the black bean noodles. “I need to text Nana.” 

You nodded, opening you mouth to ask a follow up question, but hesitating last minute. He looked at you again, sensing your caution and raised a concerned eyebrow. You hated seeing him worried, so you rushed ahead. “Do you want me to go home beforehand?”

“No, of course not,” he exclaimed, before he furrowed his brow. “Unless you want to of course… If you feel uncomfortable.” 

“I don’t,” you were quick to reassure. You wanted to be there actually, if he was okay with it. “I was thinking her and I should clear the air.” 

You could see Seokjin deep in thought for a brief second before he nodded, sitting back against the sofa to take your hand. “It won’t be like last time. I promise.” 

Seokjin had already told you some of what he and Nana had spoken about Thursday evening, so you knew not to be worried about any potential conflict, but still, you didn’t want to blindside her. “We should probably check with her first though, right?” 

“Okay,” he agreed. Giving you a smile, he squeezed your thigh. “I’ll call her after the movie.” 

.

.

“Should I turn off the lamp?” 

You nodded in reply, watching Seokjin lean over his side of the bed to flick the only form of light you had off. When he rolled onto his back, you immediately pounced, hooking a leg over his hip to settle yourself on top of him, your stomachs flush. It may have nearing 12am, but sleep was not the thing on your mind. 

“Oh, hello,” he responded, happily surprised as his hands found your hips, nudging you closer. 

“Hello,” you smiled, wasting no time with meeting your mouths. 

You were a woman on a mission, knowing exactly what you wanted. Today had been lovely, and yes, you’d already had sex today, but when had that ever stopped you before? You were happy and in love and just couldn’t keep your hands (and lips) off of your boyfriend. On top of that, you were just in a great mood, full of positivity. Nana was fine with meeting tomorrow and that meant you could all clear the air and move forward. You’d finally get to see Arin again too, you’d missed her.

Things were perfect, if you did say so yourself, everything heading in the right direction, and right now you wanted to celebrate that. With Seokjin. In the best kind of way. 

“I would have kept the light on if I knew we’d be kissing,” Seokjin murmured wetly against your lips, his tongue missing yours by a second as you started to trail your way down his chin, throat and then his chest, kissing over his pyjama shirt. 

He felt you start to undo the buttons, his cock beginning to rouse expectantly which was highly amusing for you. As you exposed more and more of his chest your lips followed suit, kissing down his stomach, past his belly button to stop just above his pyjama pants, the tiny hairs that littered the skin tickling. You pulled the shirt open, working your way up again, Seokjin helpfully keeping your hair out of your eyes as he tried to hungrily watch you at work, the light of the moon shining through the gaps in the drapes casting enough light to be able to make you out. 

He let out a shaky moan when you flicked the tip of your tongue against his right nipple, laughing at himself afterwards. 

Back at his mouth, you didn’t stay too long before you sat up, straddling him. 

“Where are you going?” He wailed, annoyed you didn’t want his kisses. 

But it wasn’t that you didn’t want them, more like you wanted something else… 

You moved downwards, covers collecting at the end of the bed as you slotted in between his eagerly opening legs, his hips bucking when you cupped his now fully erect (and trapped) member. You began to run your hand up and down it, a grin on your face as you looked up. “You’re so easy.” 

Eyes having adjusted, you saw his grin was a little more bashful, eyes half lidded as he admired the view before him. “Only for you.” 

Ever the flatterer, you had him inside the warmth of your mouth in no time. You weren’t shy by any means, especially now what with all the times you and Seokjin had been intimate, but there was something about being surrounded in near darkness that gave you a fresh surge of confidence. In the glow of the moon, you could make out Seokjin’s parted lips, his eyes piercing the ceiling, giving you a glorious view of his thick neck, Adam’s apple bobbing up and down slowly as his breathing got shallower, just enjoying the moment. He looked handsome as hell – mixed with that pyjama shirt pushed sinfully open, his toned chest and stomach on full display. For you. 

Taking him deeper, you reached for him, running your hands up his stomach, feeling the firm ridges of muscle. He let out a deep moan, looking down to take your hands in his, eyes heavy with desire as he clasped them tight. You eased up a little, smiling around his cock before you started sucking the tip, caressing your tongue over him time and time again. 

He lifted his hips up, eager for more and you wrestled one of your hands free from his to clasp it around the base of his dick, feeling how wet it was from your saliva as you slowly started jerking him off, placing small, wet kisses against his slit. 

With the hand still on his torso, he slipped his fingers between yours, head relaxing back, eyes shut once he felt you softly begin to massage his balls, coating them in the spit that had dripped down onto them. You took him deeper again, picking up speed as you bobbed your head up and down. The sensation just about exploded his mind. 

“Jesus, fuck, baby,” he gasped, free hand running through his hair and tugging at the roots. “If you keep that up I’ll cum.” 

You found it cute how bad his voice trembled, pulling off to smirk. “And is that a bad thing?” 

“Nope, it’s not bad,” he agreed, a little more himself now that you’d spared him for a few seconds. “I just thought we could do some other stuff too.” 

“Some other stuff?” you laughed, lifting on your knees to crawl closer to him. You continued to massage his balls, feeling them tighten. “Like what?” 

He took a shaky breath, rolling his hips into your touch. “Like…” He paused to groan. Now you were jerking him again, your thumb rolling small circles against his slit. “Sex.” He tried again. “I want to have sex with you.” 

“You do?” 

“I always want to have sex with you.” 

And impatient now, his hands gripped your waist, tugging you to him. You squealed, fingers slipping from his cock to land on his chest, the movement sudden enough to make you think you were falling. He kissed you hastily, a soft growl in his throat as his palm grazed over your ass, fingertips playing with the frill detail of your shorts. 

“I’d be inside you 24/7 if it was possible.” 

“God, I want it to be possible so bad.” You practically lamented, his mouth on your neck now, licking strips up and down the sensitive skin. 

He made another noise, cock twitching against your thigh. You felt impatient yourself now, hands finding the collars of his shirt to push it over his shoulders, needing to strip him. He lifted his back of the bed, letting you shimmy the item off before his hands grabbed at your vest, lifting it up over your head in no time. Your mouths met in a rush, his hands palming your breasts, making you moan out, nipples sensitive as he pinched them between his thumb and forefinger. 

You went to move, wanting to get rid of his pants but he stopped you, fingers wrapping around your ribs. 

“W-wait, wait, wait, wait,” he babbled, pulling you closer. “Let me taste them.” To explain further, he caressed a finger down your left breast, making you shudder. “Mine,” he whispered possessively and then you found yourself hovering over his face, his hands cupping the soft, sensitive flesh as he kissed and sucked them in turn. 

You could feel yourself growing wetter and wetter, shorts uncomfortable as he swirled his tongue around and around your nipple, nipping it gently as he pulled away. “I love your body,” he breathed – hard. “I love you.” 

“Mhmm,” you moaned deeply, watching him suck on the other boob now. Your fingers dug into the pillow, arms trembling with pleasure. “I love you, too.” 

He made a noise of approval, finally letting you break free so you could get his pants down over his hips. His erection was so hard by now it almost stood poker straight, veins angrily visible even in the faint lighting. Pyjama pants below his knees, he eagerly kicked them off the rest of the way, watching as you peeled off your shorts. Both naked, he moaned as you straddled him, sliding up and down his cock teasingly, coating it in your arousal. 

“Honey, please,” he pleaded. His voice shook. “Don’t tease. It’s not very nice.” 

“You tease me all the time.”

He groaned weakly, unable to think of a comeback. You sat straighter, chest wet and shiny in the moonlight, his doing, and you knew he could see it too, his dark eyes watching you silently – hungrily. He looked so good, you couldn’t wait any longer. Wrapping your hand around him, you ambitiously went for it, pushing down and taking him whole. It surprised you both, groaning together as you caught your breaths. 

Although, you didn’t give him much time to get used to the feeling of your warmth hugging him tight before you began to ride him hard and fast, bouncing up and down loudly before you stopped to swivel your hips. He could feel you everywhere, his eyes practically rolling back into his head as you continued your onslaught. 

“Y/N…” He murmured, voice weak as he watched you begin to bounce on top of him again, his hands travelling up your thighs to land on your waist. “Y/N,” he tried again, unable to piece together a sentence. “Shit, keep going like that…mmfph, yeah, just like that…” 

When you felt his fingers digging into your skin you wrapped your hands around his, pushing them away. “N-no touching,” you panted, feeling him lift his legs and fold them at the knee behind you, giving you something to lean back on. 

“Seriously,” he asked, sounding annoyed, yet dreadfully turned on. 

You smirked. “I want you to lay back and watch.” 

He matched the curve of your lips. ‘Oh, I can do that no problem, honey.” He stubbornly kept his voice steady, thrusting inside of you once before he stilled his hips completely. “Could watch you ride me all night.” 

On cue, he folded his arms behind his head, biceps bulging. The casual manner got you instantly hot, bouncing along his cock a couple more times before you leaned forward, changing the angle and in turn hopefully sending him crazy. You moved back and forth, griding all over him, your arousal soaking into his pubic hair. You were wetter than usual tonight, turning yourself on as you rode him, hearing the soft squelching where your bodies met, the pressure on your clit eliciting moan after moan. 

You stared him straight in the eyes, noticing the way his jaw was clenched tight, a muscle twitching in his left cheek, but he continued to persevere, stubborn to the bone. 

That was until he felt your breasts graze against him. His hips jerked up, moaning as he was unable to stop rolling into you, and you let him, let him fuck up into you, moaning softly. 

He grunted. “Someone’s getting tired.” 

You shook your head with a whine. You could be stubborn too. Sitting up, you attempted to bounce again but his hips were working too fast by now, his fists grabbing the pillow below his head to gain some momentum. You cried out as he thrust harder, Seokjin’s own noises of pleasure gasping out of him as if he’d been holding his breath. 

“S-seokjin,” you panted, shakily holding onto his thighs. 

He wasn’t relenting. If anything he fucked you harder. “Honey, just give up,” he said matter-of-factly, yet his voice was strained, veins in his neck visible. 

Confidently he brought his hands to your hips, knowing you wouldn’t stop him now, too far gone. You let your eyes flutter closed, concentrating on how good his cock felt inside you. The beautifully crude sound of him pounding into you. 

“Yeah?” He breathed. “Let me make you feel good now. It’s your turn…” 

You nodded, moaning brokenly, and in the blink of an eye you found yourself on your back, Seokjin situated between your spread legs, finding home once again inside the warmth of your body.

You grasped his shoulders, making more noise as he rolled his hips into you, and hooked your legs around his waist, wanting him as deep as possible 

“Uh-uh-uh,” he grinned, taking your hands off him. “No touching.” 

You started complaining but then he pushed your hands above your head, holding your wrists tight with one hand. “Nghnn. Seokjin,” you moaned, feeling him start to fuck you with his entire weight. His back looked delectable and all you wanted to do was rake your fingernails down it but you couldn’t. 

Although, being pinned down by him wasn’t such a terrible thing. 

After a couple of minutes he pressed the elbow of the arm that had you imprisoned into the mattress, careful not to squash you as he brought the other hand between your legs, beginning to roll your swollen clit between his fingertips. Gasping, your legs fell back to the bed, circling your hips in time with his motions, wanting to cum now that he’d put the idea into your head. 

He chuckled at your eagerness causing you to whine. “Why d-don’t you put those lips to good use?”

“Like this, baby?” He smirked, leaning his face in closer, mouth millimetres from yours, and you just about lunged, kissing him desperately. 

He matched that urgency, at some point unable to keep your wrists in place and as soon as he let you go, you had your arms wrapped around him longingly. A groan tore from his throat, thrusts more determined as he continued to rub your clit, and you could feel your back begin to arch, toes curling into the sheets. 

He could obviously feel you squeezing around him too, ripping himself away from your mouth with a moan of your name. “Y/N. Fuck.” 

That’s all it took for you to crumble, face contorting with pleasure as you stared up at him, pulsing around him uncontrollably. 

“You’re so pretty when you cum,” he cooed, removing his hand from between your legs as he pressed soft kisses to your mouth, your orgasm continuing to wash over you in waves. “Am I pretty when I cum?” He joked, but you were too far gone to snort, let alone reply. 

He kept rolling into you, determined to keep your pleasure going for as long as possible, and you almost felt overwhelmed, back arching higher as you clung to him, a tear escaping out of one eye to run down the side of your face. He kissed it away, continuing to adore you, voice cracking, close himself now.  

“You’re my pretty woman. So pretty.” He murmured against your lips and you kissed him hard, the last of orgasm rocking through your body. Holy shit, that was a powerful one. You felt lightheaded but couldn’t get enough. 

“Fuck,” he gasped, feeling the effects as you squeezed and spasmed around him, and with one final thrust he stilled, beginning to spill inside of you. 

You cupped his face quickly, hands trembling and pushed his head up, wanting to admire his face. His plump lips were parted and shiny, beads of sweat collecting along his hairline, gaze unfocused, eyelids heavy with the weight of his pleasure. He looked positively sinful. 

You gave him a drunken smile, your own eyes barely open, and told him simply, “You’re pretty when you cum.” 

.

.

You awoke just as Seokjin was rolling over, a muscular arm reaching for you, pulling your body into his warmth. It was still raining, even harder this morning, but you didn’t care, not when you were so cosy and in love. You were still both entirely naked, which Seokjin took full advantage of, hand cupping a breast – nothing sexual in it though, more like a comfort thing. You smiled, eyes still closed and cuddled in deeper. 

“Where is he this morning?” 

There was a brief silence as he tried to work out what you were asking, but soon enough he realised and laughed, sound cracked and raspy with sleep. “He’s tuckered out after last night.” 

“Aw, diddums.” 

A Sunday morning without a boner? Blasphemy. His morning woods were part of the package, so honestly it was quite surprising to not feel him hard between your butt cheeks. 

Seokjin kissed the top of your head, making a sleepy sound, hugging you tighter to his body. “He just wants to stay in bed and cuddle this morning.” 

“That sounds perfect to me.” 

You honestly couldn’t think of anything better. 

.

.

Once you eventually dragged yourselves out of the warmth of Seokjin’s giant bed, the rest of the morning and early afternoon went by in the blink of an eye. You had just about enough time for a quick lunch before Arin was due back at 2pm, and even though you were ready to meet Nana this time, you still couldn’t stop yourself from feeling a little nervous. It was only natural, you knew that, so you didn’t dwell on it too much, but as you heard the intercom start to ring in the entryway, signalling her arrival, your worry must have been written all over your face. 

“Hey,” Seokjin said softly, calling you as you hovered by the doorway of the family room. When he saw he had your attention, he smiled warmly. “Everything’s fine.”

You gave him a reassuring smile of your own, watching him answer the call to Nana before he opened up the front door, waiting their arrival. 

Arin came in full steam ahead, her little backpack on her shoulders, her carry-on hopping behind as she attempted to ram it over the step to get inside. Nana was only just getting out of the car, you could see her slightly from where you still stood in the doorway of the family room. 

“Hello, Arin.” Seokjin greeted, amusement clear in his voice as he watched his daughter struggle. “Did you have a fun time?” 

She was too busy huffing and puffing to reply and that’s when he finally took pity on her. He reached out his arm, “Let me take your case.” 

“No!” She insisted. She was a determined little thing. “I can do–” 

She never got to finish off her sentence because as she looked forward she caught sight of you smiling at her. 

“Y/N!” She squealed, case (and dad) immediately forgotten as she ran towards you. You weren’t expecting the wave of emotion that hit you when she wrapped her arms around your middle, face in your stomach, but it was there, and it got you right in the gut. You hugged her back. “You’re here,” she beamed up happily. 

“I am,” you grinned, swallowing back your wavering voice. 

“I missed you. It’s been ages.” 

You could always count on kids to be straightforward with their words. She was going to make you cry if she carried on like this. “I missed you too.” 

“It’s only been a week, sweetie,” you heard Seokjin say. 

Arin turned to him quickly. “It’s still a long time.” Then back at you. “I thought you’d never visit again.” 

You felt your heart constrict, and unsure what to do you looked over at Seokjin, finding him equally as afflicted by his daughter’s confession. Teacher mode activated then. “No, no. I was just... busy with work, that’s all.” 

You winced inwardly at your stupid excuse, not wanting to lie to her, but unable to really tell her the truth, especially at a time like this. 

On cue, you heard Nana’s voice greeting you. “Hi, Y/N.” 

You looked over to see her stood just behind Seokjin, a small smile on her face. She seemed a little nervous herself, which selfishly relaxed you. 

“Nana,” you smiled back, “hi.” 

Seokjin cleared his throat, taking a few steps towards his daughter and you. One look at him told you he was feeling the jitters too. This was brand new territory after all – for all of you. 

“Arin, why don’t you take your backpack upstairs and I’ll tell you when mommy is going home so you can say goodbye?” 

“Okay,” she agreed simply, pulling away from you to bound upstairs before she stopped abruptly. She turned back to Seokjin and ran forward with her arms forward. “Sorry, daddy. I forgot to hug you.” 

He chuckled, bending down to kiss her head before he ruffled her hair. “That’s okay. Now, unpack your things. I’ll bring your case up later.” 

She nodded, giving her mom a wave before her attention returned to you. “Will you still be here when I get back?”

“Of course,” you nodded, ignoring the fresh tug at your heartstrings. 

“She really likes you,” Nana observed just as you lost sight of Arin going up the staircase. 

You shook your head, chuckling as you replied modestly, “I don’t know about that.” 

“She does,” she insisted, smiling afterwards. “It’s nice to see. I’m glad she’s happy with everything.” 

You nodded, unsure what to respond with, but Seokjin saved the day. “Do you want something to drink?” 

Nana shook her hand. “I’m okay, thanks. I won’t stay long. I don’t want to interrupt your afternoon.” 

Seokjin gestured her to enter the room, then moved back to take your hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze as he brought you forward, wanting you to go next, putting the hand on the small of your back instead now. His touch calmed you. 

“Sit,” he prompted Nana warmly, and she perched herself on the edge of the teal love seat. 

“I like what you’ve done with the place by the way,” she said politely, looking around. 

“You and me both know I just threw some new throw cushions down,” he laughed, attempting to ease the atmosphere.  

Nana joined in just as you sat down on the far end of the sofa. Instead of taking the seat next to you, Seokjin perched himself on the armrest, loosely throwing his arm around the backrest, fingers grazing your shoulder. 

Nana’s attention fell to you, her expression now serious. “Y/N, I want to apologise to you.” She began. “I was out of order last weekend. I was angry but that’s no excuse.” 

“I appreciate it,” you replied, finding your bearings. “I understand it was a shock to find out about me.” 

“It was, but I still acted embarrassingly.” She looked down at the floor, ashamed of herself. “To think that’s your first impression of me.”

She had said some terrible things, yes. Not only to you, but Seokjin too, but, Seokjin had also said plenty of cruel things back. You weren’t one to hold a grudge, especially if she was showing genuine remorse, which you believed to be the case. 

“We can start anew if you like?” You offered with a small smile. 

She visibly relaxed. “I’d like that.” Then she hesitated before deciding to carry on. “I meant what I said, it seems like Arin really likes you. I trust my daughter’s intuition.” 

“She really does,” Seokjin agreed with a hum, rubbing your shoulder. 

“She’s been talking about you over the weekend – not that I’ve been prying of course,” Nana was quick to clarify. “You’re good with her.” She looked you straight in the eyes. “Thank you for accepting my child.” 

You weren’t used to having this much praise and attention thrown your way, you didn’t really know what to say, but that was alright, you didn’t think Nana was looking for an outright response. You understood how important this was for her. She needed to trust the woman that spent time with her daughter, just like Seokjin had grown to trust you. It was slightly more difficult for her considering she wouldn’t be spending a lot of time in your company, so all she really had to go off was Arin’s opinion on you. It meant a lot to know she had given you a chance. Last week you had been afraid that might not be the case. 

You smiled gratefully. “She’s really special.” 

“Yes, Y/N says she’s a talented storyteller,” Seokjin mentioned soon after, helping the conversation along as if he could sense that you felt awkward with all the attention cast on you. He knew you too well. 

“Oh really?” Nana looked delighted, eyes on you as she waited for more information. 

You nodded, complimenting Arin coming easy to you. “The stories she wrote while I was her teacher were amazing.” 

“I have the copies somewhere if you want to read them yourself,” Seokjin offered. 

“I’d love that,” she beamed. “Thank you, Seokjin.” 

“No problem. I’ll find them this week.” 

Nana’s gaze happened to fall to Seokjin’s hand still comfortably on your shoulder then, and her smile faltered. In its place appeared guilt. “Listen, I... I hope I didn’t come in between you both because of last weekend.” She turned to you. “I know mine and Jin’s relationship seems toxic and it was until a few days but I,” she paused to glance at Seokjin, “I really want to change that.” 

“You know I do too,” he agreed. 

“I don’t want to fight anymore, or have things tense between us. We both love Arin.” She caught your eyes. “We all love Arin, so that’s the most important thing.” 

You looked down at your lap but nodded in agreement. Arin’s happiness was what mattered the most. 

“It is,” Seokjin replied. 

Nana smiled, satisfied, and stood up. “Okay, I should get going.” You both followed her, starting to walk towards the doorway. 

“Um, I managed to get that Wednesday afternoon free,” she told Seokjin, “is it okay if I collect Arin from school and take her for something to eat?”

“Of course. I know this great pizza place she loves if you want the name.” 

“She already told me about it,” Nana chuckled. “I think she was dropping hints, but directions would be great. Thanks, Jin.” 

“No problem.” He stopped by the staircase, voice raising quite a lot to reach Arin in her bedroom. “Arin, your mom’s leaving. Come say bye, sweetie.” 

In no time at all she was galloping down the stairs. “Will I see you Wednesday?” She asked her mom eagerly. 

“You betcha! How does pizza sound?”

“Yay, thank you, mom!” She squealed, going in for a hug as Nana bent down.  

“I’ll see you in a couple of days, okay, darling. I love you.” 

“I love you more,” Arin murmured sweetly, kissing her mother’s cheek. 

Nana kissed her back, chuckling. “Not possible, but okay.” Then she stood up, nodding to you and Seokjin with a small smile. “Bye both. I’ll see you Wednesday?” 

“See you Wednesday,” Jin confirmed. 

.

. 

You spent the afternoon playing board games together, Seokjin finding a bunch of his old collection in the attic and you had fun teaching Arin how to play, although she didn’t quite grasp the full idea of monopoly yet, wanting to buy everything in sight regardless of if she had enough money or not… It was funny to say the least, even more so when Seokjin was unable to refuse her, loaning her money from the bank time and time again. 

Where’s my special treatment, you’d teased quietly when Arin was distracted, secretly finding it adorable how much of a softie he was when it came to his daughter. 

“You know I’d buy you anything you want,” he’d replied with a grin, unable to stop himself from stealing a quick kiss. 

At around 6pm, you and Seokjin began preparing dinner for the three of you. Only you left him in charge for a little while when you followed after Arin who had gone to feed her rabbits, wanting time alone to talk with her. You hadn’t been able to stop feeling guilty about effectively lying to her earlier and after confiding in Seokjin about it while Arin was unpacking her suitcase, he’d suggested you speak to her about it. He agreed that honesty was the best policy from here on in (within reason, of course) and that she obviously understood something had been wrong last week else she wouldn’t have reacted the way she had when she’d seen you earlier this afternoon. 

She was only getting older and that meant as much transparency as possible when she was personally involved in something. She was at that age where these things would stick with her. Although hopefully nothing like last week would ever happen again. 

You stood by the doorway watching as she cooed and conversed with the Olive and Ariel at first, not wanting to interrupt. She was such a great little pet owner, making sure they were fed and watered enough, helping to clean their hutch, watching over them when they played outside. She adored them. 

After a few moments she noticed you. “Oh, Y/N,” she smiled, “is dinner ready?” 

You shook your head. “Not yet.” Stepping closer you joined her, watching the rabbits bound about. Seokjin had found the largest hutch imaginable. “Did you miss them?” 

“Yes, but daddy has been feeding them well.” 

You stifled a laugh, remembering Seokjin’s panic yesterday morning, but then crossed your arms, clearing your throat. “Hey, listen,” you began cautiously, feeling a little nervous. Arin looked up at you curiously. “Remember when I said I didn’t come over because I was busy with work?” 

She paused to think and then nodded. 

“I was lying actually, Arin.” 

Her eyebrows pinched together. “How come?”  

“Because… I didn’t want to worry you.” 

She took some time to process what you were saying before she shrugged matter-of-factly. “I was still pretty worried last week anyway.”

You smiled sadly. “I know, and I’m sorry about that. Your dad and I…” 

“Did you have an argument?” She was looking up at you curiously, finger playing with Olive and Ariel’s water bottle. 

“Something like that,” you nodded. “It was more of a disagreement.” 

“I thought so because daddy was sad all week.” 

Her honesty stabbed at your heart. 

“Were you sad too,” she asked. 

“Very.” 

“But you’re happy now?”

You smiled at her. “Yes, everything is all fine now. Me and your dad are happy.” 

She looked happy herself at that piece of information, relaxing visibly, but then she asked a question that caught you off guard. “Do you know if daddy and my mom are happy too?” 

“I think so.” You replied as vaguely as you could, not wanting to overstep the mark. But it didn’t feel right. You tried again. “I think things will be different from now on, Arin.” 

“I hope so. I hate it when they argue.” She sounded sad, her gaze cast to the floor. 

“I know. No one likes watching their parents fight.” you sympathised. 

“What about you and my mom?” She asked suddenly, changing the subject a little. “Are you happy?” 

“Yes, I think so.” You smiled at her. “I like your mom. She’s very pretty just like you.” 

Arin beamed and then added, “You’re pretty too.” 

You wrapped an arm around her shoulders, giving her a squeeze. “Thank you.” 

“Don’t worry,” she almost whispered, “I won’t use that word again.” 

You were clueless for a moment, not understanding what she meant but then it hit you. She carried on. 

“Not until we all decide. Mommy said I might call you that one day if you want me to.” 

For the second time today you felt emotional, throat tight as you choked up suddenly. You composed yourself expertly though, taking a breath before you smiled and replied. “That’s right. There’s no rush for when we all decide.”  

Arin nodded along happily and you took her hand. 

“Should we go and check on daddy now? See if dinner’s ready?”

“I think so.” She agreed, her eyes rolling slightly. “Last week he set off the alarms because he burned my chicken nuggets.” 

“Oh, gosh,” you said, soon spluttering out a laugh. Arin joined in. Seokjin had failed to tell you that (hilarious) piece of information. “Well then, let’s hurry.” 

Seokjin was searching the pantry for something when you arrived back at the kitchen. “Hey,” he said, shooting a warm smile your way. “How’s my two favourite ladies?”

You looked down at Arin, wanting her to reply and she beamed at her father. “Happy.” 

You nodded in agreement, catching Seokjin’s eyes as you shared a private moment, silently telling him everything was fine now. He shot you a playful wink then, closing the door. “That’s funny, because I’m happy too.” 

You moved closer to him, collecting the messy ties of the apron he insisted on wearing whenever he was in the kitchen to retie them properly. “We were just checking in to see if the chef was burning dinner again…” 

With a surprised huff, he turned to his daughter, eyes wide. “Kim Arin did you tell tales on me?”

Arin erupted into a fit of giggles, you and Seokjin joining in immediately. “Maybe…” 

“It was an accident. Happens to the best of us,” he tried to defend. 

“Sure, sure.” 

Arin was greatly amused by your flippant response, but soon grew sympathetic towards her dad, stroking his elbow. “It’s okay, dad, I forgive you.” 

“That’s very kind of you,” he laughed. 

“Should I set the table?” 

“And that’s very sweet of you,” he added, eyes shooting wide. “Thank you.” 

You helped her get all the cutlery she needed and watched her leave for the dining room determinedly. But your attention soon got stolen away, pulled into Seokjin’s warmth as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders. You hooked yours around his middle. 

“Okay?” He murmured, checking in as he placed a kiss on your forehead. 

You looked up at him, a smile on your face and gave his waist a squeeze. 

“Okay.” You confirmed. 

Everything was more than okay, actually. 

Everything was perfect. 

Written 2020 - 2021. Please refrain from posting my work elsewhere. No translations allowed. © floralseokjin 2021

#seokjin fanfic #bts fanfic #seokjin smut #bts smut #fic:mls #floralseokjin:writings

[shannygoatgruff]

Only Fan(s) - A Thriller

Genre: Thriller

Pairing: Modern Ivar/OC

Warning: Language, sex, stalking, obsession, kidnapping, sexual assault

Rating: MA+18

Summary: Sometimes OnlyFans subscribers want a little more than internet pictures. Sometimes they want to be your ONLY fan…

Header by: @flowers-in-your-hayr

Thanks to @xbellaxcarolinax for being my beta.

Disclaimer: This story will deal with some topics that might be a little uncomfortable for some people. As always, I’ll try to tackle the hard stuff as tactfully as possible.

a/n: I know it’s been a minute. I’m always thinking about these stories because I want to finish them, just can’t seem to focus on writing at the moment.  Anyway, hope you enjoy.

Part iv - Date with Destiny

Finding Ivar Lothbrok should have been easy. Between the two of them, he was the stable one. He was the one with the iron-clad schedule that consisted of drinking, smoking, and partying. Torren’s schedule was a bit more... fluid. She tended to go wherever the wind, or whatever car she acquired, would take her. Naturally, Ivar had the occasional meet-and-greet, red carpet, and/or Comic-con engagement that he had to attend, still, he was pretty easy to keep tabs on. All one had to do was look at (stalk) his social media accounts, and his whereabouts were posted for everyone to see.

Knowing where he’d be and finding out where he lived were a different story. Torren had done her due diligence when it came to locating the town in which Little Kattegat was located. It only took about two days and a few Google image searches of the background of a few of the photos and she had it narrowed down to a general area in the Sierra Nevada Mountains.

From what she could tell, the closest town to where he lived was pretty small, and there were only a few large estates hidden in the woods. How hard could it be to find? She was willing to drive to every single house and knock on the door to find him if she had to. But it would just be easier if there was loud music and a bunch of cars in the driveway. That way she could tag along inside with the rest of the guests to get to her man. 

Her shirt landed in the pile of dirty clothes in the center of the bed, as she reached around to unhook her bra. “I really need to tell Baby Boo to stop putting all of his business out in these streets,” her brows furrowed as she shook her head, “What if some crazy, psycho bitch started stalking him, or some shit? Then I’d have to kill a bitch.” Torren’s head whipped around and she narrowed her eyes at his picture, still stuck on her wall, “Is that what you want? Huh? You want me to cut a bitch to prove to you how much I love you? I will, Bae! You know I would do anything for you. I’m your Ride or Die...” 

And being his Ride or Die meant that she needed to keep better tabs on him if she was going to protect him from someone crazier than her, God forbid.  She was only able to do so much on this prepaid phone, and going to the library to get online was becoming a pain in the ass. 

She’d considered stealing a laptop or iPad from the library but was still on the fence about the idea. Of course, the alternative meant going to stupid ass libraries and threatening little kids to get off the fucking computers, and that completely sucked ass. 

She always felt rushed when she logged onto her Bae’s Only Fans page from the public library. Without fail one of those little bastard kids would get the library Nazis to kick her off the computer, or bar her from the library altogether for watching porn. 

Ivar’s page wasn’t porn! It was art. It was sexy. It was love...his love for her. Stupid bitches. 

She had encountered far worse things than getting kicked out of the library, but some of these small towns usually only had one or two within their county limits. If she got banned, how was she supposed to check up on Ivar? In the time it took to log in until she got kicked out, she'd be lucky if she could check 2 of his accounts. What if he had some important information on another platform that she hadn’t checked yet? What was she supposed to do then?

Her relationship with Ivar was hanging in the balance, and she'd be damned if some snot-nosed kid or fucking uptight librarian would fuck that up. She needed a computer. But, on the flip side, when she finally got her man back, she wouldn't need one anymore. She could ask him directly what their plans were.

There was a lot to consider and that took time; time that she didn't have right now.

The thick layer of Nair shaving cream she had applied to her already hairless crotch, was just starting to tingle, signaling she had about 5 minutes left before the sweat-inducing, burning sensation would kick in alerting her to wash the cream off. Until then, she had time to consider an outfit for the night.

She knew Ivar well enough to know that he would want her to be sexy for him, but not so much to distract him from work. She could have gone for something slutty, like those skanky bitches he partied with. She could have gone for more demur, but then she would remind him too much of his bitch ex-wife and completely turn him off. The last thing she wanted on their first night back together was for him to be thinking about that bitch. She could have gone for a simple pair of jeans and a t-shirt, but Torren never did simple. 

No, Ivar would want her to be herself. That's what he loved about her. That's what attracted him to her in the first place. She would be sexy without being skanky; she would be demure without being a prude.

Fuck! It was already 7:33 p.m. How in the hell did she miss the beginning of his Live? Now she was running late.

She was supposed to be dressed and ready by the time his Live came on that way she could be out the door as soon as he finished. If she was going to make it to be on his Only Fans live stream tonight, she needed to get to his house before he got too distracted. Now, she’d have to watch his Live, while her cooch burst into flames before she had a chance to take a shower and finish picking out her outfit.

If there was one thing Torren was, it was punctual. It was bad enough that she was about 40 minutes outside of his town, but it could take her up to 2 or more hours to find his house. She only hoped that he didn’t plan on starting any real freaky shit on his Only Fans page until around midnight, cause it looked like she wouldn’t be getting there before then, anyway.  

With the smile still plastered on her face, Torren turned on the hot water for a shower, forgetting that the water didn’t get hot. She didn't mind, much, especially since the cold water gave her a break from the heat in her room. 

Phone in hand, she watched him, as she planted herself on the dirty bathtub floor, cross-legged, and started to get herself ready. Starting with her toes, she shaved each one, just below the knuckle, followed by her fingers, arms, pits, and each leg, from groin to ankle, three times. When the burning from her nether regions was so intense that she couldn’t tell her tears from the shower water dripping on her face, she quickly washed off the cream. 

All she could do was hope that she hadn’t broken the skin this time. The last time she had let that damn Nair stay on, just past burning, the skin broke and she bled. She was not having a bloody hoo-ha tonight. 

With that taken care of, she gently used the razor to remove any other pubes closer to the inside that needed to be removed. Then shaved her backside. When she had more time, she was going to get the internal hairs bleached, but she needed to find out what Ivar preferred. 

Shaving ate up so much of her time that she only had a few seconds to rub some body-wash that she had stolen from a drug store over her body and hoped it got rid of the smell of the summer heat. Her hair? Fuck it...she’d wash it another day, for now, this cold water would have to be enough. She’d spritz some perfume and hair spray in it and it would smell fine. 

Torren finished her shower, and walked out of the bathroom dripping wet, only using a towel to wrap around her hair. She was glad it was so hot in her room that her hair would air-dry quickly. She finger-combed her damp tresses to complete that ‘just got out of bed, but it's styled’ appearance. She knew how much he loved when her hair looked like that. It would remind him of freshly fucked hair. 

She spent extra time applying her makeup, even using an extra dark, thick application of eyeliner. She usually went for more subtle warm colors. They matched her tan skin tone better. But, tonight, she had bold, dark makeup, complete with varying shades of purple and blue eye shadows, and dark purple lipstick.

Torren was glad that she decided to match Ivar’s clothes this evening. The swim trunks and smoking jacket he wore would compliment her beautifully. She wanted everyone to know that they dressed alike, the way real couples do. If he was going for less is more, so would she.

She settled on black leather chaps that tied up on the sides, and tight blue boy shorts that left the bottom half of her ass cheeks exposed. The blue shorts brought out the blue swirls in his trunks; she knew he'd appreciate that touch. Her top was a blue bandanna that she wore as a halter with a short black leather jacket with tassels on the sleeves. 

They screamed “couple” in her eyes.

Completely satisfied with how she looked, Torren locked the door to her motel room and started down the hall. She deliberately stopped by the window and peered through the partially opened blinds of the people staying next door to her. She knocked on the window to get the attention of the young couple inside. Judging from their appearance, they were too strung out to know who she was, or that it was her music that they constantly banged on the wall about. She didn’t care. She still flipped them off before making her way to the stairs. 

Reaching her hand through the busted window of the blue Ford Taurus to unlock the door from the inside. Torren slid into the driver's seat and leaned over to find the two cords that she had pulled out from under the steering column when she stole the car. Flicking the cords together, she listened as the engine reluctantly turned over.

She put the car in reverse, looked in the rear-view mirror at her makeup, then pulled out of the spot. As she turned onto the road leading to the highway, she listened to the knocks, bumps, and hisses that her car made. There wasn't time to do much about it now; not when she was on her way to get her man. But, she made a mental note to do something about it later in the week. The only thing she could do was turn the music up louder to drown out the car noise.

Truthfully, she should have stolen a better car than the piece of shit Taurus that she found in the parking lot of the Quickie Mart while driving through Tulsa, Oklahoma. There were plenty of better cars there to choose from but no one would have wanted to take this one. It was so sad looking that she took pity on it. She had been doing the owner of this crap car a favor, by taking it off of their hands. 

The car was truly fucked. The oil light stayed on, and it drank gas like her mother drank liquor. The car had protested every inch of the ride across the three states that she traveled through in one day. She knew that it would only be a matter of time before that piece of shit breathed its last breath.

She needed to get gas again, but fuck that car. She had already refueled four times since she stole it. Gas wasn't cheap and she wasn't putting another dime in that gas guzzler. Speaking of money, she made a mental note to steal another credit card. It would only be a matter of time before the owner of the one that was tucked snugly between her left breast and strapless bra, would eventually realize that it had been lifted from the table in the diner, and canceled.

Laptop, butt bleaching, car, credit card, and more eyeliner from Walgreen's…her To-Do list was growing. She really needed to take some time off and take care of the necessities. Not tonight, though. She had other things to do. She couldn't do anything else, right now, but get to her man. Besides, once Lothbrok was by her side, he would help her remember all the things she needed to do.

As she came off of the highway exit smoke started billowing out from the engine. It backed up through the exhaust system, and came through the vents, inside the cabin. It was ironic – the air-conditioning vents in the car didn't work, but they seemed to work well enough to clog the inside of the car up with thick white smoke. She drove a few more miles before the smoke was so thick that she could no longer see. As she pulled the car over to the graveled shoulder of the road, the car knocked and shook, before it finally cut off.

Just her fucking luck.

She reached under the dash to flick the cords against each other again, trying to force the ignition to catch again, but it wouldn't. The engine had nothing left to give her. "Fuck Murphy and fuck his fucking law," she said calmly as she pulled the hood release.

She opened the car door, taking care to place both black, platform boots on the ground before lifting her backside from the seat. Placing her sunglasses on her eyes, she walked with one foot in front of the other to the front of the Taurus and placed her hand on the hood. It was hot, but not so hot that she couldn't feel under the front of the lever.

As she lifted the heavy metal hood and placed the rod in the slot to hold it in place, Torren let the smoke from the engine engulf her. It was quite a head rush breathing in the thick engine smoke through her nose, and exhaling it from her mouth. She patiently waited for the smoke to thin out before she bent, at the waist, over the engine. She didn't know what she was looking for, but she knew that someone would see her looking over the engine and stop to help her.

Now, if only someone would actually come down this dark stretch of road, she could be back on her way to Ivar.

It didn't take long before a pair of headlights rounded the bend of the road, just off to her right. Shifting her weight from one foot to the other, she accentuated the leather, chaps against her hips, and lifted her ass higher in the air, to catch the driver's attention. She couldn't help but smirk when she heard the tires of a large vehicle turn onto the graveled pavement in front of where she broke down. She didn't turn to face the car or the driver. She didn't care who they were or what they looked like. She had an appointment to keep and this pit stop was fucking up her timetable.

"You need some help?" A deep voice asked as its owner approached her.

Torren took a moment to peer around the hood, noticing that there were no other cars around. "Broke down," she answered, continuing to bear her weight from one hip to the other. She placed her hands on the metal frame of the car, arched her back, and looked at the man over her shoulder. "You know something about cars?"

"Yeah," he replied, moving around to her side, looking at her, and not the smoky engine.

She gave him half a smile, as she noticed him notice her. "You a mechanic or something?" She asked standing up. She rubbed her hands together to remove some of the visible engine soot while considering the guy in front of her. He was about 6 feet tall with a moderate build. He was dressed in blue jeans, a black t-shirt, and Timberland boots. He didn't look like he was more than 25 years old. Judging from the way he was looking at her and from the ring on his left hand, he wasn't too worried about her car, or his wife, for that matter.

"Nah, not a mechanic, but I work on my own car... in my spare time." He smiled when she did. She was gorgeous, in that slutty kind of way. She wouldn't be dressed like that and leaning over the hood of a car if she wasn't looking to have some fun. "Lemme take a look at it."

Did he work on his car? Hopefully, that meant that his ran better than hers did.

Torren moved over to the side and let him take the position under the hood. "I'll be right back," he explained before walking over to the bed of his F150.

Grabbing a flashlight from the trunk, he took a second to admire the view of her, from behind. If he could get her car moving again, she would hopefully follow him to this cheap motel he knew that was just up the highway.

He leaned in close, taking a whiff of her hair, "You overheated…want to check the coolant level."

She had heard him say something else but she had stopped listening; she was too busy watching the street. "You want me to try to start it?" she asked, removing her sunglasses before making her way to the driver's door. She wasn't sure if he answered or not. She had no intention of driving the Taurus again, even if he could get it started. She just needed to get something out of the car.

She slid into the seat and reached down on the floor. She found the hard metal object on the floor of the passenger's side and gripped it tightly. As she walked back around to the front of the car, she heard him talking, presumably about the car, or maybe he was asking her out. Who the fuck knows? She was on a tight schedule and all of his chatting was holding her up. She stood by the side of the hood, looking at the angle he was leaning over the hood. Quickly, she lifted her arm, and with one powerful blow, she struck him in the head with the crowbar that she used to procure her now-defunct car.

Torren stood over his body, looking at him intensely. God, it felt good. The rush of knowing that one minute this dude was towering over her, and the next he was on the ground. She had dropped his ass. She was the one with the power.

 "Thanks," she said, digging her hand in his pocket to retrieve his cash, credit card, and the keys to his truck. She wiped the blood on the crowbar on his shirt before walking to her new mode of transportation.

Torren sat in the truck's driver's seat and turned on the engine. She had managed to cross two things off of her To-Do list without even planning to.

Thank God the truck had air conditioning. All this heat and humidity was bound to make her hair frizzy. She cranked the AC up as high as it would go and sat still for a moment enjoying the cool air. After a minute, she adjusted the seat and tilted the rearview mirror to look at herself. She was starting to sweat and her eyeliner was starting to run just a bit at the corners of her eyes. She dabbed at the black liner to even out the lines, and then pushed the mirror back to where she could see. Giving the area another once-over, she made sure that no one else had seen her interaction with that guy on the ground, before pulling out from the gravel and onto the paved street.

"Ugh!" Torren yelled. Chester Bradley, the printed name on the credit card, had shitty taste in music. She pushed the stereo button on the steering wheel to do a scan of the radio. Anything was better than country music. Once she found some trap music on the XM radio, she turned up the volume and pulled back onto the highway.

Part iii/

Tags: @ideagarden-blog1  @youbloodymadgenius @xbellaxcarolinax @a-mess-of-fandoms @didiintheblog @conaionaru @peachyboneless @flowers-in-your-hayr @heavenly1927 @zuxiezendler @waiting4inspiration @saldelys @revolution-starter​

#OnlyFan(s) #modern ivar #shannygoat #shannyland #Date with Destiny

[bangtanbetchfics]

friction: iv - finale | knj (m)

genre: office au, romance, smut rating: explicit // 18+ pairing: kim namjoon x reader word count: 8.6k suggested listening: different - woodz | strangers - taemin | handle it - twice | amnesia - kai | last piece - got7 | playlist warnings: m/f, m/m, explicit language, explicit/casual sex, masturbation, enemies to lovers summary: your pesky and overworked assistants meddle in your relationship with your sexy rival -- kim namjoon -- and find themselves caught in the crosshairs of love and all-out war. notes: the final chapter! thanks everyone for all of the notes and support on this one. for more fun insights on this story, please visit my ao3, linked below. navigation: ch. i | ch. ii | ch. iii | finale | m.list | ao3

Namjoon: “All I know right now is that I want you,” He says, tilting his head. “And that I’d never hurt you.”

You: “I’m afraid, Jin,” You confess in his ear, and he rests his chin on your shoulder. “That he’ll break my heart.”

Jin: “Someone’s feelings are ultimately going to get hurt.”

✹✹✹

“We have like...fifteen minutes before they’re both back,” Taehyung whispers to Jimin, both of their bodies pressing against each other in a minuscule phone room.

“I can’t even move right now,” Taehyung laments, moving the chair near him as close to the door as he can, enabling Jimin to straddle him.

“Well...this was the only room I could find, Tae. It’s busy season.” This makes Taehyung frown as he grabs Jimin’s waist to steady him. “We’re lucky we even got this.”

Jimin slides to the bottom of Taehyung’s legs near his knees, and the edge of the desk behind him digs into his back.

“Ow, fuck.” Jimin sucks air in through his teeth, refocusing his mind before he looks down at Taehyung’s crotch. Taehyung’s cock is somehow rock hard, and Jimin rubs his palm over the significant bulge. “It’s amazing how you can still get hard in these situations.”

The comment makes Taehyung frown before he spreads his legs open to evenly distribute Jimin’s weight across him.

“We haven’t fucked because we’re always so tired from work, so yeah, I’m hard. Really fucking hard.” Taehyung pulls Jimin in for a few sloppy kisses, his hand firm on the other man’s slim waist. He rubs Jimin’s back and his hands glide to Jimin’s plush ass before he gives it a squeeze.

Jimin bites his lip at the grab -- grinning and moving further up Taehyung’s legs to straddle his crotch. “It’s been too long since I’ve done that.” Taehyung chuckles, licking his lips.

Taehyung sighs lightly at the warmth covering him, and he uses his massive hands to glide Jimin’s ass over his crotch -- making the both of them breathe in unison. Jimin loosens two buttons of his own crisp white shirt, Taehyung moving to lick his exposed collarbones before nibbling at his clavicle.

Faint moans slip from Jimin’s lips as he reaches into Taehyung’s pants, and pulls out his fully erect cock. He salivates at his girth, and a wad of spit leaves his mouth before landing on Taehyung’s firm cock.

The sensation causes Taehyung’s back to press into the chair, the thick line of spit rolling down the sensitive skin. He sighs as Jimin’s smooth hand rubs up and down his shaft and he groans, feeling himself grow even harder.

Jimin leans back to get his elbows on the desk for support and shimmies to tilt his pelvis up toward the ceiling.

Taehyung then pulls Jimin’s soft, thick cock from his pants. His thumb moves to glide over the soft tip, expecting a drizzle of precum to follow. It does, and Taehyung smears the droplet of arousal over the prominent head. Jimin hisses at the feeling, grinding his hips into Taehyung’s firm grip. His hand was firm without even trying, and Jimin gives Taehyung a firm squeeze in return, making the other man hiss through his teeth.

The two are soon jerking each other off in unison, the slick sounds of their pleasure filling in the room.

“Motherfuck-“ Taehyung groans, his cum sliding down Jimin’s fist. “Already?” Jimin gasps and follows in response, his cum flowing down over Taehyung’s fingers.

“Well, fuck.” Jimin reaches behind him and cleans the two of them up before zipping both of their pants. He balls the napkins up in his hand, maneuvering to toss them in the trash below the desk.

“Ah, fuck...this is miserable.” Jimin pouts, rolling his eyes into the back of his head. He grabs Taehyung’s shoulders before mumbling into the fabric there. “We have to figure out a gameplan to get our bosses back together.”

Jimin lifts from Taehyung’s lap and looks at his watch as he buttons his shirt back up: 6:56 P.M.

“Let’s hurry and get back.” Jimin says, tapping Taehyung’s shoulder to get up.

✹✹✹

A sigh leaves your lips and you move to pull a bouquet slotted in a vase closer to your face. The fresh scent hits your nose as bury your face in the silkiness of the petals.

“Ya!” Jin yells, breaking you from your lovesick stupor. “It looks like a florist took up shop in here!” He looks around, observing the bouquets sitting in every corner of your office.

Taehyung looks over and chuckles, laughing to himself at Namjoon’s failed attempt to get you back.

You grab your coat and shrug it on before you carefully navigate your way around the bouquets and out of your office.

Jin notices how quiet you are -- the two of you waiting in the empty elevator bank. This was a state he was worried about you being in, and he made sure to pick you up from work when you were like this. He nudges you and his arm hooks into yours, but you’re barely able to acknowledge it.

“Anything you wanna talk about?” You lean your head on his arm and shake your head. He leans his head down to meet the top of yours in a quiet understanding before the two of you enter a crowded elevator car.

The elevator beeps as it navigates each floor, and you squeeze your eyes shut -- praying that it doesn’t land on the 61st floor. You knew that was Namjoon’s floor and he was one hundred percent the absolute last person you wanted to see right now -- especially after your impulsive encounter earlier that afternoon.

61.

Of course. The universe always had to mess with you.

The elevator doors open and Namjoon’s eyes search around the car. You look up, and his gaze locks with yours. It feels like the two of you are frozen in time for a moment, and other employees brush past him to enter the car.

You can tell he’s worn from the long hours of work by the dark bags sitting underneath his eyes. In the moment he looks to you for some sort of relief -- some sort of resolve -- but you don’t lend it to him. Jin notices and glares him down, and Namjoon’s crestfallen gaze lifts from yours to meet Jin’s leer.

You quickly look down and swallow a lump of nerves down your throat, and Namjoon slowly enters the car. Your hand trembles as you grip the strap of your purse -- the piece of leather feeling like a lifeline -- like a sweet, temporary escape from the situation at hand.

The car reaches the lobby and employees spill from the elevator, scattering in a rat race out of the building. You grip Jin’s arm closer to you as you watch the back of Namjoon exit the car.

“Is that the guy?” Jin cranes his neck down to your ear. You don’t respond, and Jin takes it as a confirmation. You and Jin take a left as you leave the building, and Namjoon takes a right, but you can’t help but listen for the sound of Namjoon’s shoes to dissipate.

“You see? I knew you’d get hurt.” Jin laments, moving his arm over your shoulder to tug you closer. The sound of Namjoon’s shoes halts as he overhears, and he turns around to look at the both of you walking down the street. He takes a deep inhale, the breath exhuming a deep regret from his body.

✹✹✹

Light snowflakes fall from the sky, starting to coat the city below them in a white, glistening blanket. Your eyes glide toward the view of the city through the floor-to-ceiling length windows, and you watch cars -- now rendered to tiny, glittering lights this high up -- float by in the pulse of the dark evening.

Your foot extends to meet the cool edge of a clawfoot tub, the rest of your body enveloped in the warmth of the water around you. The movement of your foot around the white ceramic edge makes a squeaking noise, the sound bouncing off the quiet halls of your apartment.

You sink further into the water and blow bubbles into it before submerging your head fully for a few seconds. You gasp as you emerge, the cool air creating goosebumps all over your exposed skin. Your hand moves to slick your hair back, and you rest your head on the back edge of the tub.

All you can hear in the darkness are the droplets of water dripping from the edges of the tub.

The space in your apartment was now somber -- no longer filled with your buoyant giggles or throaty moans of being deeply taken. No tinkering sounds of Namjoon making his morning coffee, or the deep, needy exclamations of your name tumbling from his lips.

Thinking of him somehow made a desire tinder inside of you, and you feel your nipples harden under the thought -- only exacerbated by the cool air in the room. You close your eyes, surrendering to your thoughts; your mind racing through the various scenarios and encounters with Namjoon.

At this moment you were grateful that the nerves in the human body retained memories, for you suspire as your fingertips start to trace your skin just as Namjoon would.

You inhale as a wet thumb glides over your erect nipple, sending sensations of pleasure through your body. Your hand moves to grip the soft flesh of your other breast, your fingers kneading the sensitive skin in your hand. Your teeth bite your bottom lip as you imagine the person touching you is Namjoon instead.

A mewl leaves your lips as two fingers meet inside of your core, easily slipping inside. The tightness of the two fingers makes you writhe -- your breath coming loose from your throat.

Your pointer and pinky finger become affixed to either side of your lips, giving you leverage to pump your fingers faster inside of you. Your back arches as you move faster, the sounds of moving water growing louder in the space. The recollection of Namjoon’s desire from earlier that day is somehow still singed to your skin, and you pant as you recall.

Cries leaves your lips as your fingers curl up to meet your engorged g-spot, and your eyes squeeze shut as your fingers glide back and forth over the pleasurable spot.

Burning sensations rip through your body and you squeal, feeling your core clench around your fingers. You moan out loud, biting your lip from the guilt of conjuring a memory before a final drag over the swollen spot courses a delectable pleasure through your veins.

A sigh leaves your lips in your comedown, and you heave while you wonder how a kiss in a fervid moment got you here: alone, and without a promotion you’d been waiting to achieve your entire life.

You lift your body upright and rest your arms on either side of the tub, looking back out at the cityscape.

✹✹✹

Snow crunches under Namjoon’s feet while his fingers clench to a paper cup in his hand. He’s grateful for the hot sear on his fingertips to keep both his fingers and body warm, and he looks down, watching his feet sink into the fresh snow with every step he takes.

Hoseok squints at the sunlight peeking through the snow-coated limbs of the trees above, and he notices Namjoon’s spaced-out expression beside him. He nudges his friend and Namjoon comes to -- looking over to Hoseok and feigning a smile.

“You alright, bro?” Hoseok’s tone is concerned, and Namjoon smiles again and shakes his head.

“See this?” He points down at the fresh snow. “My life used to be like this. Just new and...fresh with her.” He then nods his head over at the dirty, white slosh in the street as they approach a corner to cross. “Now it’s more like that.”

Hoseok covers his mouth, and he can’t help but giggle at Namjoon’s humor, even in such a low moment.

“Sorry...but you kinda brought that one on yourself.” Hoseok chuckles through his response. “I mean, who ties their lover to their bed and then leaves them there? I’d be kinda mad, too. Even if I did get a couple of orgasms out of it.” Hoseok chortles, taking a sip of his own coffee.

“When I think about it...I just wanted the promotion at any cost. You know how my mom is.” Namjoon’s fingers squeeze dents into the cup in his hand, and Hoseok stops in his tracks. He reaches a hand out to grab Namjoon’s arm to stop him as well.

Namjoon’s throat tightens and he avoids eye contact with Hoseok, still looking down at the ground. He hated looking into Hoseok’s wide, earnest eyes. He always told him what he didn’t want to hear, but the advice was always right.

“Hey. Look at me.” Hoseok is calm, and he shakes Namjoon to look up at him. “You’ve gotta start living for yourself, man. This...this ruthless mentality is really fucking with you and your relationships. The tactics you use at work don’t necessarily reap the same benefits in love.”

Namjoon sucks air up his nostrils, frustrated with Hoseok -- but he understands he’s right. He shakes his head before looking up into Hoseok’s eyes, his own eyes glossy with tears.

“I really fucked this one up, Hobi, I-” Namjoon shakes his head again.

“Apologize. Start there.” Hoseok starts, and Namjoon interjects. “But I already-“

“If you really care about her, do it as many times as it takes.” Both eyebrows raise on Hoseok’s face as he cuts Namjoon off.

“Also, know you love and respect your mom...but like, you can’t let her dictate the way you live your life anymore.” Hoseok squeezes Namjoon’s arm in assurance. “No disrespect, but you gotta do you, bro.” He smacks Namjoon’s arm.

“I’ll see you later!” Hoseok shouts, running to make it across the street before the light changes.

Namjoon shakes his head as he looks down, his hand balling into a tight fist.

✹✹✹

The cool winter wind curls through Namjoon’s hair, and he sighs as he looks at the ground coated white below him.

The plastic of the bouquet in his arms crunches as he kneels down, and he sets the flowers to the side.

He takes a deep pause before he wipes a few inches of snow from a gravestone labeled KIM. He sits there, hands on his knees as two silent tears fall down his cheeks. He quickly wipes them with his gloves as they almost freeze on his face.

“I-I’m...I’m on my way, Dad. The position is pretty much mine.” Namjoon starts, his voice trembling.

“Is that what you would’ve wanted?” He asks, unwrapping the flowers from their plastic and slotting them into a cement holder above the grave.

“But your work nearly...no, did. Your work did put you here, right?” He laments, his head falling into his palms, still frigid even through the thick gloves.

“Or...would you have wanted me to be happy?” Namjoon tilts his head, a heaviness on his chest as he lets out the words.

“There’s this woman you see...” He continues, looking down at the engravings in the stone below him once more.

Namjoon squeezes his eyes shut and a final crest of tears leave his eyes. He stands up, walking to the edge of the bluff he’s on before looking out at the frozen landscape.

✹✹✹

You sit on your couch, curled up by a neon fire crackling in a glass display in front of you. Your toes curl up as they fill with heat, and you polish off the rest of the wine in your glass.

Somehow, you were undeniably tipsy and had finished off half a bottle of the sweet, tart liquid. Your hand slides over the glass coffee table to the side of you, and the glass screeches as you place the cup down. You let out the beginnings of a yawn before you hear your doorbell ring -- making you jolt up out of your seat.

“Can I help you?” You press a button on a digital intercom labeled ‘lobby’ and you hear a voice ring out on the other end.

“Yes, there’s a gift for you, ma’am?” A male voice answers back, and your hand drops from the button. You roll your eyes before you hit the button to speak again.

“Fine, bring it up.”

✹✹✹

Your doorbell rings, and you take your time to stand -- slowly walking toward the door. You release the lock on the door and swing it open before leaning back on it.

“It’s from...” The man starts, before looking down in his phone again. “Ah. It’s from one Kim Namjoon. Sent with the utmost urgency, ma’am.” He nods, tipping his hat down before he hands you a huge black box.

You groan at the weight, closing the door shut with your foot.

You lug the box over to your coffee table, and place it down before your hand meets your hips. Air blows from your lips as you ponder whether or not you should even open the box. The indifference develops into a sigh while you massage your temples, moving and scooting closer to the table to take in the outside of the box.

You place your hand on top of the lid and sigh again, your fingers lifting it off before you set the top to the side.

You gasp and stand up, taking in what’s before you.

Thirty-six light purple roses are carefully arranged in a circular box inside, and the warm, rosy scent travels up your nose.

Neatly tucked inside is a shiny gold envelope, and you move to pull it out. You break the seal with your fingernail, pulling out a piece of light pink cardstock.

To: The Woman I’m Not Sure I Can Live Without

There’s a thin line between love and hate...but I can only hope that you keep your faith in love.

“Love means to commit oneself without guarantee, to give oneself completely in the hope that our love will produce love in the loved person. Love is an act of faith, and whoever is of little faith is also of little love.”

The florists told me that the roses carefully arranged in this box for you are forever, but I hope our love outlasts every single one.

Hoping this message reaches you in the depths of your heart -- in a little corner of light -- where I hope you’ll be able to find a place to believe in me again.

-Lovingly, Kim Namjoon

Your hands tremble and you drop the letter -- your head falling into your palms. You collapse to the couch and softly sob out of frustration, more confused than ever.

✹✹✹

The next morning, you sigh as a bunch of people crowd next to you after you board an elevator car. You definitely didn’t get any sleep the night before, and you study the back of the woman’s head in front of you. Your gaze lifts and your eyes widen as you see Namjoon run to board the front of the crowded car. His eyes widen in response to seeing you, and your eyes swiftly meet the ground.

The elevator stops at the next available floor, and a few people cycle out of the car -- Namjoon being one of the first out.

A dozen more people wait outside of the car to enter, and Namjoon’s only choice is to move further into the back of the car near you. He crushes his lips together before he gathers the courage to stand next to you as the car fills back up. Someone squeezes near him -- and his arm pushes into yours.

“Sorry.” He whispers, keeping his sight focused ahead of him.

You become rattled at how close he is to you, a heat rising up your throat and into your cheeks.

He’s so close you can smell his cologne, and you subtly inhale it -- reveling in the brief moment of nostalgia. You follow it by swallowing a breath down -- your best attempt to cool your nerves. You blow relief from your lips as the elevator reaches his floor, and he files out of the car.

You’re able to steal a glance of Namjoon before the elevator shuts, and his eyes grow wide again in response.

✹✹✹

“Almost ready for dinner?” Taehyung asks you, powering his computer down. He takes a quick glance at his watch before looking over at your office.

You use a large, fluffy brush to swipe blush across your cheeks and you smile slightly to make the apples more prominent.

“How do I look?” You ask Taehyung, taking a slow turn. A creamy white dress is affixed to your curves, and a transparent chiffon choker floats around your neck.

“It’ll be nice to get out for dinner for once.” You mention as you pin twinkling diamond earrings to each of your ears.

✹✹✹

“How are you adjusting to the new workload?” You ask Taehyung, slicing through a piece of chicken below you. You take a bite, watching him formulate an answer.

“It’s a lot to take on...but I know in the long run it’ll pay off.” Taehyung shrugs. “Or...at least I hope it does.” He says, loading a few green peas onto his fork as he looks at you before shaking his silver locks from his eyes.

“Good mindset to have,” Your fork points at him, before you polish the food down your throat. “But. You don’t want to end up old and grey like me. And with no one to share it with.”

“You’re not old. Or gray!” Taehyung exclaims before clutching his belly in laughter. You join him in laughing, the wine spinning glee through your veins.

“Thanks for doing this, Tae.” You mention, tapping the back of Taehyung’s hand and watching a smile curl up on his lips.

“You deserve it. Truly-” Mid-response, he jolts as the watch on his wrist buzzes:

[Jiminie]: 7:58 P.M. Now.

He smirks a bit as he sees the message, but his brows furrow before he looks up at you.

“I have to take this.” His voice is asking for permission, and you nod in response -- waving him off.

✹✹✹

You look at your watch, noticing that thirty-five minutes have lapsed since Taehyung left you at the table. You lift the device to your mouth: “Call Taehyung.” The device rings for half a second before you’re served Taehyung’s voicemail.

The kick to voicemail brings your brows together on your head, and you try the sequence once more. Another fail. You sigh, slightly worried by the lack of response.

A sliver of fear causes you to rise from your seat to take a walk around the space. Decadent crystal chandeliers light up the space, but they’re dimmed to give ambiance to most of the couples huddled up in the restaurant for the evening.

You admit to yourself that you’re jealous, as one half of those couples could’ve easily been you a few weeks before everything went down between you and Namjoon. You sigh, rubbing your arms to relieve yourself from the pockets of wind coming through the front door each time it opens. Your eyes scan the restaurant, but nothing unusual sticks out to you -- and you still don’t see Taehyung.

“Did he leave me here?” You whisper under your breath before heading back to your seat. You admit you’re lightly pissed off, but you calmly sit back down at your table.

“So, how was everything?” A waitress arrives, and she starts collecting items from the table. “It was amazing...except for...well.” Your voice trails off as you look over to the other side of the table. “I’ve really gotta find him.” You mumble, pulling out your wallet. The waitress grimaces, collecting the last fork and placing it on her tray.

“Anyway...could I have the receipt, please?” You ask, looking up at the woman. She looks back at you, confused, and you return the look. “The bill’s already been paid, ma’am.”

“By whom?” You tilt your head, and the woman points over her shoulder before she steps to the side.

It’s Namjoon.

Namjoon walks toward you, a hand in the pocket of his white pants. A cream dress shirt hugs his frame in the right places, but it's tucked in to accentuate his slim waist. A white wool coat adorns his frame and reaches just below his knees, and his hips sexily cut side-to-side before he lands to stand above you.

“May I?” He asks, his deep voice rippling through your ears, goosebumps traveling through your skin.

You’re at a loss for words as you take his divine form in from head-to-toe, and he gestures toward the empty chair.

Shockwaves zip through your body, and you can only manage a nod in response.

Taehyung and Jimin grin at each other from a well-hidden corner of the restaurant as they watch the two of you -- their pinkies linked tightly together.

✹✹✹

Namjoon marvels at you as he sits, his hand loosening from his pocket. His eyes triangulate around your face, and you can tell he’s at a loss for words himself. He takes a deep breath in, looking down at the table.

How handsome he looks under the candlelight is something you can’t help but notice -- his tan skin twinkling under the flicker of the flames. You lower your eyes so you don’t get sucked too far into his charms, subtly shaking your head until you come to.

The both of you sit in silence for a few moments before he reaches for your hand.

“Joon-“ You gasp as the warmth radiating from him courses through your veins. He squeezes your hand before speaking.

“I’ve been selfish,” He starts, his soft brown eyes raising to meet yours. “It’s just that you’ve never been apart of the grand plan I had laid out for my life...” He sighs, and you can tell his thoughts are trailing off.

“I...I told you kissing me that night wasn’t a good idea.” Your chest starts to heave, and your hand begins to tremble in his. “You said you wouldn’t hurt me then. And now we’re here.”

“I know...I know...” His voice turns into a woeful plea, and tears gather at the edges of your eyes. “I’m so, so sorry.”

His head hangs down and he squeezes your hand again. You loosen your hand from his and he looks up in shock, watching as you look down to reach into your bag.

“I want you back,” He pulls his hands into a prayer near his lips, his thumbs tucked under his chin as he looks at you. You flare your nostrils to hold in your tears as you listen to him.

“If you have it in your heart...please forgive me.” He continues, tears gathering in his own eyes.

“I really liked you, Joon.” You get choked up, tears flooding down your face. You suck in air to calm yourself, using the handkerchief you pulled from your bag to dab at your tears.

Namjoon reaches across the table to wipe the fresh wave of tears falling from your eyes with his thumbs, and he looks directly at you.

“I have something to tell you.” His tone is serious, and you grab ahold of his wrist. He takes your hand and holds it again, massaging the back of it.

“I told Yoongi...” You can tell whatever he’s about to say is hard for him, and his eyes widen before he looks down. “I told Yoongi that he should give the CEO position to you. That you could lead it with more grace than I ever could. And that’s something that I’ve always admired about you.” His warm lips meet the palm of your hand, and a tear falls from one of his eyes.

“No, I-“ A hot tear shoots from one of your eyes, and you shake your head. He shakes his head in assurance, placing your hand on his cheek.

“You can’t do this on my behalf.” You gasp out, more tears pooling in your eyes. “You really wanted this.”

“So did you. And yes, I can.” He starts. “But why? Tell me why. You wanted nothing more.”

“It’s simple, really.” Namjoon releases your hand, sitting back in his chair.

“I was chasing a dream that wasn’t my own to make the people I loved happy. I’ve always done what my family’s wanted -- no matter the cost. But I was never happy. Not until I met you.” He says, his eyes focused on you. His eyes grow even warmer under the candlelight as he admires your features.

“The only thing I’ve ever truly dreamed about was falling in love.” He sits back up, taking your hand in his again. Your fingers slide in between his and your palms meet in a firm clasp.

“I’m guilty of it too, I guess.” You respond, searching his eyes. “I think I’ve always used work as an excuse not to go too deep...to not to fall in love too hard. But you broke all of my walls down, and then you left me.” You chuckle softly, drawing one out of him as well. “But now you’re here again. In front of me.” You shoulder raises and then falls, and you look at him.

“I guess it was fate that pushed us together like this.” Namjoon kisses your hand warmly, and you sigh at the comfort of the familiar feeling. His eyes scan yours, and you can feel more words are at the tip of his tongue. The words seem to dissipate from his lips, and he releases your hand.

“I guess...I guess I’ll see you at work tomorrow?” You give him a slow nod as you watch him stand up, and you chew at the inside of your lip. He starts to leave the table, and you grab his wrist.

“Wait. Would you...would you mind taking me home?” There’s a lilt of desire in your voice, and he looks back at you.

✹✹✹

“Sorry, no heat in here -- don’t ask.” A cab driver mentions as the two of you hop in the backseat. You cross your legs and look out of the window as the car pulls off.

There’s still a marked silence between the two of you.

After a few minutes you can hear the whisper of wind coming through the car door, and the cool air makes you shiver. You ball your hand into a fist as your fingers and toes grow cold, and you rub your arms to gather warmth in your body.

You knew Namjoon was probably warm, but you were stubborn and you refused to give into him that easily.

Namjoon turns and looks at you coolly as you look out the window, and he taps your shoulder. You turn to face him, and your lips are a hair away from each other in the small car.

He looks down and your eyes follow his as he hooks his arm into yours before pulling you closer to him. His warmth surges through you, causing your body to melt into his. Your cheek meets his shoulder, and you warm your hand by rubbing one of his thighs. You squeeze the hard muscle and he can feel himself getting hard. You slow the rubbing as you notice him fidgeting, simply resting your palm on his leg. His racing heartbeat becomes apparent as your head slides down to his chest, and you smirk to yourself that you still had this affect on him.

“This is you, ma’am.” The driver mentions, looking back at the two of you. “Who’s payin’?” He asks, pulling up to a curb.

The car pulls up outside of your house, and you look up at Namjoon -- your lips close once again. A desire knots in between your legs, and you squeeze them to dissipate the sensation -- gasping at the sudden intensity of your lust.

“Um...um I guess this is me.” You say softly, looking from his lips up to his eyes. He returns the look, and you quickly break eye contact and get out of the car.

Namjoon whips his credit card into the reader before handing the driver fifty dollars in cash.

“Can you give me a few minutes?” He taps the man’s shoulders, and the driver looks at Namjoon through the rearview mirror.

“Good luck, man.” The driver nods, watching Namjoon exit.

✹✹✹

Namjoon catches you before you start to walk away from the vehicle, and he comes to stand tall in front of you. He looks down at you for a few moments, and neither of you break eye contact. The wind starts to chill your lips and fingertips, and Namjoon moves a step closer toward you.

He’s hesitant as he approaches, not sure how you’ll react. He places a hand on your shoulder, and it moves up your neck and toward your cheek. Your head naturally falls into his large palm, and his other hand moves to do the same. Both of his thumbs massage the skin underneath your chin -- both of your lips only a breath away from each other.

“I forgive you.” You whisper, looking into his eyes. His eyes fall in relief, and your fingers hook into the belt cinching his coat around his waist to pull him closer to you.

Both of your lips gently meet, the warmth melting your frigid lips.

Snow starts to fall, and each flake that meets your skin is no match for the heat rising from your cheeks. You relish in each others warmth, one always pulling the other closer -- your fingers embedded in the smooth fabric of his coat.

Namjoon taps the cab for it to leave, and you press your lips further into his as his soft thumbs rub up and down the column of your throat.

“It rained the first night we kissed.” Namjoon pulls his lips from yours and you giggle. He presses back into your lips halfway through another giggle leaving your mouth.

“Is that a sign?” You mumble into his lips, nipping at the lush bottom one. You dive back into him with your tongue as a familiar, insatiable thirst overtakes you -- his head tilting to the side to gain more leverage in the kiss.

✹✹✹

A trail of clothing lines the floor to the couch in your living room, and you’re perched atop Namjoon’s lap. His tongue dives into the silky fabric of your cream-colored slip, the moisture embedding the fabric against your nipple. You gasp, your hands rummaging around his hair as he does the same to your other nipple before lightly nibbling at it. The silk begins to stick to your form, the heat from the fireplace causing your body to collect small droplets of sweat.

You breathe into each other’s mouths as you slowly unbutton Namjoon’s shirt, his hands roaming underneath your slip and over your ass. He slides his fingers underneath the suspenders that hold up your stockings, and then moves to squeeze the cheeks of your ass firmly before slapping it.

You bite your lip -- gasping into his mouth before diving back into his lips. Something about his grip on your ass made you distinctly feral, and you grind into his crotch below.

“How did I get so lucky?” He gasps, only allowing you a small wind of his hips, and you bite into his bottom lip. He growls and pulls your panties to the side, feeling the slick heat between your lips.

“Fuck. You still get so wet for me.” His fingers continue to rub you and you whine, attempting to grab his wrist. You were on fire by now, and you run your hands over his hard, exposed chest before diving back into his lips, the only part of his body he was allowing you access to.

The length of his finger suddenly slips inside of you and you firmly moan into his lips. He pumps his finger inside of you and you squirm, hearing the slick sounds of your juices coating his finger. He slips a second finger in, using the two of them to stretch you.

“Ah...Namjoon...” A pert moan drops from your mouth, his fingers moving to pump into you again.

You relish in the sweet stretch of his fingers, his mouth moving to suck on your breast through the fabric. You grab his head as his drags his tongue from your breast -- up your neck and back to your lips. Need -- a deep aching need -- emanates from your lips as you make contact again, and he pulls his fingers from inside of you.

“Let me taste you.” He growls into your lips, and you gasp as he throws you on your back. He pulls you closer to him on the couch before dragging your soaked lace panties to the side. He immediately suckles at your drenched lips below, moaning into the sensitive skin. He swiftly burrows his face inside of you, his tongue flicking deep inside of your core. He rotates his head around your core, his masterful tongue dragging with it. You squeal as he growls into you, and you grip him at the roots of his hair.

“Namjoon, fuck-“ You feel yourself drip, throwing your head back over the edge of the couch. The feeling of his tongue was more intense than usual, the sounds of him eating you out sending electric zaps through you like a livewire.

He gives you a dark look -- lightly pulling at your lips as you watch him below, moving to trail cum-drenched kisses up your abdomen. He meets your lips with his, and you moan as you taste yourself on his tongue.

Namjoon’s now positioned above you and you reach below, massaging his shaft through his boxers. He groans, almost as if in pain, from how much he wanted you. He gasps as you pull out his weighty length, and sit up to tuck it into your warm mouth.

Your tongue slips over the wet head before you take him in as far as you can. He groans as you pull out and precum gathers on the tip. You hum at the liquid before you dig your tongue into the slit its pouring from -- devouring him again and again.

You release him from your mouth after a few moments, the entirety of his shaft glistening with saliva. You lay back on the couch and he parts your legs, looking up at you. He drives his shaft up and down your lips before he enters you -- and you wince as his firm head pierces you. He pulls back out briefly, blowing air out so he doesn’t fill you whole in one go. You line him up with your entrance, and you push him in -- gasping at the furious stretch. He groans in return, beginning to pump slowly in and out of you. You whine, placing a hand on his abdomen to slow his pace. Both of your breathing picks up, and he props himself up over you -- his lips joining with yours.

His hips start to wave into yours, and you whimper in pleasure as his pace increases.

“Does that feel good?” His length pulls in and out of you, the subtle difference in size from his pronounced head to his shaft intensely massaging your walls. You nod, so deeply concentrated on the pleasure.

“Faster?” He asks through a few labored breaths, his eyes intense on yours. You wrap your arms around his neck, your lips meeting the wet heat collecting on his skin.

“Fuck...yeah.” You can only mewl out into his ear as he picks up his pace, his cock growing larger inside of you.

“Motherfuck-“ You whine, your legs moving to hook onto his shoulders. He fills you deeper, and the slosh of your bodies meeting below filling the room. How wet you are turns you on further and you tap his back, indicating for him to take his thrusts a tick faster. And so he does, his skin slapping hard into yours as you gasp, whining as you’re taken the deepest you’ve ever been. Your fingernails clamp into the rippling muscles on his back, and your senses explode as you clench around him, nearing your release.

You gasp as he pulls out and flips you over onto your stomach, positioning your ass in the air. He pushes your slip up, and takes hold of the white garter belt affixed to your nude fishnet stockings. You squeal as he enters you from behind, his grip tightening on your belt to drive deeper inside of you.

“Faster.” Grits through your teeth, the end of the word ending in a whine. Something about not having him for weeks ignited a deep desire inside of you -- and you moan as his free hand digs into your waist. His large hand slides down to grip the back of your neck while he bucks into you madly, lewd moans repeatedly slipping through your lips.

“Namjoon I’m gonna-“ You squeal as he slams harder into you -- the neurons in your body exploding in euphoria. The pleasure radiates from your core and through the rest of your nerves as you still pulse around him -- your eyes rolling into the back of your head.

“Fuck!” Namjoon exclaims, his warm load releasing inside of you, and your head hangs down as you catch your breath. He pulls from the tight fit, a popping noise echoing in the air as he does so.

“God, I missed you.” He says softly, before he positions you on your back, laying himself back on top of you. He dives into your lips once more and you grab his jaw, relishing in his weight on your body. He luxuriates in your softness and warmth as he fixes his hard frame on top of yours, and you pull a leg up to wrap around his waist. He caresses you from the curve of your ass down to the back of your knee, looking at you with adoration in his eyes.

“Why are you here with me again? After everything?” There’s wonder in his whisper -- a need for some sort of unspoken assurance -- and you seal your lips to his. Your thumb glides over his cheek, and you pull back to look at his features.

“I’m only human. I can’t control how I feel.” You breathe in, stroking his soft locks. He glides his nose over yours, his lips still roving over your skin. He places a hot, opened mouthed kiss on your neck as he squeezes your waist, and you softly moan into his ear.

Namjoon lifts his head up, looking from your lips to your eyes. His toasty chestnut eyes grow larger, and he looks at you.

“I love you.” He says softly, and your chest heaves up and down before you kiss him again.

“I love you, too.” Coming up for air, you look at him -- still feeling as if you haven’t indulged enough in his plush lips. You kiss him feverishly, soaking in his confession.

Both of your swollen lips vibrate against one another as you look at each other, gasping for air as you pull away.

“What are we gonna tell Yoongi?” He sighs into your mouth, looking at you.

“The truth.”

✹✹✹

“Maybe I should take the position. Because then I’d be your boss.” You mention, pushing Namjoon down into his chair. You grip the arms of the chair, leaning down to kiss him. He pulls you onto his lap, smacking your ass.

“Are we really gonna do this first thing in the morning?” He growls into your lips, and you giggle. “We have like...an hour before people start arriving. So yeah. We’re doing this.” You grip the back of his neck and weave your neck to access his lips as his head moves from side-to-side.

“Maybe I don’t want to, Boss.” He teases through a growl, and you bite your lip -- pressing your forehead to his.

“Well...then...you’re fired.” You whisper, your tongue slipping past his lips and into his mouth. He sucks your bottom lip as he pulls away, studying your eyes.

“That’s retaliation.” His dimples pop into his cheeks mischievously, and you place kisses on his neck -- feeling him grow hard underneath you.

“Mmm...well he seems to disagree.” You mention, and Namjoon gasps, grinding up into your throbbing core.

“Fuck.” You mutter, feeling yourself get wet the more he grinds into you.

Footsteps start to float down the hall, and you hop from Namjoon’s lap. You look around the room for a place to hide -- but there’s nowhere to be found in a glass office. You decide to burrow underneath his desk, and Namjoon quickly pulls his chair into his desk after you do.

“Hey, Mr. Kim! How are things going this morning?” Namjoon nervously puts his elbow down on the table and picks up a pen.

“Oh, you know. It’s going.” He chuckles, his eyes subtly widening at the janitor.

“I feel ya, man. It’s real crazy-“ The janitor starts.

“Yeah, um, I’ve got work to get back to if you don’t mind.” Namjoon uses the pen to point around the office. “You know, before everyone starts filing in.” He nods, satisfied with the lie.

“Oh! Yeah. Sorry, man. I just get so caught up.” The janitor responds, sweeping a few specks from the floor.

You sigh in relief as you hear the janitor’s footsteps leave the room, but Namjoon looks down at you and shakes his head.

“Mr. Kim! Good morning -- you’re here early!” Jimin exclaims, dropping his briefcase off at his own desk. He notices Namjoon looks bright and glowy as he rolls into his office, and he smiles at him.

“How was your night? Anything interesting happen?” Jimin pries, his hand on his hip as he scours Namjoon’s face for an answer.

“You could say that, I guess.” Namjoon chuckles, twirling the pen in his hand around his fingers. You circle Namjoon’s knee with your pointer finger, and you feel his body stiffen.

“Mind if I brief you now?” Jimin asks, looking him over -- and Namjoon tilts his head. “It’s...just that I want to knock out the rest of the work you gave me before the end of the day.”

Namjoon chuckles; of course this was the one day everyone was early, and of course Jimin wanted to brief him now.

Right now.

Your palm glides over Namjoon’s cock, and you slide your fingers over his shaft through his pants. You cover your mouth with a hand, holding back a snicker.

“Um, sure.” Namjoon’s voice comes out in a tremble before he sucks in air. “I know. I know it’s an intense, stressful schedule you’ve got coming up.”

Namjoon fidgets in his chair as you pull his cock from his pants, wiggling it to observe its satisfying weight.

“First thing’s first. Min has said that overall, it’s been a challenging fiscal year, but that your product and the CMO’s complimentary marketing pulled us into the black.” He says.

“A real Hail Mary.” Jimin continues, swiping the screen of his iPad to the next slide.

“Fuck!” Namjoon exclaims as you take his shaft whole into your mouth. “I mean...that’s really great news.” He corrects himself, and Jimin crunches his eyebrows together in confusion.

Namjoon leans his neck to the side, his hand balling into a fist to try and contain himself. He gasps, your tongue quietly swirling around his length.

A light, satisfied moan escapes your lips as you pull his cock from your mouth, licking its length.

“So-“ Jimin pauses and looks up, his eyes locking with Namjoon’s. “What was that?”

“What was what?” Namjoon asks, biting his lip -- praying Jimin didn’t hear you. “I think that’s enough for today?” Namjoon raises the statement like a question, and Jimin raises an eyebrow at him.

“Just wait..one more thing.” Jimin says, reaching to hand Namjoon a portfolio. “It’s the paperwork.”

You flatten your tongue and take Namjoon’s length in whole again, and he leans forward in his chair for relief. His hips subtly buck up to get deeper in your throat, and he twitches in your mouth. His load spurts into the back of your throat and you try to hold yourself back from choking.

The thick, sticky cum drizzles from your mouth and lands on your white blouse, and you scrunch your face, mouthing “Fuck.” to yourself.

“To be honest, I can’t remember the last time we got through a brief uninterrupted.” Jimin comments. “But to each his own.”

“I won’t be needing this.” Namjoon sighs in relief after his release, picking the portfolio back up and handing it to Jimin.

“But it’s for your promotion.” Jimin tilts his head in confusion.

“I’ll explain later.” Namjoon responds, shaking his head.

✹✹✹

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” You lament, dripping water from a faucet onto your shirt. You pick up a Tide pen from the counter, frantically rubbing it into the fabric.

You came to the unfortunate resolution at this moment that Tide pens didn’t get cum out of shirts.

You blow at the stain and then dab it with a napkin before accepting defeat.

You toss the damp napkins into the trash and exit the bathroom.

You quickly shuffle down the hall, attempting to make it to the staircase before anyone sees you on Namjoon’s floor.

Jimin walks down the hall, catching sight of the back of your body as you run into the stairwell.

He smirks in relief, shaking his head.

✹✹✹

Both you and Namjoon sit across from Yoongi’s desk, awaiting his return to his office. You dig your fingers into the free spaces where Namjoon’s fingers rest on the edge of his chair, and you look up at him.

“I truly hope Yoongi takes this well.” You whisper, both of your lips embracing in a quick peck.

Yoongi returns, quietly sitting at his desk and observing the two of you.

You look at Namjoon and Namjoon looks at you, the both of you searching each other’s eyes to see who should speak first.

“To clear the very big elephant in the room...do you think I didn’t know about you two?” Yoongi asks, folding his hands together on the desk.

“You...know?” You ask, your eyes widening as you squeeze Namjoon’s hand.

Yoongi leaps back in his chair, laughing out loud -- the satisfied laugh nearly sinister. Yoongi swipes a tear from the edge of his eye, holding his chest to calm his laughter.

“You two are so obvious. Not subtle at all.” He gasps out, still trying to calm his breaths. “I should fire you both for violating company policy.”

Yoongi bursts into laughter again as he sees your worried expressions, and he wags his finger through the tears.

“Luckily. L-Luckily, I own the company.” He heaves. “And I’m giving you a pass.” He blows out air.

“Well...well that was part of the news.” You say, squeezing Namjoon’s hand. “We’ve always wanted to start something that was our very own.” You continue, looking over at Namjoon, and he nods. Your lips open cautiously: “We’re both resigning as of today, our last day fully effective in two weeks.”

“You’re totally fucking with me, right?” Yoongi asks before he stands up. You shake your head in response, and Yoongi collapses back into his chair.

“I have to admit...I’ve never seen the two of you happier, if I’m being honest.” His head drops into his hands as he falls into processing the dire reveal. “You both came in here young. Bright-eyed and bushy tailed. But...I saw you both fade in real time as you became hard-nosed execs on behalf of my company.”

Yoongi motions over his face. “It’s like the all light went out from your eyes.” He admits, looking up to study the both of you.

“You were both pivotal in the success of this company over the years, and I can only thank you for that. If being with each other is what brings you happiness, that’s the least I can give you in return.” Yoongi’s voice trembles a bit, and he clears his throat out of embarrassment; he wasn’t one to be choked up.

“Just don’t leave and become my competitor.” He chuckles, coming around to the front of his desk. “Now get out of my office.” He motions, shooing the two of you.

You giggle at Namjoon, and the two of you rise up from your chairs. You approach Yoongi slowly, looking at him as he tries to hide his forlorn eyes.

“Can I hug you?” You ask, and before he objects you collapse into his arms. Yoongi protests as Namjoon comes around to hug him as well, and Yoongi laughs as he melts into the embrace.

✹✹✹

“Well, well, well. Now we’re both the boss. How do you suppose we have hot hate sex now?” You ask, your fingers twiddling through Namjoon’s hair as you’re nested on his lap.

Floor-to-ceiling windows line the walls as far as you can see, and Namjoon wraps his hands around your waist.

The two of you are in a new, empty office space, and your eyes rove over to the desks and offices waiting to be filled.

“The money from that Blackjack game you beat me in while we were in Vegas came in handy for this new building.” He whispers in your ear before he places a kiss on your neck.

“But still kinda mad at you for beating my ass in that.” He chuckles, his voice vibrating in your ear.

“Seriously gonna hate fuck you again remembering that.” He growls. You giggle as he tries to put his hand up your skirt, and you lightly elbow him in the abdomen.

“Stop being naughty. They’ll be here any minute.” You pull your skirt back down, standing up and leaning on the front of Namjoon’s new desk.

Jimin and Taehyung both walk through the door of Namjoon’s new office, and you smile at the both of them.

“Well, if it isn’t our pesky love fairies.” You cross your arms, and Namjoon circles to the front of the desk with his hands in his pockets.

“Are you two ready to start work?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Taehyung responds first, giving you a subtle bow.

“We already dropped our things off at our desks and fired up our laptops.”

“Can we get you anything?” Jimin inquires, his brows raising as he awaits an answer. “Coffee? Tea?”

“Neither.” You respond, and Namjoon reaches behind him to pick up two silver nameplates. He gestures for the two to approach, and he hands them the pieces of metal.

“Associate…” The title doesn’t register until he reads it again, his brows coming together in disbelief. “Associate?” Taehyung asks, his voice rising up.

You laugh as the two jump up and down together, glee spreading across their faces.

“You’ve both worked hard...in more ways than one.” You giggle, hooking your arm in Namjoon’s. He lays his head on top of yours to affirm your statement.

“Just to show you both that all of the late nights...and plotting was worth it.”

All of you laugh in unison.

The four of you link your arms over each others shoulders and giggle as you approach the large windows — admiring the dazzling view of the city below.

navigation: ch. i | ch. ii | ch. iii | finale | m.list | ao3

#kim namjoon smut #btsbookclub #bangtanidx #btssmutclub #namjoon x reader #bts smut #bts fanfiction #bts #namjoon smut

[chrysalis-draws]

What do you think of Serina: A Natural History of the World of Birds? It's about canaries

Oooh, this combines two of my favorite things: namely speculative evolution & birds! I'm surprised I've never stumbled on this site before. Thank you for pointing it out!

It's quite charming, even ingenious that someone would imagine an ecosystem so reliant on canaries. I adore their bizarre descendants. I am reminded of Dougal Dixon's After Man, where Dixon traces animal evolution in a world without humans. Like in Serina (notably with the Tentacle birds), the birds in Dixon's book evolve specialized beaks. The flower-faced potoo is a really neat example! It attracts insects through mimicry.

The illustrations on Serina are a nice accompaniment for the text. I especially like that they begin resembling a bestiary. Speculative evolution really flourishes as a genre with visuals. It's fascinating to watch the canary morph to fill vacant niches. The Pygmy Rainbora is precious. I'm also quite fond of quadrupedal species, like the Bumblebear :)

You might already be familiar with these speculative evolution books, anon, but I feel compelled to list them!

After Man by Dougal Dixon - Already mentioned this one, but it is probably the closest to Serina that I have encountered. Dixon's illustrations are also truly lovely, made with ink, graphite, and watercolor.

Expedition by Wayne Barlowe - Barlowe follows an illustrator who travels to the fictional planet Darwin IV to record alien life. I'm lucky enough to have a physical copy of this one. It is filled with gorgeous oil paintings:

There is also a CGI adaptation on Youtube from 9 years ago. It is a little outdated visually, but still fascinating!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oVjYtZydMuo

Barlowe's Guide to Extraterrestrials - This is a xenobiological bestiary, where Barlowe illustrates aliens from popular sci-fi novels.

All Tomorrows by Nemo Ramjet - A dark but rich story about human evolution. Emphasis on cosmic horror, so not for the faint of heart.

I really wish I could find a copy of Dougal Dixon's The New Dinosaurs. A friend of mine also suggested Amarant: The flora and fauna of Atlantis but I haven't picked it up yet.

Speculative evolution is such a neat genre!

#thank you anon! #I'm always open for asks :) #Now I will go ask my canary Jitterbug if he wants to colonize a planet #Wayne Barlow #Serina #Speculative Evolution #Dougal Dixon #Serina: A Natural History of the World of Birds #Ask

[the-moon-prince]

The Last Of us~Kurapika x Reader ~Chapter IV

AN: Hi my lovely fellows!

A new chapter! I tried my best to develop further the self insert character and clarify more its backstory and clan! I have somethings planned I hope you’ll enjoy. Thank you so much for all you support and I thank you for reading!

I wish you a pleasant read, and I hope you’ll enjoy the new chapter of my story.  (Chapter I) (Chapter II) (Chapter III) (Chapter V  soon!)

Paring: Kurapika Kurta x GN! Reader

Word count: 2 307

TW: None!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Everything in life has a continuation. Kurapika and (Y/n)'s relationship is also subject to this law. An undeniable detail was that the lives of both subjects were terribly busy and loaded. Notably, the activities that Kurapika was involved in were lightened. (Y/n) held their word to assist him in his cause, as their work turned out to be advantageous. Primarily when it came to retrieving scarlet eyes. Kurapika even recovered two more pairs not long after by the dint of their research.

Another point in common was that the two were- Or at least when they wanted- very organized. The majority of encounters took place after they departed their jobs with the Nostrade. Consisting most frequently in small walks in nearby parks, have coffee or read together. Accommodating conversations that permitted them to know each other.

"What is the reason behind your decision to study psychiatry?" It occurred to Kurapika to bid during a walk. The situation was atypical; people with profitable prior careers didn't take the Hunter exam, not to mention how extremely young (Y/n) was, being just a year younger than him. But knowing the introversion of his partner, he decided to go little by little.

"My grandad was one. I aspired to be similar to him.

He had a treasury full of medicine and psychiatry titles I loved to read, I also sneaked into his conversations on the subject!" -(Y/n) gloated, with a tiny rocking and a smile.-"I find the functioning of the brain stimulating! And I like to help, it makes me feel useful. One of his acquaintances invited me to be his apprentice several times ago. I just accepted." 

It was not rare for them to get together in the same room for each to work on their matters. They spent time in each other's presence. It was what mattered to them. 

~

In the beginning, (Y / n) was the one that expressed questions the most. Especially details that many would judge insignificant.-"What is your preferred flavor of ice cream?" "Your favorite color? Mine is (Fav .color)" What musical genre do you prefer? I like (Fav. genre), I'm particularly a David Bowie fan." The answers to those questions were vanilla, light gray, and jazz. (Y/n) liked to accumulate all the possible details about Kurapika. More than once he was surprised that the (hair/colored) remembered, like what candy he preferred from the local store, that he liked his water slightly cooler than room-temperature or they reminded him to take a break from using his contact lenses. (Y/n) was also very vocal, consciously or not, with what they liked about Kurapika. They made him blush more than once with "you look pretty today", "you are kind, thank you" or "I love your eyes, they are blue dog's eyes". He had no clue what the latter meant or where were their origins, but (Y/n) said it so lovingly that he couldn't help feeling like it was the greatest of compliments.

Kurapika relied most on studying (Y/n) body language to approach them. He soon realized that while their face was not very expressive, the rest of their body tended to be. When they were waiting for something that excited them, they tapped the table with their long nails. They used to hold the door for the person behind them and him. And the two things that Kurapika found the most adorable of all, they tilted their head when they thought of something and flapped their hands when they were excited-even if they tried to suppress it on occasions. Something that Kurapika was not anticipating at all, particularly considering its dexterity and exactness from the time they fought, was (Y/n) clumsiness. They took bad or silly postures and never tied their shoes- Kurapika suspected them to not know how-.

He loved to tease (Y/n) with it. Expressly when they caught a light pole in the road, for not paying attention while they talked.

(Y/n) reminded him so much of Pairo, shy, a tad playful, and caring.

Pairo...

He would have liked to meet Yorknew. Observe everything Kurapika had seen. He sure would have liked the cinnamon rolls and the city lights. It was cruel and wicked. 

"Kurapika"- a quiet voice took him away from his thoughts. His head stung.

"Here's your tea, sunshine"-(Y/n) placed a cup full of steaming cinnamon tea in front of him, and proceeded to sit down.-"Are you fine?"

"Yes, I was just... just thinking."- Kurapika mumbled and looked at his cup.

 "I see. It is not wrong to miss someone. It simply signifies you love them, and they're important to you."-They mumbled, also looking down at the tea, as if they were capable of reading his mind. They certainly didn't read minds. Just missed someone too.-"If we don't remember them no one else will."- (Y/n) muttered as if the statement was also for them. They wanted nothing more than to comfort him. In one effort they dubiously lifted their hand and started to gently rub his back.

Kurapika turned to see them.-"You call me sunshine now?" He wanted to tease them. It didn't work.

(Y/n) nooned with pride.-"Because of your hair, the color evokes a ray of sunshine. Without sunlight, the flowers do not grow, therefore it is important. You are valuable to me."-Completely overlooking the other man's intentions. Kurapika covered his face with his hands and started laughing. He felt better.

"You are sickly sweet!"- he exclaimed, shaking his head. 

"I am. And you're sneakier than you seem." (Y/n) similarly joked. They rested their heads on the hand, drinking tea. They maybe were sappy, but in the end, Kurapika loved it. He had someone to comfort him and with whom he could play. How he had missed this!

"Your piano is nearly the only furniture you have in your living room, and I haven't seen you play it yet."-continued taking a sip of his tea. He didn't know if (Y/n) played the piano, but they certainly prepared good tea.

"I am not very skilled. I am incapable of composing anything, and I haven't played for a long time. I was taught how to play some melodies, and that's what I play."

"May I see?"-Kurapika requested, for (Y/n) to approach the grand piano. They opened the tone's cover and he started to play. Sol-Fa Re Si-Fa Re Si ( https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f81rM4BKODw ). It sounded like a child's song, sweet and simple.

"My grandad was better. Verily, the instruments make me nostalgic, I have them essentially for that." They babbled once finished.

"You're not awful either." The blonde assured-"Did he teach you?" 

(Y/n) agreed with a smile. "We fancied dancing and singing. My people liked artistic activities, we were somewhat hippies." they joked with a melancholic undertone.

"And the Kurta?"-their interests were genuine

Kurapika was surprised, it was the first time anyone had asked him. He couldn't help but respond excitedly.- "Well, I traveled with a friend, his name was Pairo. We transported ourselves on the backs of huge birds called Pikos! It was really fun... did you had something similar to travel?"

(Y/n) stared at him for a moment, tilting their head "We were the animals...", to them, the answer was a bit obvious. Why would they mount animals for transportation if they could transform themselves into animals?

"That seems lawful... I quite omitted that detail." Kurapika notified. I forgot that people like (Y/n) were part beast. They hardly ever mentioned him and he hadn't seen them in their other form either.

(Y/n) Laughed-"And we used normal cars. Uniliums didn't live very detached from humans. Our community was like 40 away from the city and most adults worked in it. We just maintained our animal figure in private. Most humans didn't have a clue they were fraternizing with us." They were delighted to talk about their peers. Like when you talk about a family member you haven't seen in a long time.

"What kind of animals were they?"-.Kurapika's curiosity about the group only increased. Besides if he knew more about them he would also know more about his (Y/n).

They hummed, -"Well... we were all mammals. Most were preys, for each predator, there was an average of 13 preys. Of 126 members, we were 10. There were mice, rabbits, deers. But no one was sure how to determine which animal would be an offspring."- They cheerfully explained, general information. But nothing about themselves. 

Kurapika would have to question directly.-"And you?"

"I am the cat. But I was raised by wolves, like Romulus and Remus. Who knows? I might establish my own empire!"-(Y/n) played.

It was the first time they mentioned it. But now that he reflected, (Y/n) resembled a cat. They had particularly long fangs and claws.

"I didn't know your parents were wolves!" Kurapika felt he was finally learning a little more about his lover's past. But the reaction received was not the one he expected. An ordinary person, he included, would be glad to remember his parents.

(Y/n) quitted smiling and leaned their head into their folded arms. The atmosphere in the room had changed.-"They are average humans. As we mix with humans, it was not uncommon for some to marry them. My grandfather's mother and my grandfather, who were Uniliums, married humans. My mother was human and married another human."- they mumbled. Kurapika felt that the topic was not very pleasant for them, and considered it appropriate to stop that conversation.

"I comprehend..."-and changed the topic-"Kurtas were further separated. It was difficult to get outward of our village. This to guard us. Controlling the scarlet eyes and our emotions was not easy. Many panicked when they saw them."

(Y/n) seemed to quickly forget the preceding topic and willingly listened to their beloved again.-"I understand that. Some humans were also afraid of us, they believed we were demons or beasts. The funny thing is that the deluded wouldn't recognize us."-they mocked-"Sentiments could also influence our appearance. But our parents taught us to be cautious since cubs." 

(Y/n) had seen Kurapika with his scarlet eyes, but he hadn't seen them in their beast form. The most he had seen was that night when they saw him straight in the eye, and their pupils were contracted, like a cat's, and the (e/c) had almost fully spread.

"You have never revealed your cat form to me. I bet you're adorable!"- He expressed in an attempt to satiate his curiosity. 

They sure weren't anticipating that request, following a moment of hesitation, they lilted "I presume I get accustomed to wearing this shape."

Kurapika wanted (Y/n) to have confidence in him. He understood the concern in showing foreigners such aspects. After all, they had both been marginalized and punished for their looks.-"It's not going to be unpleasant to me. I like cats." he offered them a sweet smile. 

At the moment he blinked and reopened his eyes, (Y/n) had a pair of fuzzy (color) cat ears, the right one with a tiny darker spot on the tip, a fluffy tail, and their hair was slightingly fuzzed up. Maybe the most remarkable thing was their feet, long and standing on the tip.

 Their eyes changed again, and their hands were slightly larger with wider claws; to ultimately have the appearance of a cat-humanoid. They didn't look so different and they were still (Y/n). 

Kurapika didn't see anything devilish about the person in front of him. Rather, he saw an exotic beauty, like fantastic creatures from magical books. He felt lucky to be able to witness something of that bearing and have that experience. What was so special to him was that this being was his partner.

"You certainly are a kitten. That's something you can do in that form?"-Kurapika interrogated.

(Y/n) took a minute to consider, head tilted as usual- the only difference is that their ears moved delicately-. They raised their open hands, showing some very pink set to digital pads, advanced towards him wagging his tail, and cupping his face with a cute smile.

"Your hands are very soft, darling."-Kurapika giggled at the silly idea. (Y/n)'s grin grew wider, closed its eyes, and in complete pride said "I have paws, honey!" That was true. Not many could say they had paws. Especially a so soft and warm pair. (Y/n) appeared happy and relieved, as if they had been discharged from a weight or they were finally doing something they had repressed.

"And you also have marshmallow cheeks. Can you do something particular under that form?"-As Kurapika enjoyed the softness of the caring touch, his question was not precisely answered.

(Y/n) separated their paws from his face, and showed its claws. "I have retractile claws, like, well, a cat. Under this form my strength and speed increase. My bite force equals that of a Jaguar. Ultimately I'm capable of using a more potent nen's technique since my aura flow grows. Although, you know I'm a pacifist. I tend to be softer..."

"You look like a big plush doll. Yet, this appearance may be tricky. You absolutely are a cat."- Kurapika could recognize why (Y/n)'s clan was killed to extermination. Many collectors would be filled with sick and devious pride to have such a creature. He was happy that at least (Y/n) survived. For the first time, he was happy that he too survived.

#kurapika x reader #hxh #hxh x reader #kurapika kurta x reader #kurapika #Kurapika kurta #hunter x hunter #kurapika imagine #kurapika hxh #hxh scenarios

[curly-bangtan]

A Drop of Heaven III: Broken Skin (M)

[Series Masterlist]

Pairing: ot7 x reader // this chapter: Yoongi x reader, Seokjin x reader

Series summary: Seven vampires have secretly been roaming the darks of your world for millennia. Each brother selects a Feed who becomes supernaturally bound to him, whose blood will be fed on until their inevitable mortal death. They have spent their eternity hunting for the exorbitant rarity that is angel blood - the most heavenly of food for vampires that fuel them with desire, lust and satiety. So what happens when they all find you, the first angel-blooded being they’ve encountered in two centuries?

Genre: vampire au, poly au, smut, angst, enemies to lovers (e2l)

Warnings in this chapter: blood drinking, soft!Seokjin, mentions of depression and suicidal thoughts (gets a little dark), graphic violence, Yoongi being abusive and sadistic, dom!Yoongi, rough unprotected sex, BDSM I guess?, spanking, biting, choking, hair pulling, feeding during sex, degradation, ass job, hate sex, own cum consumption

Word count: 11.4k

A/N: I do not condone Yoongi’s behaviour at all, it is horrible and not intended to be romanticised!! He is obviously a vampire so violence is a habit built from centuries, but it’s also still not okay. And everything that happens is consensual. I’m honestly so scared that this is too much but I might just be overreacting. I hope you like this update because there were parts that were so difficult for me to write. :(

[prelude, i, ii, iii, iv, v, vi, vii, epilogue]

❦

Kissing Seokjin feels like sinking into a cloud after plummeting from the heavens, soft, cold, delicate. You don’t think you’d truly realised how plump his lips are until they are on yours, catching your every breath. You sense his initial shock, feel the fumes of confusion swirling in his chest. Because still, you haven’t stopped feeling, just feeling, him.

His body is tense at first, unmoving. Yet his lips contradict its language by slowly moving around yours, the motion so natural, so fluid, that it doesn’t feel like the first time you’re kissing.

Despite the coolness of his skin, all you feel is a warmth enshrouding your every sense, but mostly your heart. The sire bond doesn’t stop forming, building brick by brick between your souls like a bridge crossing the vast ocean. You see him on the other side, so far, yet so clearly. You’re walking towards each other, no, maybe even running. Full speed.

And then you collide.

And coalesce into one entity.

You don’t register it until your leg has swung around him and he has pulled you onto his lap, hands so gentle that you wonder if you’re imagining his touch. There isn’t a single thought in your brain right now, just a humming, faint colours swimming.

Every single movement is slow, heavy, as if you’re underwater and a pressure is resisting you, but pleasantly so because it makes every movement feel more impactful. Your eyes flicker open just a moment to confirm that this isn’t a dream, and you’re met with such dazzling beauty that makes you question your reality more.

This doesn’t feel real.

Yet at the same time, you’ve never felt anything more real.

Especially as your hands travel to his face, cupping his smooth cheeks, fingers gripping onto him so not to get washed away by the current. Every time you touch, you melt into him.

Not to mention all his sensations overwhelming yours, the way you feel his turmoil at his own conflicting emotions for you. How he cares deeply for you already, wishing just to be close to you in any shape or form because he craves the humanness of love. Yet also how he knows that love, be it platonic or romantic, has long since been vetoed as an option in his life, and given your dynamic, will never not crumble.

Seokjin shudders under your caress, as if he also cannot believe this is true. His hands sliding up your legs on their own accord, not greedily, but not of innocence either.

Then he’s guiding you onto your back and up the bed until your head meets the plush of your pillow, tongue rolling over yours like evening waves. Neither of you think to stop, take a breath, assess the situation. Because the bond between you doesn’t allow you to do anything except be together.

But when his fingers reach up your top, he freezes. Rather than your skin that he was expecting, is the rough lace of the bodysuit you are wearing.

You had both forgotten about that amidst all this. And suddenly, the few minutes before where he had entered the room to the sight of you trying on this raunchy undergarment feels like an eon ago.

His eyes lock onto yours, fingers stroking the patterned material as he softly asks, “Can I?”

“Yes,” you sigh into him, “please.”

Heartbeat unsteady but strong, you feel your whole body tremble under him as he smoothly slides your cotton joggers down to reveal your bare thighs. And when you pull your sweatshirt over your head too, Seokjin thinks he’s forgotten how to breathe.

His insides feel warm from the feeding of your blood, but his groin feels even warmer. He doesn’t think he has ever experienced such a strong physical desire for any of his Feeds in the past. Never anything so potent, compelling. He feels as though he is flotsam, swept away by the ocean into the depths of you.

You look up at him, eyes wide with a confounding innocence that you somehow have maintained throughout the affliction you’ve endured. The thin white material of the lingerie hugs your body so dearly, the floral lace like grapevines across your torso and up to your breasts. The sheer mesh does little to hide the colouration of your nipples. Seokjin feels his bulge growing painfully.

Your hand droops down his front, an action of harmless intent, yet sets fire to his gut. He falls back into you, mouth finding yours as his fingers dart up your legs, marvelling at your soft spotless skin, the same skin that used to be painted with scars and bruises and cuts that dig deeper than flesh, but have miraculously been wiped clean. It had felt like a rebirth.

It is evident from his hesitant touch how nervous he is, his throat quivering. It has been so long since he has remotely felt so alive; it moves him beyond his comprehension.

And it is as if you can sense that he wants you to do so, you break the kiss to flip him around so you are straddling him once again. From the way you sat over his crotch, dressed like a doll in white, Seokjin knows that he’ll come undone under you.

Rather than sealing his lips again, you just watch him for a moment, chest rising from the fervour. Your thumb traces his forehead down to his chin, then brush the corner of his mouth. His eyes fall shut, quaking under your touch, trying to calm the storm in his mind.

Then it darts down his chest like a little mouse to palm his arousal over his slacks. Seokjin gasps, a sound that you enjoy too much. He feels hefty in your hands, already, throbbing at the friction you rub. Your core is blazing at his reaction, his whimpers.

But then, in a flash, he sits up and holds up a finger for you to stop, eyes that are trained on the door shifting immediately. “Wait here.” is all he says before he zooms out from beneath you and through the door that joins your room to his.

You don’t even have time to register that he’s gone until you’re plopped onto the mattress, alone.

What?

Sense is slowly starting to ebb back into you. Had you done something wrong? Wait, well of course, you hadn’t even asked his permission to kiss him. But that doesn’t explain why he had asked you to wait before leaving so hurriedly. This scene reminds you of…

And lo and behold, as you creep up to the door to his room, you hear someone knock. Your attention quickly turns to the second door that opens to the hallway, but you realise that the sound was too muffled for it to be coming from there. No, someone knocked on Seokjin’s bedroom door.

Ears straining to listen as you press the side of your face against the wood, you hear powerful steps enter the room.

“Good night. What can I help you with? Why do you look so troubled, Namjoon?” Although the words are barely audible, his name rings sonically into you. A strange yet familiar rope tugs on your soul.

You think you hear him sigh, and you can imagine exactly the frustrated frown he must be plagued with. “I… I don’t even know how to begin to talk about it, hyung. You know what I’m like…  with words…”

“Yes, of course.” It could be your imagination but there is still the smallest hitch to Seokjin’s breath, yet to his credit, he is hiding it well. “Your debility in expressing your true feelings is second to Yoongi. What’s the matter?”

“Have you felt it yet?”

A pause.

“Felt what?”

“The bond.” Namjoon’s voice is a husky rasp.

You tense because it almost sounds as though it pains him. Unconsciously, your hand grips at your chest, the memory of its violent cinching when your soul was first tethered to his haunting you.

“Th- Why…?” Seokjin sounds as though he’s been asked a deeply personal question. You suppose it is.

“Hell, it’s so- so intense this time. In our centuries, I don’t think any Feed bond has ever been this powerful. When I fed on her yesterday, it felt like we were physically bound together, like the Gods tied us together and I couldn’t walk away from her no matter how much I struggled. I didn’t feel myself, I felt so… human.”

Your blood freezes. You hadn’t known, or even considered, how the sire bond must have felt for him. Do vampires feel everything more heightened due to their superior senses? Or less because they have been numbed over time? That bond with Namjoon felt vastly different from Seokjin. It’s true what he said, it was like your souls were bound by rope. Supernaturally unbreakable rope. And though the initial impact has eventually worn off, everytime your mind lingered a second too long in the thoughts of him, you felt its reminder tugging at your core again.

“I…” Seokjin seems slightly dumbfounded. Whether it’s because he finds himself relating so much to that feeling, or because he’s surprised it had been that strong for his brother too. “Maybe it’s because we haven’t tasted angel blood in too long; it has always driven us a little wild in the past, this time only exacerbated by how much we’ve missed it.”

“Possibly… But, I mean, I really wasn’t myself. I k- I lost control. I felt things, emotions that I can’t make sense of. I can’t even begin to describe them to you.”

“You mean, you felt affection for the girl?”

Silence. You hear your own heartbeat.

Affection?

There was a longing in the way Namjoon had kissed you, like all the anger and frustration you had riled up in him had somehow melted into a flood of desire. And you, yourself. Something had felt warm, pleasant, in your core. You hadn’t wanted him to stop, not even an inkling.

Such contrast to the spiteful words you had been throwing at each other only a minute before he fed on you.

It’s definitely the bond.

“Affect- No- Don’t be ridiculous. Why would you say that?” Namjoon splutters. You can imagine his cheeks staining in colour.

“Namjoon. I know you like to distance yourself from your Feeds, maintain a dynamic in which you always view them as your prey. But you are allowed to grow fond of her. It’s happened to us all before.” There’s a resignation in Seokjin’s tone, like this is a conversation that has been had many times before.

“I’m not growing fond of her! It’s the bond, it’s overriding my sense.”

“Namjoon-ah.” He sighs, exasperation crisp in his muffled voice. “Yes, it is all very much the effects of the sire bond. But you know that the bond manifests in such that reflects on the vampire right? Its shape and form, its intensity, its hold over you. It tells you more about yourself than you’re willing to admit.”

You perk up straight. You don’t think you want to continue listening. You don’t think you want to face the knowledge of what this magic means; it would elicit too many unwanted thoughts, confusion, dilemmas. You don’t want it. You don’t want to think about the deeper reflection of Namjoon’s feelings, and yours too.

So, stealthily, you sneak back onto the bed in your best efforts not to make a sound that would announce your eavesdropping to the vampires next door.

Sat near the edge of the bed, you stare at your wrist, at the fresh wounds that Seokjin’s fang had punctured. It’s starting to hurt now, as you stray away from the state of euphoria that came with the settling of the bond between you. You hadn’t noticed before when you were kissing him, but your hand is slathered with dried crusted blood.

You pick at it. Even licking it to see if your blood truly tastes that divine. It tastes metallic all the same.

Don’t think about the magic. Don’t think about Namjoon. Don’t even think about Seokjin. Just stop thinking for a second. Stop questioning. Stop wondering. Stop before you go crazy.

Thus you sit there blankly until Seokjin finally raps softly at the door after his conversation.

“Come in.” You remember you don’t need to speak up for him to hear you - he’s got vampire hearing.

Visible bother is worn on his expression as he enters. He gazes at you differently now. And once again, it’s like you’ve both awoken from a trance. No longer leaping into each other. The realisation sits bitterly in your stomach.

It wasn’t real, was it?

“Let me heal you first.” It’s the gentleness in his voice that make you sad.

And so you obediently lap up the rich scarlet liquid oozing out of his own wrist. You try to ignore how its taste threatens to tip you over and fall back into him again. You try to ignore that warm embrace you feel around your heart.

Is any of it real?

Soon, the two holes disappear along with the growing sting of your raw flesh. As good as new.

You refuse to look at each other at first, as you put on your clothes to conceal your suddenly very self conscious body and he fiddles with the embroidered collar of his shirt. This isn’t regret, but there might possibly a drop of shame, at what you had been doing.

“Um… That was Namjoon…” Whether or not he knows that you were eavesdropping, he doesn’t show.

“Oh.” You simply utter.

The tension is a tangible thing between you. The residual buzz from the bond is still present, tingling under your skins. If you focus hard enough, you can just about hear whispers of his emotions, but only barely.

After a silence that pains you both to be a part of, Seokjin clears his throat. “I don’t want to give you the wrong impression of the kind of person I am. I’m not usually… The sire bond that fixes between a vampire and an angel has never been very well understood in my time no matter the research I’ve done. It’s guarded not only by witch magic and demonic powers, but also celestial strength of the heavens. It… warps the mind and senses.”

It’s a factual statement, yet you feel many underlying implications. It warps the mind and senses. As in what you did wasn’t really of your own wills, is that what he means? It stings, because it had felt so real. It was real. For you anyway.

“But…”

He realises your interpretation, and his eyes soften. “It’s complicated, the paradox of reality. I don’t wish to offend you in any way. I… care about you. I don’t wish to confuse you. So, it’s best if… it doesn’t happen again. For our own sake.”

He’s right, you know. But it feels bitter. Because just as you begin to taste a sweet thing in your mouth, just as you feel yourself healing through a person, it all just vaporises. But there’s no way of knowing if that was all just a trick of the mind anyway.

Or maybe Seokjin’s withdrawal is because of Namjoon. There’s too much confusion, muddle of emotions and incomprehensible feelings. And the more you try to wrap your head around his words that you overheard, the more you find yourself falling into a vortex of unknown.

It’s best not to start down an uncertain path, than realising too late that you’re falling off a cliff’s edge.

You had hope in Seokjin, that you could be close, because he holds that normalcy that you crave amidst this chaos. Could you still be friends? From the way you’re avoiding each other’s eye, you’re not sure.

“I understand.” You stare at a fleck of blood on your hand.

.

You’re staring at your pristine, spotless hands, folded around each other atop your lap. Sitting in the middle of the mattress’ end.

Waiting. Trembling.

It’s Wednesday.

The very day you’ve dreaded the most since learning about the vampire who you’ll be sired to today. The vampire who will enjoy inflicting pain onto you. The vampire who hasn’t a single drop of empathy left in him.

Yoongi.

You’re not unaccustomed to men with power complexes who like to seek validation from harming those weaker than he is. So you’re not sure why you’re scared right now. You should be immune to such fears at this point, but you guess it’s the little human instinct left in you that’s invoking it.

Your life hadn’t always been a saga of continuous abuse; you were a normal teenager once, with a loving family, many friends, a regular content life. But one stroke of bad luck, one tragedy, and your cloudless blue sky was ripped apart. It was a stormy Friday night, you suppose that was your first foreboding from the gods. You had begrudgingly agreed to stay in because your parents were adamant that you shouldn’t go to that Minho’s party again after they heard that he dealt weed to everyone. Still, you had snuck out with the help of your then boyfriend without a single ounce of guilt and scurried off together to Minho’s. Your parents didn’t usually check up on you, so when you had received a furious phone call from your father a little past midnight, you were shocked. Oh fuck, you remember thinking, accompanied by that distinctly horrid heart-sinking feeling.

There wasn’t much you could say to persuade them not to come pick you up right that instant, even as you begged them with tears of humiliation as your peers looked at you in pity, you knew their mind was set. And though it wasn’t very justified at all, you had felt a surge of anger towards them. Resentment.

You had slammed the car door particularly hard when you entered the vehicle, your boyfriend’s worried expression in the corner of your eye as you couldn’t bare looking at him. “Y/N. You lied to us.” You stayed silent. “We asked one thing from you, and that was to stay away from Minho, and you couldn’t do that.” “Minho is my friend!” “Minho is a bad influence!” “I don’t even smoke weed! Have you ever seen me high? No. Do I smell like weed right now? No. Why do you want to control me so badly?” “We weren’t banning you from all parties, it was just this one party. And you couldn’t do that for us.” The disappointment in their calm voices riled you up even more. “And why not? Why can’t I go to this one party if I wanted to? Everyone went to this party tonight, everyone. Did any of their parents stop them? No. Because none of them are as controlling as you!” “Because none of them know about the weed!” “Oh next thing I know, you’ll be saying that my boyfriend is a bad influence too and that I can’t date him anymore.” “You know what, that’s true.” “Oh, For God’s sake! you guys are so annoying. Why do you have to be like this?”

Every time you think back to that argument you had in the car, your nails dig into your fists. If only you had just shut up. If only you had just accepted that you were in the wrong. It was just one party, one stupid fucking party, that means so little in the grand scheme of your life.

“Y/N, mind the way you’re speaking to your parents.”

It had started pouring down heavily on the drive back home. You couldn’t even look out the window because everything was a rain-blurred mosaic. The windshield wipers were wiping vigorously, that unbearably annoying sound now forever etched in your mind in this memory.

“I can speak however I want to.” You watched the digital clock on the screen of the car switch to 01:01. “You guys are the worst parents in the world. I wish I wasn’t your daughter. I wish-”

In movies, car crashes happen in slow motion; the audience sees the shock register in the driver’s face, then watch the whole vehicle flip in 0.5x speed. In real life, all you feel is a violent collision, a loud ringing, a flash of light, all in a split second. Then everything is black.

01:01.

You had still been staring at the time. It was the last thing you saw before your world was torn into shreds.

You had barely made it, by the miracle, or perhaps more accurately punishment of God. You were unconscious for 72 hours after the crash; you parents were unconscious forever. They gave it a day before they broke the news to you.

You had cried until you fainted again and woke up another 20 hours later.

It took months for your injuries to heal, during which you had all day and night to replay that last scene in the car over and over again in your head. Those words you said to them before they died.

Your elderly grandmother who was living with you and your 2-month old sister at the time took the burden of the family. She hadn’t scolded you, blamed you, nor resented you. She just came to the hospital every day with warm porridge and soup and your sister carried on her crooked back, smiled at you and told you to keep fighting.

You didn’t have many relatives; your father was estranged from his family, while your mother only had your grandmother and your uncle. Your uncle was a kind, supportive figure once. But you could tell he didn’t see you the same way after the accident everyone knew you’d caused. You didn’t blame him, you hated yourself too. Still, he moved in to help your elderly grandmother; babies are a lot to handle after all, especially for those who can’t even walk up the stairs without wincing. Your uncle became the breadwinner of the family, working hard every day to pay for your medical bills. You had admired him once, had been so tremendously grateful.

But then your grandmother died.

Heart attack due to stress, fatigue and exhaustion. It was the day before you were set to be released from the hospital.

Everything fell apart. It was like a switch was flipped because all of a sudden there was hatred in your uncle’s eyes every time you saw him look at you, something that burned so deep that it didn’t feel human. It was a demonic sort of evil that emitted from his gaze. Alcohol was his remedy for his sorrows, you were his relief.

The first time he hit you felt like you deserved it. The second time, maybe fair enough. But by the fiftieth time, it felt like it had evolved into something of a habit. It became a spiral of abuse, he became less and less human, more and more a senseless drunk monster. There was a basement where you were locked in as he insisted it was the only way to keep you from causing another tragedy in his life; you weren’t permitted to leave the house, you couldn’t and it wasn’t to do with a lack of trying. Sometimes you were fed and watered, if he was in a good mood. Sometimes your face was burned on the stove if you tried to dispute.

And for a while, you’d found some sort of excuse, justification for him. You killed your parents, his sister. You killed his mother. They had all died in consequence of one bad, selfish decision you’d made. But as the abuse worsened, it became more apparent that he enjoyed watching you bleed, he enjoyed painting your skin with bruises and burns and cuts. In a sick twisted perversion. None of it should be excused or justified.

Your sister grew up in a house of violence, watching your torment in her big round eyes, not uttering a peep. On her second birthday, you had given her a stuffed bear that you found in the basement. She smiled so widely and hugged it so tight to her chest. And you remembered why you were staying alive.

Escape was never an option - your leg, broken from the accident, was never allowed to heal properly before it became your uncle’s favourite batting post. Suicide - you’d thought about for a very very long time, every morning, every night, every waking breath. But if you were to kill yourself, you would have had to kill your sister too. And you couldn’t, you just couldn’t. One evening, while she was asleep, you had held a pillow over her head, centimeters away from suffocating her. But then your uncontrollable sobs woke her up, and she asked in her small innocent voice, “What are you doing? Why are you crying? Did he hurt you again?”

You couldn’t do it.

And so you endured years of being a prisoner of a mad man. Waiting for your deaths. Physical pain became tolerable when you learnt to shut off your mind, transport your consciousness to elsewhere. If you didn’t think about how he was kicking your head, you wouldn’t notice your skull cracking open.

It was only when your uncle realised your attachment to your sister that he found a way to hurt you. That, you couldn’t be immune to.

Growing footsteps at the door rouse you from your deep thought. You feel a dampness in your cheek and you hurry to wipe it away. The footsteps are slow, light, almost a drag.

He’s coming.

Deep breaths. Just remember: state of inertia. Pain is an illusion, a choice. You don’t have to feel it if you don’t want to.

The door opens softly. Inhale. He pads in, black hair a ruffled mess. Exhale. His eyes land on you, sat tensely on the bed of his Feed room, awaiting him. Inhale. He walks closer, each step absolutely soundless. Exhale.

When he arrives in front of you, you scan his face: paper-white skin, droopy eyes heavy from sleep- But wait. His eyes are already shifted; they don’t contain a grain of white.

Just a pitch dark ocean.

His touch is ice when he tilts your head to the side as he slumps onto the bed beside you. Without a single word, he yanks your neck to him and bites into you.

To you credit, you don’t cry out. Eyes clamped shut, you try to focus your attention elsewhere. Don’t mind his rough fingers around your throat. Don’t mind the excruciating pain that feels like a saw digging into your neck. Don’t mind the gush of blood surging out, droplets flying from the pressure. It doesn’t hurt, it doesn’t hurt, it doesn’t hurt.

Pain is fake. Pain is an illusion. Pain is a neurological response. Pain is fear. Pain is a choice.

Think about something else.

You recall the conversation you had with Seokjin early this morning before you went to sleep, after he had tried to resume a normal dynamic between you, and brush what had happened under the rug. He had told you about the origin of the seven vampires.

Yes, think of that.

.

“It was over two millennia ago, when the Roman empire began to dominate the word’s seven seas and cruel dictators lead our people. We were seven brothers, sons of a rich influential man, fortunately born into a wealthy family that was favoured by our ruler. We were never particularly close to begin with as siblings, each of us absorbed into our lives. Namjoon was a fine public speaker, a clear born-leader, an intellectual, favoured by our father who had high hopes for him. I was a literature student, and despite being the eldest, politics was very evidently not my set path; I had always been more of an advisor. Yoongi had always been an odd, quiet one, but an extremely talented musician. My father didn’t particularly approve of the arts, yet we had so much fortune that he didn’t need all his sons to work. Hoseok was wild, popular amongst the people, held the best most-renowned dinner parties with endless entertainment such as dancers, drinking games and one time even an elephant he’d bought from Africa. Jimin was a hopeless romantic, a lover not a fighter, chasing lady after lady, promising that he was foolish last time, but this time he knows that she is the one. Taehyung loved art, an extraordinary painter and sculptor, even helped us design our new house once. Though he tended to spend too much time with men and women at inns and left a trail of broken hearts after him. Our youngest, Jungkook, was an Olympic athlete; anyone who competed with him accepted their defeat. He was the long-reigning champion, the pride of our family.

“Life was incredible for us seven, perhaps too incredible. Because soon, we realised that we didn’t want to stop living. Namjoon in particular was so magnetised by the idea of immortality, it became his mission, his obsession. This only worsened after the death of our father, as it made us realise that death is inevitable, even for the greatest. But to Namjoon, it was incredibly unfair. Why must the greatest die? The greatest deserve to live and rule for an eternity. That only made sense.

“There were rumours from ear to ear that the Olympian Gods worshipped by all were living among us, hiding. Pluto, or more commonly known as Hades, was said to hold the key to immortality. He was the God of Death after all, if you managed to find him and prove your excellence and worthiness, he shall grant you eternal life, youth and health. Of course, we were all entranced by such possibility. Though, whereas we saw it as folklore, Namjoon saw it as a goal.

“It was four years of seeking, four years of endless obsession, four years of dead ends. But he alas found something - a rumoured family of witches, descendants of Pluto according to the people from their village. They were outcasts for their strange ways and the weird happenings around them. It was said to best leave them alone, lest you wish for malfortune upon your kin. Namjoon paid the warnings no heed, had our slaves cease them from their home and brought to ours.

“At this point, Namjoon’s sanity was toppling. This family was tortured for answers, whipped like slaves for answers and cooperation. And when they continued to refuse, Namjoon had the husband slain, and threatened to kill the two children as well. The female witch who remained finally gave in and agreed to perform a spell of immortality for us.

“Witch magic is a complex matter, even for us now. We discovered that a witch’s promise is irrevocable, magic irreversible, so Namjoon was careful with his demands. He asked for immortality, eternal health, youth and beauty, which had been our original wishes, but he grew greedy and also asked for superhuman abilities such as speed, strength, stealth, healing, heightened senses and much more.

“To our surprise, the witch complied and promised to grant us these things. She concocted a spell which put us into a hibernation of seven days, and sure enough, when we awoke, we were different. We could run at lightning speed, lift boulders, jump the heights of arenas. We could fight lions and bears, and we would win. And so the witch was released with her children, never to be seen again.

“However, as the days passed, more and more began to shift. The taste of food grew bland in our mouth, light from sun grew increasingly blinding and sensitive to our skin, and the canines of our teeth felt like they were remoulding… Then came the unquenchable thirst. For blood.

“One night, Yoongi and Hoseok had gotten in a fight at an inn with some travellers. At the scent of fresh blood, they turned from angry men to black-eyed demons in a split second, ripping into the throats of every single person with a pulse. They had killed nearly a hundred people that night, in the span of an hour. Namjoon masked the incident as a bear attack. But then the same ill fate fell upon us all - a sudden loss of control, then an unstoppable feeding until our hunger is satisfied. It became too much to cover up. And soon, for some reason, the sun began to burn our skin.

“It became apparent that, though the witch did grant our wishes without fail, she had also bestowed a curse upon us. For the rest of our immortal lives, we would never be able to step foot in the sun again, and will be plagued with a monstrous thirst for blood. That was our punishment for our greed and cruelty.”

.

Yoongi finally releases your neck, carelessly ripping his fangs through your flesh and tendons. You fall lifelessly onto your back, head faint and spinning frantically.

You made it through. You hadn’t felt a thing. You managed to block it out.

But now, a searing agony overtakes your senses, so concentrated on your neck that you think you’re going to lose consciousness. Your vision is dark and blotchy as you stare at the ceiling, unmoving.

Is he going to heal you? Or is he going to watch you suffer first?

You lay there, trying to muster some understanding for the vampire who had just tore through your neck and drained what feels like half your body fluids. He hadn’t asked to be a vampire, he is a product of his brother’s greed, which he has to live with eternally.

But that doesn’t give him any reason to be this cold, this heartless.

Blood is pouring out of your wound incessantly, like a perpetual waterfall onto the bedding. You think you’re going to die. But it’s not the first time you’ve thought you’re going to die only to be disappointed, so you don’t have high hopes this time.

And sure enough, as your eyes begin to fall and breathing shallow, a wet warmth is pressed onto your lips. You refuse to open your mouth and be brought back to life, but calloused fingers force your jaw open and the potion flows into you once more.

You hate how good it tastes, how your body knows that this is what heals you. But something tastes different about Yoongi’s blood - there’s a zingy bitter aftertaste, like what petrol smells like. You want to spit it out.

Finally, gasping, you sit up. Yoongi carelessly wipes his already healing wrist on the covers, and you wonder if his reasoning behind getting white bed sheets for his Feed room is for the purpose of staining it red with blood, a display of his wreckage.

You glare at him, watch him pick at his nails. “Fuck you, you wanted me to suffer.”

He meets your eye, and you feel a spear of eyes pierce into your soul. “And what about it?” His voice is low, a hum, a purr, indicative that he’d just woken up.

Unbelievable. He’s fucking sick in the head.

“Not even a hello? A self introduction? You could have at least warned me.” You rub at your right neck where he had terrorised, the ghost of the brain-melting agony haunting you, and you don’t think it will ever stop haunting you.

“Do you talk to your breakfast before you eat it?” He grunts.

Truly, you’re at a loss for words. Gawking at him, you’re incensed to see the indifference in his pupils that have returned to normal now. He doesn’t back down from your gaze. For many, silence is an awkward discomfort, a moment where your brains are scrambling for the next topic of conversation. With Yoongi, silence is powerful; the silence speaks volumes, it tells you more about him than when he is speaking.

“I’m not a fucking waffle. I’m a living, breathing human; I have feelings, I-”

“I don’t care.”

His eyes are still locked onto yours as he climbs further up the bed. It takes every fibre in you not to shrink back against the headboard. You can’t show your fear, you can’t let him know the power he has over you.

“You think you have a hold on me, that I’ll give you the reaction you want,” he’s hovering over you now, your frame trapped between his arms, “but I know men like you. You-”

“There are no men like me.” Yoongi rumbles, his shadow towering over you but you refuse to lay on your back, refuse to cower.

“You act so cruel because you think the world owes you. You act like you don’t give a fuck about anyone except yourself. You abuse the power you have to hurt other people because it validates you. But it’s men like you who have the weakest minds, who are the most afraid and lonely.”

The growl that rips from his throat silences you. You wonder if you’re pushing too far. But what have you got to lose anyway? Might as well gamble with your life. “Shut the fuck up, you know nothing about me.” He clutches your throat in one swift motion.

“I know that you’re just a scared little boy inside who is trapped in this immortal body with no escape from his bloodlust.” You choke out despite his constricting grip.

“Shut up!” Yoongi lifts his other hand at you, but halts before he swings.

You don’t even flinch. Because you know you’ve won. If the game he plays is abuse and violence, you’ve definitely won, you’ve been practicing for it for years. Staring deep into his eyes, you know he knows too. So his arm slowly droops down, and he lets your neck go with an unnecessary shove. You splutter a cough.

He gets off you and hops off the bed, making his way to the window where he flings open the curtains and stares through the window into the dark night. Though he is facing away from you, you can tell that his mind has transported to some place distant, some place in the past, you wager.

He was going to hit you. He was going to hit you.

But he also didn’t. He stopped himself. Why? May there be a shard of hope left for his redemption? Maybe he does have a seed of humanity buried deep somewhere, awaiting its saviour droplets of dew to liberate it from centuries of misery, so it can sprout into a fresh green sap.

But why are you hoping? Why are you giving him the benefit of the doubt? He has no respect for you, or anyone; he views you as beneath him, not even worthy to speak to. He’s worse than Namjoon. Your pain fascinates him. He’s unsaveable.

Just try. He needs you. A voice sounds in your head, so clear that you look around for its source. Save him from himself. It’s your duty.

Duty? You frown. He can rot for all you care.

“What happened to my uncle?” Yoongi’s trance is stirred by your blunt question, though he doesn’t turn to you.

“Dead, Jungkook killed him.” He says it so casually, as if it was nothing more than a fleck of dust, as if he’s pretending not to know the impact it would have on you. Your chest caves in.

Dead.

Why is he dead while you are kept alive here, as a prisoner, as a toy? Why was he allowed to be set free from his crimes just like that while you are being endlessly punished by the one sole mistake in your past?

Drip. Drip drip.

The tears flow out soundlessly. You watch them splatter onto your shirt into dark splotches.

Yoongi notices and peers over at you, frowning. “Why are you crying? Don’t you hate him?”

“I… I fucking despised him. I wanted to be the one to kill him, but only after I do to him everything he did to me. It was my right, my right, and you guys took that from me.” It’s getting harder and harder to breathe as your pulse rises. You’re on the brink of hysteria, you feel it. You’re going to crack open and finally detonate.

If there was one thing you wanted, it was revenge for your suffering at the hands of your uncle. And you couldn’t even get that. What do you have to look forward to anymore?

A scoff leaves Yoongi, almost humoured, but dark. “You wanted to kill him?” He meanders back towards the bed. “Little girl, let me tell you that we did you a favour by killing him for you. Killing is an irremediable curse. It would have robbed your innocence, tainted your purity and haunted your dreams for the rest of your life. Revenge on your enemy is poison for your soul. Be glad you have never and will never kill.”

You suck in your breath, and hold it there. The significance of his words sink into you like a heavy vessel, pushing through the screams of madness wreaking havoc in your brain right now, and planting itself into your heart.

Killing is a curse.

Of course, of all beings, Yoongi would know best.

You sniff and look up, to be greeted by the soft cotton of his sleeve roughly wiping your eyes. “Stop crying, you look ugly.”

“Wh-”

“Plus,” he jabs his sleeve at your drying cheeks, “angel blood runs in your veins. You’re supernaturally inclined to virtue and righteousness. You wouldn’t have been able to commit such sin.”

Is that true? Your angel blood forbids you to sin? Thinking back, you had always been a good chaste child, obedient, caring, sweet and innocent. It was only towards the very end of your parents’ lives where you became more and more corrupted. And if you’re not wrong, it was only that very last month where rebellion arose from you and your relationship with them deteriorated out of the blue.

Where was your angel’s virtue that night they died?

01:01.

“God, you’re going to be a fucking pain.” Yoongi rumbles and the scene dissolves. “You’re lucky the seven of us are sharing you, or I would be making your life more of a nightmare than it was before.”

You ignore his comment; you’re learning that the less of a reaction you give him to his attacks, the more it will bother him. “How come I’m not sired to you yet?” For Namjoon and Seokjin, the bond had formed on the second time they fed on you, while it hadn’t happened with Yoongi yet.

“I don’t fucking know. Sireship is a tempermental thing, I guess. It has always taken me longer. If you’re so prone to be sired to me, I guess I’ll just accelerate the process.”

“N-” You protest as you register what he means but it’s too late. Yoongi has once again clambered over you, disregarding your discomfort as he situates his knees on either side of your lap and bites into your neck.

This time, you can’t suppress the surprised squeal of pain. And fuck there should be a new word to describe the hot white inferno at the laceration of your flesh because agony is a pin prick in comparison. You try to shove him off; it’s been too soon since his last feeding, your skin still feels incredibly raw. But instead, your efforts only cause his fangs to tear through you even more, and you scream at the rupture.

His rough hands hold you in place, pressing down onto your throat until you’re struggling for breath. You pray for the sire bond to come, to alleviate you from the pain even if it will leash you to this demon and cloud your judgement about him. You didn’t think you would ever rather be magically submitted to Yoongi than have to endure his vicious methods every time, but God. The pain is toppling your mind; you’d choose anything and everything so not to feel it right this moment.

But the bond doesn’t come. The universe enjoys watching you suffer, the heavens stand by idly watching.

Fuck, you really think you’re going to die this time. You really just wish you would already.

Yoongi’s body sits on top of you as he pulls you up, closer into him, one of his arms slithering behind your back. Adrenaline filled, your hand flies towards his head in attempt to slap him, though it would’ve been futile anyway. But his own hand releases your throat and catches it in the air, speed frightening, as he slams your wrist against the headboard.

The pounding in your head is growing, the familiar blurring vision as your eyes are fixed on one point in the ceiling, blank. You stop struggling.

He can’t hurt you if you don’t let him. So don’t let him.

Distract yourself. Think about something else. Someone else.

Seokjin.

Imagine it’s him feeding on you right now, rather than this monster. It doesn’t hurt when it’s Seokjin; it doesn’t hurt now. Let him drink as much as he wants because he will most likely starve himself as much as he can postpone the next time he feeds.

Seokjin just wanted to be human. He never hopped aboard on Namjoon’s quest for immortality, he was never greedy and sought power. He just wished for a normal life, with his studies and his beloved brothers.

It’s okay for Seokjin to feed on you. It’s okay. It’s okay. It’s okay.

No pain. No pain. No pain.

You picture his soft curved features, round button nose, smooth cheeks, plump tender lips. His lips. You two shouldn’t have kissed, but it means something that you did.

Ow. Yoongi pulled away only to bury into another spot nearby again, this time closer to your shoulder, his fangs scraping your joint.

Seokjin’s lips. Think about how safe you felt with him, how understood, how respected. Your sire bond had not only allowed you to feel each other’s emotions, it had also been in the form of a bridge. You felt like equals.

You heart clenches at the memory of his words. “I don’t wish to offend you in any way. I care about you. I don’t wish to confuse you. So, it’s best if it doesn’t happen again. For our own sake.”

Why must you feel this way for him now? Why must you confuse the sense of security he provides with affection? Why do you want more?

God, you want more. You want so much more. You want to feel alive from the rush of kissing someone. You miss the bliss of falling in love.

Why must this world be so cruel? Why must it rob you of all things that keep you sound and grounded? You have nothing left - truly nothing left. You’re just lifeless vacancy.

Your thoughts are going in loops, a downwards spiral. Yoongi devours his meal that is you, delighting in the whimpers you unknowingly let out every now and again. Your back has slid down against the headboard; he is now completely on top of you, your wrist pinned onto the pillow, his face buried in your neck, his body laid between your legs.

Yoongi noticing your consciousness waning again as you chant something over and over again under your breath like a broken doll, so he releases your neck for a moment. Your lips are paper white, eyes glazed, blood surging out of your right neck area like a riptide. It’s a lovely thick crimson, Yoongi’s favourite shade. And he’ll admit that it’s possibly the best he’s ever tasted.

He bites into his own wrist and feeds it to you. The six of them would be dreadfully unhappy with you if he manages to kill you on his first day. This time you don’t resist his blood; it trickles down your throat as you continue to mouth those inaudible words to yourself. Maybe he’s fucked you up for good already. Psh. The thought arouses him.

You choke on his blood as he knew you would because you hadn’t known to swallow, coughing out of your daze. You try to say something, but it comes out as a splutter of his plasma.

“What are you muttering?” Yoongi eyes down at you with a quirked brow, smearing red all around your mouth until it’s dripping off your chin, mirroring him. What a pretty sight.

“M-more.” Your voice is hoarse, as if you’d been screaming. But you hadn’t been.

“What?” He frowns, thumb freezing mid-stroke across your lips.

You think you’ve lost your mind. No, you’ve definitely lost your mind. There’s a hollowness within you that stretches beyond physicality, an outcome of torment after torment, tragedies that keep digging this hole of depression inside you. And you’ve never given up trying to climb out of this crater, you just kept trying and trying.

Until now.

“Give me more.” The lack of emotion in your voice sounds foreign yet familiar. “Make me feel more, fucking please. Because I honestly feel nothing, I don’t even feel the pain anymore. I’m so fucking numb and empty and I just want to feel something again.”

Yoongi blinks at you. Of all things, he hadn’t expected this. He knew you would be an interesting one, given the hell they had found you in. He thought the angel blood would have compelled some shred of purity and naivety in you still, even after your unfortunate past. He had been excited to strip you of your hope and sanity. But it seems like that has already been done.

“What the fuck do you want me to do then? Rip your arm off?”

“I don’t care. Just make me feel more, more than this bleak fucking void.”

He himself is all too familiar with this feeling - of being beaten down so much by the world that nothing even fazes him anymore, nothing even hurts. Unsure of what to do at first, he leans back down, hovering over you. He can’t read your eyes, or perhaps there’s nothing for him to read. You’re just blank.

Should he rip you open? Maybe you’ll feel that. But he knows you mean something deeper.

You watch Yoongi hesitate over you, sniffing at the drying blood on your skin. You do feel something right now: anticipation. What’s he going to do to you this time? Or is he even going to follow your request? Why should he care that you’re just a husk of a person now after all? You’re just his food.

But then his eyes flicker up at yours again, and you hadn’t realised that there are different shades of black until now. There are bright blacks that strike at you, soft blacks that soothe the soul, then there is true black where the darkness is so strong and absolute that it captivates you. Yoongi’s eyes are true black.

“Be careful what you ask for…” The danger in his low voice sends a creature crawling down your back. “You want to feel something? I’ll make you feel something.”

“Just-”

You don’t have time to react when he cuts you off by pressing his lips onto yours. Mind empty. Chest clenches.

Anyone would suspect he was a heartthrob if they felt his lips without any prior knowledge of the kind of person he is. They’re soft, inexplicably soft. You don’t understand how a monster like him has such soft lips… Another thing you don’t understand is why he is kissing you. Why the fuck is he kissing you?

You place your hand against his shoulder and push weakly. Not even a push. Your muscles are numb from the shock. He pays you no attention.

But then, soft as they are, his mouth soon begins to move roughly to claim yours, sucking on your bottom lip as you can’t help but shut your eyes and allow yourself to drown in this feeling. Because, God, you are feeling something, feeling more. You feel the rush in your blood, that exhilarating surge of adrenaline. And you hate that of all things, this is what makes you feel - kissing the man who delighted in hurting you. It’s a joke how damaged you are.

Kissing Seokjin had felt safe, secure, like curling up in bed after a long day. Kissing Yoongi feels dangerous, fatal, like injecting something deadly into your veins just to experience that high, not knowing if this will be the time you’ll overdose or not. It’s precarious. It’s the not-knowing that brings the thrill.

Yoongi bites down on your lip, not at all delicately; you wince as you taste your own blood. It’s twisted but when his tongue flicks out to lap at your cut, something in your core throbs. His hand comes around your throat, digging his fingers into you. Your breath hitches and he takes the opportunity to kiss you deeper. Your own hands stay lingering on his shoulders, not daring to touch him more because that would feel too affectionate.

And this is anything but affectionate. It’s raw, carnal. Tongue laced with hatred, but need for relief.

With his body positioned between your legs, he doesn’t hesitate to announce his arousal as he grinds into your core. Even as you think about how much you despise this man, your traitorous cunt leaks at the feeling of his hardness rubbing against you.

“I can smell how responsive you are.” He growls into your mouth, hand running down your front to slide into your pants. You feel the hairs on your neck rise as his cold fingers meet your pubic bone. “It must pain you so much, how much you hate me, but how wet I make you.” Something in you sets on fire when he finds your clit, pulsing under his thumb.

Fuck, you’re definitely feeling more. More than you bargained for.

“It’s because I’m thinking about your brother.” You spit back.

He slaps you- down there. The wet clap resonates embarrassingly loud. Cool air licks up your thighs to your dripping cunt when he rips off your bottoms, literally rips, and tosses the fabric carelessly onto the floor. “I’ll fuck you until you’re crying my name, you slut. I’ll fuck you until you’re begging me to stop because you can’t feel your legs anymore.”

Your foreheads are pressed together, as you stare at each other ferociously, warm breaths infusing, blood oozing from your lip. His threat sends another thrumming through your veins, which settles itself in your clit. You know he means every word he says. You know you should shove him off and yell for him to stop because that’s the sane thing to do. Instead, you say:

“Fuck me then, you piece of shit.”

In a brute vigor, he flips you onto your stomach. You hear the ring of the smack before you feel his palm collide on the tender cheek of your ass. The tingling sting imprinted on your skin is laced with a sick pleasure. Of all people, you should be the last to enjoy someone hitting you. Yet here you are, as a groan slips out you mouth.

“Do you fucking feel something now?” He spanks you again, this time on the other cheek. “You want to feel something so fucking badly.” Spank, this time harder than last. “Then I’ll make you feel.” Another spank. You bite down onto the pillow that your face is buried in.

You hear him tug down his own cotton joggers and your heart squeezes in anticipation. And when you feel him fit his stiffened velvet length between your ass cheeks, your heart plunges all the way down to your cunt.

Fuck. Your entire body is practically trembling for him, and you fucking hate it. “I hate you.”

“Good.” Yoongi grumbles into your ear as he grinds himself into your rear, gripping onto your hips so hard that it will surely bruise. “I hate you, too.”

“You get hard from watching someone bleed, you’re a sick fuck.” Even as you say that, you’re tilting your head back so the sensitive shell of your ear brushes his lips. The touch drills a twisting pressure in your pussy.

“And you get wet from kissing someone who made you bleed, you dirty fucking slut.” Cock still burrowed between your cheeks, you feel his tip dribble a trail of warm precum. Purring, he nips at your lobe, piercing through your skin as if it were paper. You yelp.

Abruptly, he sits up again and spanks you once more. In the absence of his cock humping into your rear, your backside feels barren. But you soon realise what’s coming next. “Get on your hands and knees.” He commands. When you fail to move quick enough, he wrenches your hip up to the height of his twitching member, liquid still streaming out his slit profusely as he lines his head to your damp entrance.

You’re all but whining for him to put the damn thing in already when he takes your hair and wrap it around his fist like a rein, yanking your head back. Still, he toys with your apparent impatience, slapping and running his bulging tip through your wet folds. Your exhale comes out as a quivering pant.

Just as your string of irritated curses at him are on the brink of tumbling out, he sinks his entire length into you without warning.

“Fuck!” You cry out. It’s been so long since the last time that your walls feel as though a train has run through them, stretching so thin to encompass his size.

And there it is - the vulgar, mind-twisting, irreplaceable feeling of being fucked.

Sparing you no time to adjust, Yoongi slams into you again, and again, in a stable strong pace, pulling your hair back harder until your back is bent upwards sorely. The ache in your cunt is trying to claw its way into you and fester in your flesh. Your knuckles whiten as you close your grip around the pillow cover, creasing the fabric in your fists. Grunting, he tears off your shirt from your back, freeing your breasts to the cool air.

His thrusts are merciless, the slapping of his hips to your rear echoing in the air. Fuck, he feels massive, cock punching into your weeping walls while you clench around him from the pain and the pleasure - two indistinguishable sensations. He tugs on your hair so hard that you have to yield and lift off your hands so you’re balanced on your knees, his greedy hand taking this chance to fondle with your breasts, pinching your nipple and twisting them roughly between his fingers.

Then his hand snakes around your neck once again, squeezing the air out of your lungs. Wheezing, you grab onto his thigh behind yours in retaliation and dig your fingers so hard that you feel his skin crack.

“You’re fucking asking for it.” He snarls. You twist to look at him just in time to see him bare his fangs, then digs into your neck. The sensation of his cock pounding into you at the same instance as your blood being drained into his mouth sends a shock through you. He seems to tense at the impact too.

Wait, no, it’s not a shock.

You feel every single cell in your body quake, dissociate. When you shut your eyes, your soul is sucked into a hurricane of darkness, whirling you deeper and deeper into the black hole. Closer and closer to Yoongi. Even when you try to open your eyes, all you see is black. Endless black. True black. In a state of matter and antimatter at the same time, it feels as though you’ve been transported to a dimension between Earth and Hell, human but not quite, substantial but not quite, real but not quite. You’re a mere essence, a whisper of a soul, yet you can feel the ground beneath your feet. There are chains around your ankles and wrists; you can’t see anything aside from the darkness but the shackles are still ever present, holding you down.

Something trickles down your face - a tear. You touch it, but it feels too thick. You taste it, and it tastes of Yoongi’s blood. Bittersweet. You tug on the chains but they don’t budge, so you follow them, padding through the darkness as you pass metal link after link through your hands. Until you reach a mass.

Not a mass, a person, hunched over. You can just vaguely make out his silhouette that reflects a particularly sad darkness.

His shoulders are shaking.

Dazed, you bend down. Put your arm around him. Nuzzle his neck. And whisper ‘it’s okay’.

You stay there, chained to one another, tears of blood still streaming from your sightless eyes. Huddled together in the darkness.

With a gasp, you return to your body, mind distorted by the magic. And though you’re no longer in that place, wherever that is, you still feel the phantom shackles secured around you. Yoongi is still drinking you in large gulps, but his breathing is noticeably different.

He felt that too, the bond.

His fangs feel different to your flesh, no longer a sharp weapon to break your skin. They feel like an anchor, holding him onto you, letting him enter your soul. You shudder at the intimacy it imbeds.

Despite the trance he appears to be in, his pounding has not once faltered, but more even, as if the bond has driven him on. If he was an animal before, he is a beast now. The weight of his body forces you down, face pinned onto the pillow under him while his hands assail your breasts.

This new sensation is so raw, so undiluted, relentlessly filling you with a fervorous want for Yoongi. Your cunt is furiously clenching around him, the pressure begging to be released from its cage.

“Fuck-” He groans as he finally stops drinking. “This stupid fucking bond feels- Fuck.”

Each thrust he slams into you, you feel another unbreakable chain forming, binding you to him. And each time you close your eyes, you’re back to the darkness where you’re holding the crying boy. Something is clawing your heart, scratching it, tearing it, ripping its chambers open. You realise tears, actual tears this time, are rolling off your temple. You can’t tell if it’s because of the penetration of sadness from that boy made of darkness, or the penetration of Yoongi’s unceasingly brutal cock.

Then finally - ignition at every nerve ending in your core, rupturing through your entirety as if you are a mere vessel. You think you’re screaming but you can’t hear over the roaring of your pulse. The pillow you’re pressed onto suffocating you. Your walls squeeze as the pleasure wrenches you completely.

Yoongi watch you come undone beneath him, pace fastening to chase after his own climax. You’re panting, crying, bleeding from your neck down to your spine, yet features twisted in such pleasure. The juxtaposition. His member is throbbing inside you, veins bulging out on the sides. Hell, he is going to burst. And the moment he feels it coming, he pulls out and watches himself shoot onto your back, splattering your red hand-printed ass with his milky ejaculation.

“Fuck…” He moans, stroking out his high as he feasts on how you are still convulsing under him. Your trickling sweat mixes with your tears.

You don’t think you can move at all, even as Yoongi gets off you. His fingers play with his cum on your ass, smearing it along with your blood to paint himself all over you. You suspect it’s a mark of possession, a mark of victory. Because you definitely feel defeated.

You feel alive, but dead. You feel ashamed.

His tongue trails up your back, tasting himself along with your scarlet liquid. Angel blood has always been a favourite of his, because he loved how crazy it made him, how feral. But now, after the sireship, its taste is… untaintedly holy, like ambrosia, the food of the Gods. Unmatched by anything he has ever drank. He doesn’t think he can go back to drinking any other moral’s blood after this. You’ve ruined him for good.

And the bond… Yoongi stops licking. There are foreign emotions whirling within him right now, and one of them, he thinks is fear. Fear of the strength of this bond. Fear of the intimacy it threatens between you.

He had felt you - your arm around him, your gentle voice tickling his neck - during that complete blackness where he had fallen back to a deep dark past. It was a vulnerability that he had never experienced before. He was powerless against your intrusion.

So Yoongi pushes himself off you and clears his throat. “You dead yet?”

No response, no movement.

He rolls his eyes and commences to heal you. Mortals are annoyingly fickle creatures, you drink too much of their blood or fuck them too hard and they pass out, he thinks.

This time, it takes you a while to regain your consciousness, during which Yoongi dresses himself, but doesn’t bother cleaning you up. You sit up, naked and shamefully exposed. When you meet his obsidian pupils, you don’t know how to interpret the confusion in them.

“What the fuck?” You ask as if you hadn’t willingly took part, even though you both know you clearly had. There is a raw soreness blaring between your thighs, and you’re embarrassed to find yourself glancing over at his crotch.

“You asked me to make you feel something. Why are you acting surprised?” His lids are half closed, bored, as he surveys the puddles of red on the bed. Your eyes follow his, trying to process how the sheets had been spotlessly white not three hours ago, yet now they only possess one corner that isn’t stained in crimson. It looks as though cattle had been slaughtered here as a sacrifice to the divinity. It’s all your blood.

And when you lock eyes with him again, you feel the weight of the chains hanging from your limbs. Bound forever.

“You feel alive now, don’t you? Dead inside still, but at least your heart was racing when I was fucking you.” He taunts, slowly rolling off the bed in an indifference that boils your blood.

You hate how true his words are. That was the very feeling you wanted, the thrill that you were seeking to break you out of that inertia. You hate how it was with him, of all people. It could have been anyone under this roof, yet you picked this monster. And you hate how, even now, you don’t think you regret it, not even with the disgust and resentment raking at your chest for this vampire.

“You should get used to it. Sex is a faultless coping mechanism for those of us who are too hollow to feel anything else.” Yoongi continues, as he heads towards the door. “Wash yourself up and stay here until I come back when I’m hungry again.”

A response still trying to formulate in your brain, all you can do is stare at his back in silence. Quietly fuming.

Yoongi pauses before twisting the doorknob. “Oh, and don’t think I did that for you. I couldn’t wait to fuck you as soon as I tasted your blood.”

It was all you could do to restrain yourself from leaping across the room and hammering his face. Not that you would’ve been able to anyway. Motherfucker is so insecure that he couldn’t risk you thinking that he would ever not act out of self interest, so he masks it with spiteful words to try to hurt you.

“You tried so fucking hard to break me, but I was already broken.”

His head turns, shadows casting over his profile. His lips purse into a smirk that holds no amusement at all. “Join the fucking club, you’re nothing special.”

“I fucking hate you.” You spit back at him, the venom imbued in your words is more than you thought you were capable of and it surprises you.

He gazes at you over his shoulder, unfazed. Cold and unfeeling. And somehow the words he reply inflict an ache in your heart that shouldn’t be there because, all of a sudden, you see a flash of the small broken boy before you.

“I fucking hate me too.”

Then he slams the door behind him.

❦

@taexxxiiaa @serendipity-secrets @killcomet @askingtheimportantthingshere@blackpanther4550 @comingjimin @unatempesta-dipensieri @dapppphhhhh  @unatempesta-dipensieri @beach-bitch-bitch-beach @queerloser17 @linyi-lovbts @somewhereinthestarss @xxqueenwxtchxx @whitefeatheredwyvern @embrace-themagic @brokencrownqueen @i-dont-even-know-fck @bangtandimples @kalkeegan @beetaeass @confessionsofascientist @chimycthulhu @hisunshiine @shooklier @livetay84​ @runlikeabuffalo​ @nanna022 @berryjam17​ @thelouhvre​ @bluemooncnblue​ @enigmaticlove-03​ @lanu-la​ @bangtanfancamp​

❦

23/11/2019

© Copyright 2019

#bts #bts smut #bts vampire au #bts angst #bts fanfic #bts imagines #bts poly au #ot7 x reader #namjoon #namjoon smut #namjoon vampire au #seokjin #seokjin smut #seokjin vampire au #yoongi x reader #yoongi smut #yoongi vampire au #hoseok #hoseok smut #hoseok vampire au #jimin #jimin smut #jimin vampire au #taehyung #taehyung smut #taehyung vampire au #jungkook #jungkook smut #jungkook vampire au

[theirrationalzone]

Yakkin ‘bout Games: Wolfenstein: The New Order

Yakking ‘bout Games is a series where I talk about games that I’m currently playing or have just finished. It can be new or old, console or PC, good or bad, it really doesn’t matter. If it’s a game worth talking about, you’ll see it covered here.

I think it’s fair to say that the FPS genre has enjoyed a bit of a renaissance over the last decade and a bit. The modern military shooters that dominated the late 2000s and early 2010s have become less common. We have seen the return of classic franchises like Doom and Half-Life, and we have also witnessed the influx of “boomer shooters” like Dusk and Amid Evil. A lot of cool stuff indeed.

With that being said, let’s take a trip back a few years. 2014 to be exact.

This was the first year of the (then) brand spanking new PlayStation 4 and Xbox One. The two consoles were not off to the best of starts though. Their early exclusives like Killzone Shadow Fall, InFamous Second Son, Forza Motorsport 5 and Dead Rising 3 had failed to impress. The only games picking up the slack were multi-platform releases like Assassin’s Creed IV Black Flag. The only FPS games available at the time (other than Killzone on PS4) were Call of Duty Ghosts (dull as dishwater) and Battlefield 4 (I enjoyed it but it was completely broken on release.)

Not exactly the most exciting of times for an FPS fan on console.

Wolfenstein: The New Order finally came along that May. It had been announced the year prior but it didn’t have much fanfare behind it. The initial E3 showing didn’t really impress anyone and there wasn’t really a great excitement for the game’s release. Perhaps it was because the previous Wolfenstein game was largely ignored by people or maybe because people were skeptical due to the game being MachineGames’ (the developer) first effort. People needn’t have worried though. The game turned out to be a massive surprise. It ended up being one of the best of that year.

Why am I covering this now? It’s because I recently got the urge to play it again after all these years. Plus I wanted to see how it would function in a post modern Doom world. So with that in mind, let’s get psyched and see how the game holds up.

Never has a smile brought terror to my heart so fast. Well this and my last dental appointment...

The New Order is set in an alternate universe where the Nazis won World War II due to their advanced technology being too much for the Allied forces. After an operation to try and assassinate the spearhead behind this growing technological evolution goes horribly wrong, Captain William “B.J.” Blazkowicz ends up taking a piece of shrapnel to the back of the head which puts him into a vegetative state. He ends up spending fourteen years in a Polish mental asylum before finally being awoken again due to witnessing a horrible atrocity committed by the Nazis. B.J. is now in the alien world of 1960 where the Nazis rule over the world with an iron fist. It’s up to B.J. to link up with the remnants of the Resistance and take the fight back to the Nazis once and for all.

The story was and still is one of the most surprising elements of The New Order. It paints a brutal picture of a world controlled by an evil and ruthless force who will stop at nothing to assert their dominance. The cast as well are very memorable. You have the plucky and likable Resistance fighters who you get to spend quite a bit of time with. You then have some memorable encounters with the evil figureheads of the Nazi regime at certain parts of the story. Anyone who has seen the train sequence in this game knows exactly what I’m taking about. I have to give MachineGames credit as well for the characterisation of B.J. himself. They managed to turn a character who was known for being a badass Nazi killer to a very sympathetic and likable Nazi killer. B.J. in this game is weary and tired after years of fighting evil and tyranny at every corner. The man wants nothing more than for the war to be over so he can hang up his guns and finally settle down. How could you hate the man after hearing something like that?

B.J. is such an upstanding guy that he would infiltrate a Nazi controlled train just to get you some coffee. Liberation and a Cappuccino, you can’t beat it. 

The real bread and butter of The New Order though is the gameplay. It has held up fantastically for the most part. Combat is a blast thanks to the very meaty arsenal at your disposal including assault rifles, shotguns, marksman rifle and a Laserkraftwerk which allows you to blast enemies to smithereens. You’ll have plenty of enemy types to cut through including rank and file soldiers, big mech suit soldiers with heavy weaponry and robots that have massive lasers. B.J. has a few abilities though to help turn the tide of battle. Leaning is one such ability and it’s implemented very well. How it works is that if you hold the L1 button, it locks B.J. in place and you can then use the left stick to lean at different angles. It’s super useful. Earning a well placed few shots at a Nazi from a very awkward angle never gets old. B.J. also has the ability to dual-wield certain weapons to deal even more hefty damage to his foes. Press up on the d-pad and prepare to bring the carnage. While this is a pretty fun feature, it does limit your movement speed and it can result in you burning through ammo quite quickly. It also is restricted to two types of the same weapon. You can also find upgrades for weapons which give them different ammo types and fire modes. The Laserkraftwerk, for example, can be used to cut through certain boxes and materials which is pretty nifty.

In terms of how health works, it’s a hybrid between classic pick-ups and regeneration. You can recover health by picking up health packs and food throughout the game. Armor can be found as well to allow you to take some extra damage. If you take health damage and managed to find cover, you’ll eventually get 10 health points back. You also have the ability to overcharge your health. How this works is that if you end up picking up a health item that takes you over your max health, you get higher health points for a brief period which is quite useful. You can increase your max health by finding hidden health upgrades throughout some of the levels.

AI is decent for the most part. They will attempt to find cover in the heat of a firefight and they do try to flank you. Some of the heavy soldiers will also attempt to rush your position. I certainly didn’t notice any unusual behaviour from them. Boss fights are a bit unremarkable for the most part. The game pretty much spells out how to take them out and they don’t really put up much of a fight. The main exception being the final boss but even then, it really isn’t that hard.

The secret painting boss fight was an interesting idea though. Definitely a canvas for them to work on in the future. (Apologies for the bad pun and joke.)

The game does have a basic stealth system and it works fine. When you enter most of the areas in the game, you will be informed that there are two commanders in the area. Take them out without being spotted and you can sneak through the area without having to worry about reinforcements if you get spotted by an enemy. You can take down enemies stealthily by using a silenced pistol, throwing knives or by sneaking up to them and performing a takedown. Stealth can feel a little overpowered during some of the early sections because the pistol is super accurate and it only takes one headshot to take some of these enemies down. The game does balance this a bit better later on as areas are populated with more elite enemies that harder to kill without being spotted.

Being a Wolfenstein game, you would expect exploration to be a big part of the gameplay and it does play a part for sure. There are hidden areas to be found with collectibles such as the Enigma codes which can unlock new difficulties and cheat codes. You can also find hidden max HP upgrades and other stuff as well. Maps can be found in each level which will indicate possible hidden secrets with a question mark. Levels are definitely more linear than some of the prior Wolfenstein games so don’t expect huge hidden areas or levels.

Key and item hunting still exists of course. You will find doors that require a key or a tool needed to progress which requires a bit of skulking around to find that key or item. You see this especially in the Resistance HQ sections which occur after most of the levels. In these sections, you will be tasked with finding a certain item for a character to progress to the next level. There are also side missions where you can do the same thing for other characters in the HQ and completing these unlocks extras such as artwork. I’m mixed on the Resistance HQ sections overall. On the one hand, they’re good from a lore perspective because you can overhear conversations from some of the characters and there are newspaper clippings and notes to find which do a good job of building up the world. On the other hand, they do feel a little bit like filler. Swings and roundabouts, I suppose...

I don’t really have many issues with the gameplay as a whole. My only real gripe is how the weapon wheel works. Weapon wheels are commonplace on console because a controller doesn’t have many buttons when compared to a keyboard. Makes perfect sense. The New Order’s one however can be such a temperamental thing to use. How it’s supposed to work is that you hit the R1 button to bring up the wheel and then you use the right stick to pick the weapon you want. Sounds simple enough. In reality what happens is that the game ends up giving you the wrong weapon time after time. I can’t even begin to count the amount of times that I tried to switch to the assault rifle and the game switched me to the dual-wield pistols instead. It can be a bloody nuisance. Part of this is down to how sensitive the stick is when using the wheel. It’s way too fast. Also why do the dual-wield options even need to be there? You can already hit up on the d-pad to dual-wield a particular weapon plus I didn’t really need to dual-wield all that much so it’s just clutter. They could have cleaned this up a lot better. I also had issues with swapping back to the previous weapon. It would sometimes default back to the Laserkraftwerk even though it wasn’t my previous weapon. Thankfully these issues didn’t get me killed but they certainly got on my nerves a little bit.

Textbook schadenfreude here from one of the villains. Shouldn’t be that shocked really...

From a graphics point of view, Wolfenstein: The New Order still holds up remarkably well. It runs on the same idTech engine that powered Rage before it and it certainly looks great. Character models are well detailed and they animate well. Cutscenes are well framed and the angles are perfectly done. Environments are beautifully crafted with amazing detail so whether you are in rainy soaked London or even the friggin’ Moon, you feel immersed in the world of the game.

I wasn’t kidding about the Moon. Look Ma, I’m in space! (In a video game...)

The game is quite aliased on the consoles. You definitely see sharp and jagged edges at times. Plus the textures look a bit low-res when viewed up close, but the game still looks great, and I imagine the PC version cleans up most of this stuff anyway so there’s that.

Tumblr’s image compression doesn’t do this environment justice. Oh well. C’est la vie, I suppose...

I can’t fault the game’s sound though. All voice performances are pitch-perfect with Brian Bloom (the voice of B.J.) being the standout. The music is incredible too with a great balance between atmospheric tracks and hard edged ones when the action really kicks off. It’s composed by a guy named Mick Gordon. Don’t think he’s done anything of note since though.

In terms of length, you’re looking at about roughly 8-10 hours for a first time playthrough. There is replay value with the collectibles and the Timeline system. To briefly explain, the Timeline system is related to a choice you make at the start of the game which changes some of the characters you encounter during the game. It doesn’t drastically change much. The events remain the same. You just get some unique dialog and a scene or two. Not much else.

So as you can see, I think that Wolfenstein: The New Order is still a bloody good time. The shooting still feels great with some really meaty weapons, the story and characters are super engaging, and the presentation and sound still kicks some ass. It has some minor issues here and there, but this game is well worth experiencing. You can pick it up pretty cheap nowadays on most of the platforms and it does go on sale quite often.

It’s nice to go back sometimes and revisit a classic, isn’t it? 

Check back here soon for Part 2 of this where I take a look at The Old Blood. Until then, stay safe, folks!

#wolfenstein #ps4 #video games #yakkingboutgames

[spidermilkshake]

Isolated Element--Part 1: Captoptromancy

Welp, I'd best post writing on the hellsite too. What better place for the unhinged fanfiction that spills between my brain's cracks?

IP: Kingdom Hearts (powerfully headcanon'd)

Genre: Fantasy, Mystery+Suspense

Word Count: 2,400+

TW: Unreal/derealized dream states, mild body horror

(Next)

1: Catoptromancy

It had been a few years since she had last come this way. Already, nothing was at all like she remembered. Years back, Traverse Town didn’t even have its proper name; it was only known as the settlement cobbled together from Gaia’s refugees—from Radiant Garden to Corel to Nibelheim—a hybrid of survivalist shelters and shanty-town as more and more hunks of unfortunate Worlds materialized in the outskirts, sometimes bringing hundreds of new people with them. A few years ago there weren’t quite five thousand folk crowded in here, getting by on salvaged bits and crisis aid given by the Elveshmean military and the Elvaan Źduhace (the Elven Dragoon Order). If not for the work of Radiant Garden’s more progressive intellectuals, Gaia’s ties to Elves and even fellow Human nations would not have been so strong, and if not for these ties, the alarm at the sudden radio silence would not have been so swift in onset. If not for this, Traverse Town would likely have remained a guttering, suffering den of survivors—languishing and on their own.

Aqua sympathized.

As she disembarked the transport cruiser into a grey, stale-smelling rain she noticed immediately the place’s changes. She pulled the sides of her hooded poncho together, pausing by the platform’s railing to look out over the newly-constructed bell tower, and the mis-matched buildings surrounding it. Formerly, this area had been half-built and strewn with piles of salvaged rubble. The wrecked hulk of an Interspace-Airship hybrid, the Highwind Mark IV, had lain propped up on blocks, its engines burst and drained of power. It had since been moved—or taken apart, likely to go towards the Mark V. Shaking the oil rivulets dripping down her hood away, Aqua brought herself back to the present. Traverse Town was now equipped with signs; she began following some, scanning the terraced levels and built-into underpasses for signs of nightly lodging. A warm, elevated porch caught her eye—its swinging sign lit up with a covered manatech lantern, the orange glow making “Bedknobs+Broomsticks: Food—Rooms—Entertainment—Vacancies Available” legible through the weather. She climbed the stairs to the entrance, taking a moment to shake the rain from her poncho again, to not drip a soot-marred trail all through the place. The least she could hope for was that this one wasn’t already grimy, and without her griming it up for the proprietor.

It did turn out to be clean inside, mostly. A few active spiderwebs decorated the high, out-of-the-way corners, but a polished oak bar-top was well-shined, and a row of recessed booth seating looked to be mostly clear minus some spice containers. It was a tiny place, a staircase and a cramped elevator entrance intruding halfway into the diner-like area. Clearly, most of the establishment was on ascending floors and this scant hole-in-the-wall was the only important thing besides cheap beds. At first she assumed she was alone on the floor—some clanking in the doorway behind the bar area implied one distracted kitchen worker only. A sound like sheafs of silk rubbing together turned her head, and the slight, constant movements caught her peripheral vision.

She jolted, instinct forcing her to grip thin air after a Keyblade that would no longer come to her. After all this time, she’d assumed she would be used to the full range of weird entities roaming the Three Realms, but apparently this… entity, was still a surprise.

He was wedged into the outermost side of the closest booth, in the shadowy corner. His feet were propped up on the table and half-crossed, but it was not their electric-green claws and webbed toes the color of “drowning victim” that was so terrifying: The rest of him was by far more strange. Tall, slender, with swept-back pointed ears and some of his dark reddish hair braided into an Elf-Knot identified his species—and the bustling array of mutations he bore brought that species into question again. Above the protective gloves and bracers he wore, his forearms were that drowned-blue color, and slithering with several large tentacles each. His ripped jeans were a similar story at the hip joint—and even more sprung from a point near his shoulder blades. The deep V-neck of his shirt allowed a travesty of more subtle issues to be on display: His shoulders and across his collarbones had stubby, green quills protruding from them, the veins of his neck close to the surface were a green hue too and hideously engorged. On second glance, Aqua suppressed a shudder of revulsion as she saw the veins on his arms and even one faintly popping from his temple were the same. A moment passed in which this Grey Elf paid no attention to her—engrossed with a ratty-looking, thin book propped open against one knee—but then, vivid purple eyes flicked over to the onlooker.

“Well, well, cydezé,” the twisted elf greeted her, gaze flicking over her from the Keybearer’s Chi-Rho emblem on her chest to the lacing ornaments over her corset and spur-stabilizers on her boots, landing at last on her muted blue hair and bright eyes. “They say it’s rude to stare, stranger.”

“Sorry, I, uh…” Aqua stalled her movements by force of will, as instinct was sending her creeping backwards. “I couldn’t help but look.”

“’Swhat they all say!” He snickered, snapping his book closed. She couldn’t be so sure of this relaxed, humored response; her eyes lingered on the tentacles as they coiled back over themselves. “No offense taken at all, eh, miss..?”

“I’m Aqua,” she suppressed a flinch, especially as one of his eyebrows raised in intense interest.

“Aqua, eh?” Finally, he slid the mutated pair of feet down from sight. “Excellent. I’m named Oppidimy—though some call me the ‘Octomancer’. Or a walking accident.” He chuckled again, grinning.

“Now we’re introduced, at least—so! You didn’t come in here after me, I’ll assume, but surely you’re looking for someone.”

Aqua’s brow twitched as it was tempted to furrow, “What makes you say that?”

“You have that ‘looking for someone’ quality,” he smirked, tipping a hand towards the scene outside, “It’s a safe assumption. Most who come here are, in fact, trying to find people.”

The young Keybearer half-bit her tongue; appearance aside, she was unsure of how wise it would be to make even a guarded mention of her goals. Oppidimy was clearly a mage of some sort: What kind was as uncertain as how he’d come to be half-elf, half-aberration. And what kind of magic-user he was made all the difference.

“Actually, I wasn’t looking for someone,” she chanced it. She figured she could downplay the importance it had, leaving little clue that the lost item in question was the sacred Keyblade. “Something, actually. Several somethings.”

“Lost some stuff?”

“Actually… more like stolen.” She sucked in a breath, reigning in the residual outrage that lingered even years later, “A sword, and a set of plate armor. They were very important to me and I don’t have much idea of who took them from where I last saw them.”

Oppidimy clicked his tongue, eyes hooding in a disgusted expression as he nodded.

“That’s cute—people really are out there like that. World’s in the process of ending and they’ll still try robbin’ you blind.” Aqua blinked hard at the statement, but he carried on overtop of her visible bewilderment, “Odds are, the culprit’s one of a short and nasty list; the only types who would be out to steal anything that wasn’t provisions, these days.

“I might be able to help y’ out,” a slow, crooked smile spread over his pointed features, and his gloved fingertips settled together into a triangle of scheming thoughts. “At least, if you’ll have me. At the very least I could help rule out some of these skeezballs.”

“And how would you accomplish this?” Her voice turned suspicious, and the Rurcelan mutant obviously cottoned on. He disbanded the triangle of wicked contemplations with a series of assuring waves, shaking his head and chuckling.

“Ah, ah, I know that tone—relax! My methods are one hundred percent legitimate, completely moral. Even though I blend in quite well with society’s villains and monsters, the ‘look’ was not exactly intentional. But, if you’ll take up my offer, you’ll see how it serves to my advantage.”

As Oppidimy began to stand and tuck his book amongst the grips of the tentacles issuing from one elbow, Aqua tilted her head:

“…So you specialize in espionage?”

The elf raised a gloved finger to his lips and the quills on his bare shoulders went rigid, suddenly looking grim and serious.

“Not so loud,” He slid past her, the Keybearer wearing a stone face even as she cringed internally at the tendrils coming inches from brushing by. Stepping towards the stairs, he turned back to call over his shoulder, smirk returned: “Come see me some time if you need a hand, yeh? I’m in 32. I’d suggest giving that old office door a knock so you can get a room of your own before it gets too late.” He began to cackle, “Owner’s a bit narcoleptic, so knock hard!” His laughter echoed, becoming cartoonish as he ascended the narrow stairwell and the raucous noise faded out. She paused a few seconds just to breathe.

Never had she encountered someone quite so exaggerated—it felt like a front—or a trap. She could be the intended victim, but just as easily the intended bait, a lure to draw in the unsavory targets he’d referred to. Only further investigation would bring that to light.

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

As suspected—the place was a cheap joint for cheap beds. The need in town was high, and the cramped room she was assigned was, at the very least, livable. Crumpled under the stiff, rough-textured outer sheet, every attempt to calculate the dubiousness of the elf’s offer, versus the likelihood she could finally close in on her lost Keyblade, set her sleep back another hour. And another. But slowly, surely, sleep and Aqua arrived at an uneasy truce.

She had the dream again. Different—and clearer.

The vision of that round, white, metal-plated room, the gaps in this armoring (or acoustic featuring?) showing faint glints of pipes, cables, and other hints at underlying manatech. It mocked her. She was for a second so infuriated at its recurrence that she almost missed the new features: Insignias in a stark black marked the walls, familiar but strange. It was much like the Keybearer’s Chi-Rho—or the Heartless Emblem, itself very much a cheap plagiarizing of the order’s sign—upside-down, so that the spikes forming the “Chi” took the peak position.

The miasma of her unconscious half-lucidity swam around her as she struggled to turn around and face the raised central area. She had already seen what was arranged there during the prior dream states. Her armor, and her Keyblade, where she knew it last. If the passage of time was to be believed, someone had been keeping it tidy and dust-free.

The chair was new. Aqua’s jaw hung in silence a moment, unable to react, as she faced its occupant. Outside of this recurring hallucination she knew she was asleep—and she wondered if he, within the dream, was also. His dark-toned skin and wildly-arranged silver hair were uncomfortably familiar, and his face itself also so but for different reasons. His ears were slightly-pointed as a half-elf’s would be, but since his eyes were closed she couldn’t tell if he possessed the mish-mash of colors and features she dreaded. She had seen this man before, she was sure this was… but somehow, her mind refused to let her assume this was the same person. Or persons, technically. He had to be, and yet… she was sure this quietly seated man was another entirely.

Her frown began to appear, giving some control of her face and voice back. Whoever this dead-ringer for Terra (and Xehanort) was, there was no likelier suspect for the role of the one who had relocated this Chamber—her Keyblade with it.

“Where are you?”

Aqua nearly jumped, though her dream-self felt far too sluggish for it. Exactly as and exactly what she had been gathering up energy to say the man with closed eyes had asked in a low murmur, devoid of feeling. Though, this she supposed could be from him truly being asleep—mumbling and aware of her regardless.

“No,” she barked, “You tell me. Where are you? And who are you?”

The man paused, eye movements flickering behind their lids. In painfully slow motions, he began to shake his head.

“I cannot answer you. You must tell me first.” He was still almost deadpan, with a hint of tired annoyance creeping in now.

“You can’t force me to tell you, and you can’t do anything to me. This is a damn dream-state. So, if you want anything, you first.”

He huffed, his brows twitching, and the sleek black fabric that made up his gloves straining as his grip on the armrests tightened.

“No,” he growled. “You don’t understand. I cannot answer you first because I have no answer. I don’t know who I am.” He let silence return to the humming void around them, becoming neutral in expression, “But perhaps, if you tell me your name, I can know more.”

A spike of hope softened her expression; the frustration and the intonation was so like his, melded neatly with the rigid aura of calm he imposed on himself—two traits so Terra-esque and incongruous with each other they seemed unlikely to be performed. And very un-Xehanort, in this way.

“I’m Aqua. Do you have a name, by chance?”

“I do,” he nodded, brows knitting slightly, “But it would mean nothing to you. It is a chosen name, taken after the time you seem to recognize me from.”

“Are you Terra?” She forged ahead, prepared for a let-down.

“I am aware of who that name belongs to, but I do not think so,” he surprised her, “Before you ask: I am equally aware of the one called Xehanort. I am not him.

“You have seen this Chamber before, haven’t you?” A dim inkling of curiosity entered his soft tone, surprising her alongside the change of subject. “Years ago I began to see this place. In my dreams at first, and then, every time I closed my eyes. I suspect you saw these visions. You saw the way into the room, hidden in what is left of the bastion of Radiant Garden.”

“How did you figure that out?” But, already guessing the answer, her eyes wandered to the sections of her armor propped on the central dais.

“I have memory I can’t explain,” he began. “I remember the name of the one this Keyblade, and its armor manifestation, belongs to. Aqua.” Sudden, jarring, he seemed unable to resist letting his eyes snap open and zero in on her with their bright, orange intensity, “This belongs to you, doesn’t it?”

An immediate shock came over her—but not only from being eye-to-eye. As soon as it happened, a spell broke. She felt roaring in her ears; the Chamber of Repose winked out and she was filled with the sickening sensation of half-awake, confused floating just above one’s body. Psyche-wise, she felt slammed back into her self as she bolted awake, still curled under the cheap inn’s terrible sheets, the room quiet and empty.

She sat up, waiting for some soreness that never came. A vivid dream. Not exactly, but closer than really being there. For a minute she just listened; a few muffled clangs of activity echoed from some lower floor, and she could hear through razor-thin walls the sounds of folk opening and shutting doors, exchanging bleary greetings, and going about the act of “morning”. A sliver of weak light creeping in between shut curtains confirmed the early, small hour. She collected her wits, and stood. She wasn’t getting any more sleep now anyways.

To Be Continued

#fan fiction #fanfiction #fantasy #mystery and suspense #kingdom hearts #heavily headcanon #headcanon #aqua #birth by sleep #isolated element #xemnas #oc #oppidimy #traverse town #chamber of repose #sfw story #sfw fanfic #captoptromancy #I too name my things weirdly but I generally do so with a theme apparent and not just to sound cool hAHAHah

[gearhawk-studios]

Xandrin’s Voice Lines

Voice Actor of Choice: Jack DeSena (Sokka/Callum)

Hello- Oh! Hey there, the name’s Xandrin. Mind if I tag along, I think you got the makings of a great story!

Chat: Cheering- It’s time to show the world what we got!

Chat: Resting- Let’s take a second, need to finish up some notes.

Chat: Guild- Hey, maybe we should check the guild for job listings?

When It Rains- In stories, when it rains it usually means two things. Either it’s a sad scene or it’s an epic battle.

After the Rain- Welp, rain scene’s over. Let’s move on to the next one, shall we?

When It Snows- Its snowing? Awesome, but let’s make sure we’re dressed warmly.

When It’s Windy- Where’s the wind leading us, I wonder...?

Good Morning- Rise and shine! Time to write the next chapter of our lives.

Good Afternoon- So many great notes, better keep up the pace!

Good Evening- Let’s grab something to eat, we’ve been at it hard today.

Good Night- Man, time flies. Better get some rest, I got notes to go through.

About Xandrin- Me? Nothing special about me. I’m just a writer, passing through.

About Us: Heroes- A friend told me when I was a kid that we could always use more heroes. I’m glad we got you on our side.

About the Vision- I’m still not sure if I should have one. Visions are meant for people who got a special something. Besides the scales, what makes me so special?

Something to Share- First story I ever wrote was about Fiora and how she helped get a book for me. Pretty cheesy, huh?

Interesting Things- Okay, I have a secret for you. I don’t only write hero stories. I’ve dabbled in other genres. But I use another name, especially for the series of... risqué books I stumbled into writing. Don’t tell anyone.

About Diluc- Master Diluc is a very serious man, I wish he’d learn to smile again. I understand why he doesn’t, but if he fights for everyone else to smile, he needs someone to fight for his.

About Lisa- She’s... something. I never know whether her comments about me are a simple joke or if she means it. Makes my head hurt.

About Kaeya- He tries real hard to stay mysterious. Is it to hide something? Or is he keeping up appearances for the fan girls I see watching him?

About Jean- Honestly, she’s what all the Knights should aspire to be in my opinion. She’s kind, brave, smart... but I wish the people of Mondstadt would give her a chance to rest and let her hair down, you know?

About Amber- Amber has a lot of spirit, but she’s gotta watch where she throws her Baron Bunny. I’ve had... unfortunate encounters with that thing.

About Fiora: Friendship- Fiora and I have always been partners. I miss her when I travel without her, she’s my best friend.

About Fiora: Legacy- That sword of flames is pretty awesome, right? Talk about some serious firepower!

More about Xandrin I- Why do I wanna write about you? Who doesn’t want to learn more about the Honorary Knight?

More about Xandrin II- I want to take sure that heroes will always exist, and so writing stories about real heroes will help inspire others.

More about Xandrin III- I’ll admit, part of me wants to be a hero too. But, I know it’s not my place, that’s more for you and others to take up.

More about Xandrin IV- You really are something, you know that? You’re the most inspirational person I’ve trailed in a long time. Thanks for letting me walk alongside you.

More about Xandrin V- Thanks for letting me tag along for so long, I should probably get out of your hair- oh? You want me to stay? ... not gonna lie, I was hoping you’d say that. I’d better get stronger to justify staying then!

Hobbies- When I’m not writing, it’s usually sword training or taking some part time jobs at the Guild.

Favorite Food- Sweet Madame may be simple, but sometimes simple is the greatest pleasure, yeah?

Least Favorite Food- Keep spice away from me, it keeps me up at night.

Birthday- Happy Birthday, Traveler! No need to be humble today, let’s go all out and make this celebration the best yet!

Feelings about Ascension: Intro- Even if I’m not a hero, I’ll use what I got to help others.

Feelings about Ascension: Building Up- This is only the beginning of the story, still got a ways to go.

Feelings about Ascension: Climax- Maybe... maybe I was meant to have this power after all...

Feelings about Ascension: Conclusion- Hey... I wanted to say thanks. Traveling with you, I realize that you and the others have taught me how to be a hero with this power I have. So... thank you.

#genshin original character #genshin profile #genshin quotes #genshin impact #genshin fanfic

[alanlicht]

Alan Licht’s Minimal Top Ten List #4

A few weeks ago, near the beginning of the COVID-19 pandemic, my friend Mats Gustafsson sent out a mass email encouraging people to send him record lists to post on the “Discaholics” section of his website--top tens, favorite covers, anything. I immediately thought of the first 3 Minimal Top Ten lists I did (now found online here) back in 1995, 1997, and 2007 respectively, for the fanzine Halana (the first two) and Volcanic Tongue’s website (the third), and sent them to him. Those articles have sort of taken on a life of their own, and I still see them referenced as the albums get reissued and so on. Occasionally people ask me if I’d ever do another one, and looking at all three again made me think now is the hour. I started writing this in the midst of the lockdown, and the drastic reductions in people’s way of life—the restriction of any activity outside the home to the bare essentials, the relative stasis of life in quarantine, even the visual stasis of a Zoom meeting—make revisiting Minimal music, with its aesthetic of working within limitations and hallmarks of repetition and drones, somehow timely as well.

The original lists were never meant to represent “the best” Minimal albums: they were ones that were rare and in some cases surpass, in my opinion, more widely available releases by the same artist and/or better known examples of the genre. Some were records that hadn’t been classified as Minimalist but warranted consideration through that lens. Likewise, the lists aren’t meant to be ranked within themselves, or in comparison to each other; the first record on any of the lists isn’t necessarily vastly preferable to the last, and this fourth list is not the bottom of the barrel, by any stretch. In some cases the present list has records I’ve discovered since 2007; others are records I’ve known for quite a while but haven’t included before for one reason or another. I’ve also made an addendum to selected entries on the first three lists, which have become fairly dated in terms of what is currently available by many of the artists, and to account for some of the significant archival releases in the 25 years since I first compiled them.

Unlike the mid-90s, most if not all of these records can be heard and/or purchased online, whether they’re up on YouTube or available for sale on Discogs. So finding them will be easier than before (although I haven’t included links to any of the titles as a small tribute to the legwork involved in tracking records down in olden tymes), but hopefully the spirit of sharing knowledge and passions that drove my previous efforts, forged in the pre-internet fanzine world, hasn’t been rendered totally redundant by the 24/7 onslaught of virtual note-comparing in social media.

1. Simeon ten Holt Canto Ostinato (various recordings): This was the most significant discovery for me in the last decade, a piece with over one hundred modules to be played on any instrument but mostly realized over the years with two to four pianos. I first encountered a YouTube live video of four pianists tackling it over the course of 90 minutes or so, then bought a double CD on Brilliant Classics from 2005, also for four pianos, that runs about 2 and half hours. The original 3LP recording on Donemus, from 1984, lasts close to 3 hours. It’s addictively listenable, very hypnotic in that pulsed, Steve Reich “Piano Phase”/”Six Pianos” kind of way, with lots of recurring themes (which differentiates it from Terry Riley’s “In C,” its most obvious structural antecedent). Composed over the span of the 70s, as with Roberto Cacciapaglia’s Sei Note in Logica, it’s an  example of someone contemporaneously taking the ball from Reich or Riley and running with it. Every recording I’ve heard has been enjoyable, I’ve yet to pick a favorite.

2. David Borden Music for Amplified Keyboard Instruments (Red Music, 1981) 3. Mother Mallard’s Portable Masterpiece Co. Like a Duck to Water (Earthquack, 1976): These were some of my most cherished Minimal recordings when I was a teenager in the mid-80s, and are still not particularly well-known; they’re probably the biggest omission in the previous lists (at least from my perspective). Borden formed Mother Mallard, supposedly the first all-synthesizer ensemble, as a trio in the late 60s, although there’s electric piano on the records too. He went on to do music under his own name that hinged on the multi-keyboard Minimalism-meets-Renaissance classical concept he first explored with Mother Mallard, as exemplified by his 12-part series “The Continuing Story of Counterpoint” (a title inspired by both Philip Glass’ “Music in Twelve Parts” and the Beatles’ “The Continuing Story of Bungalow Bill”). I first heard Parts 6 & 9 of “Continuing Story” (from Music for Amplified Keyboard Instruments) on Tim Page’s 1980s afternoon radio show on WNYC, and bought the Mother Mallard LPs (Like A Duck is the second, the first is self-titled) from New Music Distribution Service soon after. I mail-ordered the Borden album  from Wayside Music, which had cut-out copies, maybe a year later (c. 1986). I wasn’t much of a synth guy, but I loved the propulsive, rapid-fire counterpoint and fast-changing, lyrical melodies found on these records. “C-A-G-E Part 2,” which occupies side 2 of the Mother Mallard album and utilizes only those pitches, has to be a pinnacle of the Minimal genre. Interestingly, Borden claims to not really be able to “hear” harmony and composes each part of these (generally) three-part inventions individually, all the way through. The two-piano “Continuing Story of Counterpoint Part Two” on the 1985 album Anatidae is also beloved by me, and there was an archival Mother Mallard CD called Music by David Borden (Arbiter, 2003) that’s worth hearing.

4. Charles Curtis/Charles Curtis Trio: Ultra White Violet Light/Sleep (Beau Rivage, 1997): Full disclosure: Charles is a long-time friend, but this record seems forgotten and deserves another look, especially in light of the long-overdue 3CD survey of his performances of other composers’ material that Saltern released last year. This was a double album of four side-long tracks, conceived with the intent that two sides could be played simultaneously, in several different configurations; two of them are Charles solo on cello and sine tones, the others are with a trio and have spoken vocals and rock instrumentation, with cello and the sine tones also thrown into the mix. (I’ve never heard any of the sides combined, although now it would probably be easily achieved with digital mixing software.) The instrumental stuff is the closest you can come to hearing Charles’ beautiful arrangement of Terry Jennings’ legendary “Piece for Cello and Saxophone,” at least until his own recording of it sees the light of day; the same deeply felt cello playing against a sine tone drone. And it would be interesting to see what Slint fans thought of the trio material. Originally packaged in a nifty all-white uni-pak sleeve with a photo print pasted into the gatefold, it was reissued with a different cover on the now-defunct Squealer label on LP and CD but has disappeared since then. Stellar.

5. Arthur Russell Instrumentals 1974 Vol. 2 (Another Side/Crepuscule, 1984) 6. Peter Zummo Zummo with an X (Loris, 1985):  Arthur Russell has posthumously developed a somewhat surprising indie rock audience, mostly for his unique songs and singing as well as his outré disco tracks. But he was also a modern classical composer, with serious Minimal cred—he’s on Jon Gibson’s Songs & Melodies 1973-1977 (see addendum), and played with Henry Flynt and Christer Hennix at one point; his indelible album of vocal and cello sparseness, World of Echo, was partially recorded at Phill Niblock’s loft and of course his Tower of Meaning LP was released on Glass’s Chatham Square label. He’s the one guy in the 70s and 80s (or after, for that matter) who connected the dots between Ali Akbar Khan, the Modern Lovers, Minimalism, and disco as different forms of trance music (taken together, both sides of his disco 12” “In the Light of the Miracle,” which total nearly a half-hour, could arguably be considered one of his Minimalist compositions). Recorded in 1977 & 1978, Instrumentals is an important signpost of the incipient Pop Minimalism impulse, and the first track is a pre-punk precursor to Rhys Chatham and Glenn Branca’s appropriations of the rock band format to pursue Minimal pathways (Chatham is one of the performers in that first piece). The rest, culled from a concert at the Kitchen, features long held tones from horns and strings and is quite graceful, if slightly undercut by Arthur’s own slightly jarring, apparently random edits. [Audika’s 2006 reissue, as part of the double CD First Thought Best Thought, includes a 1975 concert that was slated to be Instrumentals Vol. 1, which shows an even more specific pop/rock/Minimal intersection]. Zummo was a long-term collaborator of Russell’s and his album, which Arthur plays on, is a must for Russell aficionados. The first side is made up of short, plain pieces that repeat various simple intervals and are fairly hard-core Minimalism, but “Song IV,” which occupies all of side two, is like an extended, jammy take on Russell’s disco 12” “Treehouse” and has Bill Ruyle on bongos, who also played on Instrumentals as well as with Steve Reich and Jon Gibson. A recently unearthed concert at Roulette from 1985 is a further, and especially intriguing, example of Russell’s blending of Minimalism and song form. (That same year Arthur played on Elodie Lauten’s The Death of Don Juan--another record I first encountered via Tim Page’s radio show--which I included on Top Ten #3; Lauten as well as Zummo played on the Russell Roulette concert, as their website alleges).

7. Horacio Vaggione La Maquina de Cantar (Cramps, 1978): Another one-off from the late 70s, and yet more evidence of how Minimalism had really caught on as a trend among European composers of the time. Vaggione had a previous duo album with Eduardo Polonio under the name It called Viaje that was noisier electronics, and he went on to do computer music that was likewise more traditionally abstract. But on this sole effort for the Italian label Cramps, as part of their legendary Nova Musicha series, he went for full-on tonality. The title track is like the synth part of “Who Are You” extended for more than fifteen minutes and made a bit squishier; but side 2, “Ending”--already mentioned in the entry on David Rosenboom’s Brainwave Music in Top Ten #3--is my favorite. Kind of a bridge between Minimalism and prog, and a little reminiscent of David Borden’s multiple-synth counterpoint pieces, for the first ten minutes he lingers on one vaguely foreboding arpeggiated chord, then introduces a fanfare melody that repeats and builds in harmonies and countermelodies for the remainder of the piece. Great stuff, as Johnny Carson used to say.

8. Costin Miereanu Derives (Poly-Art, 1984): Miereanu is French composer coming out of musique concrete. Unlike some of the albums on these lists, both sides/pieces on Derives are superb, comprised of long drones with flurries of skittering electronic activity popping up here and there. Also notable is the presence of engineers Philip Besomes and Jean-Louis Rizet, responsible for Pôle, the great mid-70s prog double album that formed the basis of Graham Lambkin’s meta-meisterwork Amateur Doubles. I discovered this record via the old Continuo blog; Miereanu has lots of albums out, most of which I haven’t heard, but his 1975 debut Luna Cinese, another Cramps Nova Musicha item, is also estimable, although less Minimal.

9. Mikel Rouse Broken Consort Jade Tiger (Les Disques du Crepuscule, 1984): Rouse was a major New Music name in the 80s, as was Microscopic Septet saxist Philip Johnston, who plays here. Dominated by Reichian repeated fills that accentuate the odd time signatures as opposed to an underlying pulse, this will sound very familiar to anyone acquainted with Nik Bärtsch’s Ronin albums on ECM, which use the same general idea but brand it “zen funk” and cater more to the progressive jazz crowd rather than New Music fans, if we can be that anachronistic in our terminology. Jade Tiger also contrasts nicely with Wim Mertens’ more neo-Romantic contemporaneous excursions on Crepuscule. Rouse later performed the admirable (and daunting) task of cataloging Arthur Russell’s extensive tape archive for the preparation of Another Thought (Point Music, 1994)

10. Michael Nyman Decay Music (Obscure, 1976): Known for his soundtracks to Peter Greenaway films, and his still-peerless 1974 book Experimental Music: Cage and Beyond (where I, Jim O’Rourke, and doubtless many other intrepid teenage library goers learned of the Minimalists, Fluxus, AMM, and lots of other eternal avant heroes), Nyman is sometimes credited with coining the term “Minimal music” as well, in an early 70s article in The Spectator. Decay Music was produced by Brian Eno for his short-lived but wonderful Obscure label. The first side, “1-100,” was also composed for a Greenaway film, and has one hundred chords played one after another on piano, each advancing to the next once the sound has decayed from the previous chord (hence the album title). For all its delicacy and silences, you’re actually hearing three renditions superimposed on one another, which occasionally makes for some charming chordal collisions (reminiscent of the cheerfully clumsy, subversive “variations” of Pachelbel’s “Canon in D major” on Eno’s own Discreet Music, the most celebrated Obscure release). This is process music at its most fragile and incandescent. In hindsight it may have also been an unconscious influence on the structure of my piece “A New York Minute,” which lines up a month’s worth of weather reports from news radio, edited so that one day’s forecast follows its prediction from the previous day. I’ve never found the album’s other piece, “Bell Set No. 1,” to be quite as compelling, and Nyman’s other soundtrack work doesn’t hold much interest for me, but I’ve often returned to this album.

11. J Dilla Donuts (Stones Throw, 2006): One more for the road. Rightfully acclaimed as a masterpiece of instrumental hip hop, I have to confess I only discovered Donuts while reading Questlove’s 2013 book Mo’ Meta Blues, where he compared it to Terry Riley. The brevity of the tracks (31of ‘em in 44 minutes) and the lack of single-mindedness make categorizing Donuts as a Minimal album a bit of a stretch, but Questlove’s namecheck makes a whole lot of sense if you play “Don’t Cry” back to back with Riley’s proto-Plunderphonic “You’re Nogood,” and “Glazed” is the only hip hop track to ever remind me of Philip Glass. Plus the infinite-loop sequencing of the opening “Outro” and concluding “Intro” make this a statement of Eternal Music that outstrips La Monte Young and leaves any locked groove release in the proverbial dust. There isn’t the space here to really explore how extended mixes, all night disco DJ sets, etc. could be encountered in alignment with Minimalism, although I would steer the curious towards Pete Rock’s Petestrumentals (BBE, 2001), Larry Levan’s Live at the Paradise Garage (Strut, 2000), and, at the risk of being immodest, my own “The Old Victrola” from Plays Well (Crank Automotive, 2001). On a (somewhat) related note I’d also point out Rupie Edwards’ Ire Feelings Chapter and Version (Trojan, 1990) which collects 16 of the producer/performer’s 70s dub reggae tracks, all built from the exact same same rhythm track--mesmerizing, even by dub’s trippy standards. 

Addendum:

Tony Conrad: “Maybe someday Tony’s blistering late 80s piece ‘Early Minimalism’ will be released, or his fabulous harmonium soundtrack to Piero Heliczer’s early 60s film The New Jerusalem.” That was the last line of my entry on Tony’s Outside the Dream Syndicate in the first Top Ten list in 1995, and sure enough, Table of the Elements issued “Early Minimalism” as a monumental CD box set in 1997 and released that soundtrack as Joan of Arc in 2006 (it’s the same film; I saw it screened c. 1990 under the name The New Jerusalem but it’s more commonly known as Joan of Arc).  Tony releases proliferated in the last twenty years of his life, which was heartening to see; I’d particularly single out Ten Years Alive on the Infinite Plain (Superior Viaduct, 2017), which rescues a 1972 live recording of what is essentially a prototype for Outside played by Tony, Rhys Chatham, and Laurie Spiegel (Rhys has mentioned his initial disgruntlement upon hearing Outside, as it was the same piece that he had played with Tony, i.e. “Ten Years Alive,” but he found himself and Laurie replaced by Faust!) and an obscure compilation track, “DAGADAG for La Monte” (on Avanto 2006, Avanto, 2006), where he plays the pitches d, a, and g on violin, loops them over and over , and continually re-harmonizes them electronically--really one of his best pieces.

Terry Riley: The archival Riley CDs that Cortical Foundation issued in the 90s and early 00s don’t seem to be in print, but I feel they eclipse Reed Streams (reissued by Cortical as part of that series) and are crucial for fans of his early work, especially the live Poppy Nogood’s Phantom Band All Night Flight Vol. 1, an important variant on the studio take, and You’re Nogood (see Dilla entry above). These days I would also recommend Descending Moonshine Dervishes (Kuckuck, 1982/recorded 1975) over  Persian Surgery Dervishes (Shandar, 1975), which I mentioned in the original entry on Reed Streams in the first Top Ten; a lot of the harmonic material in Descending can also be heard in Terry’s dream-team 1975 meeting with Don Cherry in Köln, which has been bootlegged several times in the last few years. Finally, Steffen Schleiermacher recorded the elusive “Keyboard Study #1” (as well as “#2,” which had already seen release in a version by Germ on the BYG label and as “Untitled Organ” on Reed Streams), albeit on a programmed electronic keyboard, on the CD Keyboard Studies (MDG, 2002). As you might expect it’s a little synthetic-sounding, but it also has a weird kinetic edge (imagine the “Baba O’Riley” intro being played on a Conlon Nancarrow player piano) that’s lacking in later acoustic piano renditions recorded by Gregor Schwellenbach and Fabrizio Ottaviucci. But any of these versions is rewarding for those interested in Riley’s early output.

Henry Flynt, Charlemagne Palestine: A few of the artists on that first Top Ten list went from being sorely under-documented to having a plethora of material on the market, and Henry and Charlemagne are at the top of the heap. I stand by You Are My Everlovin, finally reissued on CD by Recorded in 2001, as Henry’s peak achievement, but I’m also partial to “Glissando,” a tense, feverish raga drone from 1979 that Recorded put out on the Glissando No. 1 CD in 2011. Charlemagne’s Four Manifestations On Six Elements double album still holds up well, as does an album of material initially recorded for it, Arpeggiated Bösendorfer and Falsetto Voice (Algha Marghen, 2017). The Strumming Music LP on Shandar is a definitive performance, and best heard as an unbroken piece on the New Tone CD reissue from 1995. Godbear (CD on Barooni, vinyl on Black Truffle), originally recorded for Glenn Branca’s Neutral label (which had also scheduled a Phill Niblock release before going belly-up), has 1987 takes of “Strumming Music” and two other massive pieces that date from the late 70s, “Timbral Assault” and “The Lower Depths”; Algha Marghen released a vintage full-length concert of the latter as a triple CD.

Steve Reich: Not a particularly rare record, but his “Variations on Winds, Strings and Keyboards,” a 1979 piece for orchestra on a 1984 LP issued by Phillips (paired with an orchestral arrangement of John Adams’ “Shaker Loops”), is often overlooked among the works from his “golden era” and I’d frankly rate it as his best orchestral piece.

Phill Niblock, Eliane Radigue: As with Henry and Charlemagne, after a slow start as “recording artists” loads of CDs by these two have appeared over the last twenty years. Phill and Eliane’s music was never best served by the vinyl format anyway—you won’t find a lackluster release by either composer, go to it.

Jon Gibson: I called “Cycles,” from Gibson’s Two Solo Pieces, “one of the ultimate organ drones on record” in the first Top Ten list, and it remains so, but Phill Niblock’s”Unmounted/Muted Noun” from 2019′s Music for Organ ought to sit right beside it. Meanwhile, Superior Viaduct’s recent Gibson double album Songs & Melodies 1973-1977 collects some great pieces from the same era as Two Solo Pieces, with players including Arthur Russell, Peter Zummo, Barbara Benary, and Julius Eastman. 

John Stevens: In Top Ten #2 I mentioned John Stevens’ presence on the first side of John Lennon & Yoko Ono’s Life With the Lions; the Stevens-led Spontaneous Music Orchestra’s For You To Share (1973) documents his performance pieces “Sustained Piece” and “If You Want to See A Vision,” where musicians and vocalists sustain tones until they run out of breath and then begin again, which result in a highly meditative and organic drone/sound environment. In my early 00′s Digger Choir performances at Issue Project Room  we did “Sustained Piece,” and Stevens’ work was a big influence on conceptualizing those concerts, where the only performers were the audience themselves. The CD reissue on Emanem from 1998 added “Peace Music,” an unreleased studio half-hour studio cut with a similar Gagaku--meets--free/modal jazz vibe. I also mentioned “Sustained Piece” in my liner notes to Natural Information Society’s Mandatory Reality too, if that helps as a point of reference.

Anthony Moore: Back in ’97 I wondered “How and why Polydor was convinced to release these albums [Pieces from the Cloudland Ballroom and Scenes from the Blue Bag] is beyond me (anyone know the story)?” That mystery was ultimately solved by Benjamin Piekut in his fascinating-even-if-you-never-listen-to-these-guys book Henry Cow: The World is A Problem (Duke University Press, 2019)—it turns out it was all Deutsche Gramophone’s idea!

Terry Jennings, Maryanne Amacher, Julius Eastman--“Three Great Minimalists With No Commercially Available Recordings” (sidebar from Minimal Top Ten list #2): Happily this no longer applies to these three, although Terry and Maryanne are still under-represented. One archival recording of Jennings and Charlotte Moorman playing a short version of “Piece for Cello and Saxophone” appeared on Moorman’s 2006 Cello Anthology CD box set on Alga Marghen, and he’s on “Terry’s Cha Cha” on that 2004 John Cale New York in the 60s Table of the Elements box too. John Tilbury recorded five of his piano pieces on Lost Daylight (Another Timbre, 2010) and Charles Curtis’ version of “Song” appears on the aforementioned Performances and Recordings 1998-2018 triple CD.

Whether or not Maryanne should really be considered a Minimalist (or a sound artist, for that matter) is, I guess, debatable, but I primarily see her as the unqualified genius of the generation of composers who emerged in the post-Cage era, and the classifications ultimately don’t matter—remember she was on those Swarm of Drones/ Throne of Drones/ Storm of Drones ambient techno comps in the 90s, and I’d call her music Gothic Industrial if it would get more people to check it out (and that might be fun to try, come to think of it). She made a belated debut with the release of the Sound Characters CD on Tzadik in 1998, an event I found significant enough to warrant pitching an interview with her to the WIRE, who agreed—it was my first piece for them. Her music was/is best experienced live (the Amacher concert I saw at the Performing Garage in 1993 is still, almost three decades later, the greatest concert I’ve ever witnessed) but that Tzadik CD is reasonably representative, and there was a sequel CD on Tzadik in 2008. More recently Blank Forms issued a live recording of her two-piano piece “Petra” (a concert I also attended, realizing when I got there that it was in the same Chelsea church where Connie Burg, Melissa Weaver and I recorded with Keiji Haino for the Gerry Miles with Keiji Haino CD).  While it’s somewhat anomalous in Amacher’s canon, making a piece for acoustic instruments available for home consumption would doubtless have been more palatable to the composer herself, who rightly felt that CDs and LPs didn’t do justice to the extraordinary psychoacoustic phenomena intrinsic to her electronic music. “Petra” is more reminiscent of Morton Feldman than anything else, with a few passages that could be deemed “minimal.” Some joker posted a 26-minute, ancient lo-fi “bootleg” (their term) recording of her “Living Sound, Patent Pending” piece from her Music for Sound-Joined Rooms installation/performance series on SoundCloud, which is a little like looking at a Xerox of a Xerox of a photo of the Taj Mahal; but you can still visit the Taj Mahal more easily than hearing this or any of Maryanne’s work in concert or in situ, so sadly, it’s better than nothing (and longer than the 7 minute edit of the piece on the Ohm: Early Gurus of Electronic Music CD from 2000).

A few years after Top Ten #2 I was on the phone with an acquaintance at New World Records, who told me he was listening to a Julius Eastman tape that they were releasing as part of a 3CD set. Say what?!?!? Unjust Malaise appeared shortly thereafter and was a revelation. Arnold Dreyblatt had sent me a live tape some time before then of an Eastman piece labeled “Gangrila”—that turned out to be “Gay Guerrilla,” and is surely one of my five favorite pieces of music in existence (the tape Arnold sent was from the 1980 Kitchen European tour and I consider it to be a more moving performance than the Chicago concert that appears on the CD, although it’s an inferior recording). The other multiple piano pieces on Unjust Malaise more than lived up to the descriptions of Eastman performances that I’d read. The somewhat berserk piano concert I mentioned in that entry seems similar to another live tape issued as The Zurich Concert (New World, 2017), and “Femenine,” a piece performed by the S.E.M. Ensemble, came out on Frozen Reeds in 2016. Eastman’s rediscovery is among the most vital and gratifying developments of recent music history--kudos must be given to Mary Jane Leach, herself a Minimalist composer, for diligently and doggedly tracking down Eastman’s recordings and archival materials and bringing them to the light of day.

The Lost Jockey—I was unaware of any releases by this group besides their Crepuscule LP until I stumbled onto a self-titled cassette from 1983 on YouTube. Like the album, the highlight is a piece by Orlando Gaugh--an all-time great Philip Glass rip-off, “Buzz Buzz Buzz Went the Honeybee,” which has the amusing added bonus of having the singers intoning the rather bizarre title phrase as opposed to Glassian solfège. Also like the album, he rest of the cassette is so-so Pop Minimalism.

Earth: Dylan Carlson keeps on keepin’ on, and while I can’t say I’ve kept up with him every step of the way, usually when I check in I’m glad I did. However I’d like to take this opportunity to humbly disavow the snarky comments about Sunn 0))) I made in this entry in Top Ten list #3. Those were a reflection of my general aversion to hype, which was surrounding them at the time, and of seeing two shows that in retrospect were unrepresentative (I was thunderstruck by a later show I saw in Mexico City in 2009). Stephen O’Malley has proven to be as genuinely curious, dedicated and passionate about drone and other experimental music as they come, and the reissue of the mind-blowing Sacred Flute Music from New Guinea on his Ideologic Organ label is a good reminder of how rooted Minimalism is in ethnic music, and how almost interchangeable certain examples of both can be. 

And while we’re in revisionist mode, let’s go full circle all the way back to the very first sentence of the introduction to the first Minimal Top Ten: “I know what you’re thinking: ECM Records, New Age, Eno ambients, NPR, Tangerine Dream. Well forget all that shit.” Hey, that stuff’s not so bad! I was probably directing that more at the experimental-phobic indie rock folks I encountered at the time, and expressing a lingering resentment towards the genre-confusion of the 80s (i.e. having dig through a bunch of Kitaro records in the New Age bins in hopes of finding Reich, Riley, or Glass; even Loren Mazzacane got tagged New Age once in a while back then, believe it or not), which probably hindered my own discovery of Minimalism. What can I say, I’m over it!

Copyright © 2020 Alan Licht. All rights reserved. Do not repost without permission.

#minimalism #minimal top ten #simeon ten holt #david borden #mothermallard #charles curtis #arthur russell #Peter zummo #horacio vaggione #costin miereanu #Mikel rouse #michael nyman #tony conrad #terry riley #henry flynt #charlemagne palestine #steve reich #phill niblock #eliane radigue #anthony moore #terry jennings #maryanne amacher #julius eastman #the lost jockey #dylan carlson #j dilla #pete rock #questlove #larry levan #donna summer

[floralseokjin]

⤑ made-up love song viii.

Your first encounter with Kim Seokjin doesn’t go so well, nor your second, or your third… and maybe that’s because it shouldn’t work on paper. You’re an elementary school teacher, never left the country despite hitting the third decade of your life not so long ago, and you’re unable to remember the last time you dated. He’s the dad of one of your students, nearly a decade older than you and divorced. Oh yes, and just another minor detail – he’s a multimillionaire. 

Your lives are lightyears apart, yet somehow, your paths having now crossed, things just seem to fall into place…

pairing; kim seokjin x reader   au/genre/warnings; strangers to lovers, romance, single dad! seokjin, ceo! seokjin, elementary school teacher! oc, age gap (oc is 30, seokjin is 37), seokjin is a dilf, angst, just straight up angst and drama, arguments, both seokjin and nana are frustrated, both have reasons to feel hurt, both make mistakes  words; 5,122

↪︎ chapter index

chapters; i • ii • iii  • iv • v • vi • vii • viii • ix • x • epilogue (+ drabbles)

You looked at Nana, chest a little tight, something heavy in your stomach. When your eyes locked the corners of her mouth curled upwards. “The stepmom!” She sneered. 

Your face fell, confused at first, as you attempted to make sense of her words, of her anger. You didn’t understand what was going on, but unable to stop yourself, irritation began creeping its way up your body, heat prickling your face. Confrontation made you uncomfortable, but under appropriate triggers, you often saw red. You opened your mouth, ready to say something – you didn’t quite know what – but then your gaze fell to Arin. Still clutching her mom’s hand. Her eyes were on you now, still wide and brimming with tears. She looked frightened. You came to your senses. 

There was no good getting angry. Especially in front of a child. By your side, Seokjin straightened his back, letting go of your hand to step in front of you slightly. You appreciated the thought, but you didn’t really need protecting. You could look after yourself.  

“Stop embarrassing yourself, Nana.” 

Caught off guard for the second time in under five minutes, the tone of Seokjin’s voice threw you for a loop. The venom you heard unnerved you, a sick feeling twisting your gut. You’d heard him stressed, you’d heard him tense, you’d even heard him stern a few times on the phone, but you’d never heard his voice filled with such bite like this. 

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Nana spat back, her long hair flipping around as she raised her hand to point at him. “Not when you’ve been playing house with your daughter’s teacher, letting my daughter call her stepmom.” 

Seokjin chuckled, the sound humourless. He shook his head, practically laughing in her face. “I don’t know where you’ve heard that from because it’s not true.” The look on Nana’s face told you she didn’t believe a word he said.  

Seokjin bent down, attention on Arin. He held his hand out, wanting her to take it. “Arin, come here,” he asked, voice gentle, nothing like how he’d spoken to her mother. She let go of Nana’s hand and slowly made her way over. He immediately wrapped his arms around her middle. “Tell daddy where you got that word from.” She still looked afraid, hesitating as she opened her mouth. “Don’t worry, I’m not mad at you,” he reassured, stroking her hair. 

“Mommy is.” Arin’s voice shook, one lone tear falling down her cheek. It broke your heart. 

“Mommy isn’t mad at you.” Seokjin’s voice was a murmur, but as he looked up at his ex-wife he had to try his best to sound composed. “Right?” 

Nana stared at him for a moment, her dark eyes piercing through him almost, but he didn’t flinch. Her gaze fell to the back of her daughter’s head, immediately softening, the regret obvious on her face. “No, darling, mommy isn’t mad at you. I’d never be mad at you.” 

Her words comforted Arin, and she looked up at her father, small voice still trembling with emotion as she explained. “Suzie told me that’s what Y/N is because she’s your girlfriend. She has one too.”

Seokjin exhaled slowly. “So, you heard it from your friend?” Arin nodded, and he quickly embraced her, rubbing her back as he soothed her. “That’s okay. No need to be upset.” You heard her sniff into his shoulder, but Seokjin’s attention was already on Nana again. 

“Happy now?” He shot, not giving her any time to reply. “Now get out of my house.” 

“Excuse me?” Her nostrils flared. 

“You heard me. Get the hell out of my house!” 

“Seokjin,” you breathed, reaching for his shoulder. He needed to remember everything he was saying was being heard by his daughter. He might be mad right now but he needed to think of Arin. 

As if Nana realised too, she took control. “Arin, go upstairs to your room and let me talk with your father.” 

Seokjin’s eyes flashed in anger. “Don’t tell her what to do in my home.” Nana scoffed, but Seokjin’s attention was back on Arin. He cupped her face in his hands.

“Sweetie, why don’t you go and play upstairs for a little while, okay? Daddy will come and check on you soon.” She nodded slowly, her tears dried. At least that was a positive. He kissed her cheek and stood up, encouraging her to make her way out of the room and upstairs with a nod. As she passed by you, you gave her a small smile. She returned it. You thought someone should at least accompany her to her room, but you thought best not to suggest it. It wasn’t your place. 

There was silence, a few moments as they waited for Arin to be safely out of earshot. Your heart drummed against your ribcage, still feeling nauseous. This wasn’t over just yet. Nana had no intentions of leaving. 

“Hypocrite,” she scoffed under her breath. 

“What did you say?” Glancing over at Seokjin, you saw his jaw was clenched, his gaze hard, unwavering as he stared at her. 

“I called you a hypocrite.” She sounded unbothered, eyes finding yours. “You don’t know him at all, sadly. You’ll soon find out how miserable he is. How frustrating it is when he always has to right. Mr. Perfect, aren’t you, Jin?” She was trying to rile him up, get a reaction. “Could never do anything wrong.” 

The way she called him Jin made you feel funny. It was so…personal. It had never crossed your mind to use the shortened version of his name. It had always been Seokjin for you. 

“Nice try,” he gave a hollow laugh. “Say what you want, we don’t care.” 

That much was true. Nana’s words wouldn’t make you doubt anything. Your relationship with Seokjin was solid. His relationship with Nana was nothing similar. 

“So when were you planning on telling me?”

Just like that you felt your heart drop, turning to look at Seokjin on instinct. You must have understood wrong. Nana knew about you, right? He’d told her about you, surely? 

“Did you just think you could pretend I didn’t exist?” Seokjin stayed silent, only infuriating Nana even more. “Answer me! How long has it been going on for?” 

“It’s none of your business!” He exploded causing you to jump. You had never once heard him raise his voice. His face was red, his blood pressure soaring. 

“None of my business?!” She cried, laughing in disbelief. His shouting did nothing to deter her. They were used to arguing, you guessed. “It is when my daughter is concerned.” 

It was Seokjin’s turn to scoff. “Oh, so now you care? You’re a joke.” 

Nana’s expression faltered. It took a moment for her to compose herself. “What is that supposed to mean?” Her tone was icy. 

Seokjin didn’t give her an answer. “I don’t owe you anything, Nana. You’re nothing to me anymore.” 

“I’m the mother of your daughter!” She was enraged, her eyes wide as she glowered. “You shouldn’t have kept this from me. I had no clue, Jin!” His indifference infuriated her even more. “Not one! Did you tell Arin to keep quiet?”

That had him biting, face scrunching up at her ludicrous claim. “Of course I didn’t.” 

“Then why,” she demanded, “why was I so oblivious?!” 

“Do I come up in conversation much? Maybe there’s your answer.” Seokjin shrugged. “When was the last time we were in the same room together?”

“Don’t! No, Jin, don’t use that as an excuse.” Nana’s voice wavered, words dotted with an emotion you hadn’t heard yet. 

You felt a pang of guilt. You’d been so oblivious too. Hadn’t realised she had no clue of your existence. You understood her frustrations. It was difficult not to. Seokjin was adamant though. Ruled by his emotions. He couldn’t see his fault. 

“You let our daughter stay with a stranger last weekend!”

But that hurt. 

You weren’t a stranger. You had known Arin for months. You adored that little girl and she liked having you around. You weren’t just anyone. Desperately, you tried to keep it together. Logically yes, you were a stranger to Nana. She had a right to be mad. You knew that. 

Although Seokjin didn’t see it that way, defending you angrily. “Y/N is not a stranger!” 

“To me she is!” Nana shouted. “I didn’t have a clue. What if something had happened to Arin?”

You wanted to say something. To tell her you understood her reservations. Maybe you even wanted to stick up for yourself, but you couldn’t find the words. Guilt was eating you up. 

“Just shut your mouth,” Seokjin hissed. His defensiveness made you nervous. “You don’t care. If you did you would have dropped everything and said yes when I called you.” 

“I was working.” Nana ran a hand through her hair, face patched red. “You think I didn’t want to say yes? I thought you’d just cancel or ask your parents to help out.” Then her eyes fell on you, that familiar sneer on her face. “Instead, you asked her.” 

Taken aback, you opened your mouth, words rushing out. “I’m really sorry you had to find out about our relationship this way, I… I thought–”

“I don’t want to hear it, stepmom.” 

Your cheeks flushed, anger bubbling at her dismissal. She wasn’t even going to hear what you had to say? “I’ve never referred to myself as Arin’s stepmother.” 

She raised a perfectly plucked eyebrow. “And what if I don’t believe you?” 

Before you could defend yourself Seokjin flew in, in front of you once more. You felt fresh anger, but everything was moving so fast you didn’t know how to place it. “Don’t speak to her like that. God, you’re such a condescending bitch.” 

“And you’re a smug, arrogant bastard.” She shot right back immediately. 

Seokjin scoffed. “Don’t try to deflect. You’ve just heard Arin say she learned that word from a friend. Do you think I’d force my own daughter to lie?” 

Nana stared at him, her breathing laboured with anger. Her eyes flicked to you and then back at Seokjin quickly, a devious smirk spreading across her face. “She’s younger, Seokjin. Having a midlife crisis?” 

Seokjin exhaled slowly, his voice calm as he replied, lips twitching up in amusement. “Your goading won’t work.” 

Although she still tried. “What would Arin’s school think? Knowing you’re fucking your daughter’s teacher.” 

You didn’t take kindly to threats, no matter the situation. Straightening your back you spoke clearly, voice raised a little. “I’m not her teacher anymore and the school already knows.”  

“There’s nothing you can do, Nana,” Seokjin sighed softly, taking your hand. It didn’t feel as comforting as it usually did. “So just let me be happy. It’s the least you can do.” 

That did it. Nana saw red instantly. “Oh, quit playing the victim!” She exclaimed, laughing at his seeming absurdity. You prayed Arin couldn’t hear all the commotion. The house was large enough, the walls thick enough, but who really knew. “Am I not allowed to be mad? You’ve kept this relationship,” she mocked, eyeing your laced fingers, “a secret this entire time. You’ve been playing happy families with my daughter.” There was a beat of silence. “I’m Arin’s mother.” 

“Yes, but that’s all you are.” 

A noise fell from Nana’s mouth. “I know, I know, you hate me. You’ve made that abundantly clear over the years.” 

“I don’t hate you, Nana.” With a sigh, Seokjin let go of your hand, rubbing his temples. “That would imply I still care. I don’t. I stopped caring a long time ago.” 

Nana rolled her eyes. “This again.” You on the other hand were lost. 

Seokjin’s eyes locked on hers, gaze steady, just like his words that seemed to knock you for six. “I stopped caring the moment I found you in bed with another man.”

You probably couldn’t hide the shock from your face, mind reeling, but they didn’t seem to notice. You were barely concentrating on what they were saying anymore. 

“Shut up.” Nana shot, provoking him further. “You never cared, Jin. Never. I did you a favour when I fucked Jaehyun. It gave you the perfect excuse to leave because you were too much of a coward to do it otherwise.” 

“Whatever helps you sleep at night” Seokjin scoffed quietly, but you could tell by his face he was visibly irritated. Maybe. He felt like a stranger right now. “Believe what you want.” 

“I will because it’s a fact.” 

Seokjin’s chest heaved with anger, breathing heavily as he failed to keep calm. “I didn’t leave sooner because I wanted Arin to be happy!” His voice broke with emotion. “I wanted to stay together for Arin’s sake.” 

“And look how bitter that made you.” Nana laughed, her eyes quickly finding yours again, remembering you existed. “Are you taking notes?” She folded her arms across her chest. “This is what will happen. He’ll promise you the world and then a few years later hate your guts.” 

You looked at the floor, unable to rebuff her claims even if you wanted to. Your thoughts slipped to last night, out on the deck… The way Seokjin had held you, gazed at you, the words he’d said... I want to give you the world. It was silly to let Nana’s words sting, but they did, nevertheless. Last night felt like a lifetime ago.

You felt a strong arm embrace you, wrapping around your shoulders as Seokjin held you to him. It did little to comfort you. Your head was whirring, thoughts swarming you. “Y/N is nothing like you, so don’t.” He warned, glaring across at Nana. “Don’t you dare try to compare our relationship to the one I had with you.” 

Nana laughed loudly, her face contorting as she yelled. “What am I like then, Jin? Go on! Tell me! I’m so fucking curious!” 

“You’re a cold, heartless cow who can’t even be bothered to be a mother to her own daughter!” His words flew out as if they’d been impatiently waiting for the opportunity. 

“Seokjin!” You exclaimed in shock, spinning your head to look at him. He was letting his emotions rule his head, so much so, he didn’t even bat an eyelid at your voice, continuing his tirade. 

His arm let you go as he stepped closer to his ex-wife. “Do you know why Arin probably felt so comfortable calling Y/N her stepmom?” It was a question not meant to be answered. “It’s because she’s been there for her these past few months. Where have you been, huh? She’s so used to you cancelling plans that she always expects the worse.” 

You were gobsmacked, unsure what had just left his mouth as you tried to make sense of his words. He couldn’t be comparing you both. He couldn’t be using you to hurt Nana. Right? 

“That’s not fair, I haven’t cancelled in weeks.” Nana’s voice was quiet, a far cry from her earlier volume, and you took a glance, noticing that her wide eyes were shining in the sunlight that streamed through the window. She seemed smaller now, less imposing. 

“Bravo,” Seokjin spat, beginning to slowly clap his hands. “What do you want, a round of applause?” 

“I can’t help it I’m busy with work. That’s why we agreed she’d live with you.” Nana sounded clearly upset now, Seokjin’s words striking a nerve. You couldn’t help but feel bad for her. 

“And I’m not busy?!” Seokjin wasn’t done. “Your excuses don’t work on me. They never have.” 

“I love my daughter. Don’t you dare try to insinuate otherwise.” 

Seokjin wasn’t listening. “You came here just to create a scene. You didn’t think about Arin at all, did you? You made her give you all the details just to twist the knife in. That’s all you care about. You can’t handle the thought of me being happy because you’re so goddamn miserable!” 

“Just come out and say it, Jin!” She shouted, arms out. “You think I’m a terrible mother.” 

With a casual shrug of his shoulders, he replied, “I never said that, but if the shoe fits.” 

The silence that followed was deafening. You could feel your pulse pounding in your ears, a sick feeling turning your stomach. You didn’t want to be here anymore. You didn’t want to be involved in this shouting match. You didn’t want to see your boyfriend this angry, you didn’t want to hear him speak like this. 

Eventually, Nana’s voice pierced through the silence. It wavered but she kept her cool, head held up high. “Well, thank you, Jin. Thank you so much for finally telling me how you feel. How very brave of you. Finally.” 

You watched as she straightened her jacket and smoothed down her hair, and then she took a step forward. She was heading for the door. 

“That’s it?” Seokjin scoffed, his voice hoarse. “You’re leaving without saying goodbye to your daughter?”

Nana didn’t reply, she didn��t even look at him, just carried on walking out of the room. You heard her heels against the tiles of the hallway, steps retreating. 

“You really have no shame!” He called after her as you both heard the front door open, and then it clicked shut. “Fuck!” 

You jumped at the sudden raise of tone, watching him kick the footrest beside the chair across the room in temper. He had his back to you, his shoulders shuddering with his heavy breathing. You swallowed, feeling your throat dry but you couldn’t say anything. This was all new to you. This side of your relationship, this side of Seokjin. Actually, this whole situation was unlike anything you’d been involved in before. You’d had your fair share of relationship drama in the past, that was a given, but this… You were in over your head. This wasn’t about you. This was a situation involving Seokjin and Nana. You didn’t know what to say or do to make it better. In all honesty, you didn’t even want to try. 

“Daddy?” 

The tiny voice from behind startled you both, and you whipped your head around to see Arin in the doorway. Her eyes were pulled wide, worried and confused. It made your heart hurt. A small part of you couldn’t help but feel to blame. 

“Did mommy leave?” She asked, her gaze on her father, who was staring blankly ahead. 

“Yes, she did,” was all he said, stunning you in the process. 

“Seokjin, you can’t just say it like that!” You exclaimed, looking at him properly for the first time. Arin had walked into the room by now, hovering by your side, a hand to her mouth as she flicked her thumbnail over her teeth nervously.   

Seokjin’s eyes met yours, refocusing before something flickered inside of them – realisation. He looked down at his daughter, voice softening instantly. “She had to go home, Arin. Something came up.” 

You could tell by her face she didn’t quite believe him. She was a bright kid, not that you thought Seokjin was undermining her intelligence, but she knew something was wrong and you didn’t think it was fair to just gloss over the issue. 

“Why don’t you watch some cartoons?” He suggested, guiding her to the sofa. “I’ll make you something to drink. What would you like?” 

She gave him a small smile as he passed her the remote control. “Hot chocolate, please.” 

The tiniest of smiles lifted the corners of his mouth too. “Okay, one hot chocolate coming right up.” He turned to you, a hand brushing yours for a brief second, voice low as he asked you a question. “Can you stay with her?”

Your nod was barely there, and you watched him walk out, heading for the kitchen. After a moment’s delay, you joined Arin on the sofa, attention on the television, watching the cartoon characters bounce around the screen, but you were in a world of your own. Arin’s voice’s tore you from it, her question rattling you. 

“Why did she go?” 

“I don’t know.” You hated yourself for lying to her but it wasn’t your place to explain. Especially not now given the circumstances. Your thoughts were captured once more. Nana had been clueless to your existence this whole time. Had you been a fool to assume otherwise? 

“Did they argue?” 

Your eyes fell to Arin’s, wanting to embrace her but thought better of it. You’d have to reassure her another way. With words. If you could. “It’s nothing to worry about, okay?” You smiled, the action stiff. “They’re just a bit angry at one another.” 

“Because of me?”

Her question broke your heart. You shook your head hastily. “Of course not.” 

She didn’t respond, turning back to the TV. She didn’t seem visibly upset, nothing like earlier, but maybe this was worse. She seemed despondent, quiet. You were reminded of when you were a kid, hearing your parents argue nonstop before their divorce. At times you used to feel at fault too. 

“I’m sorry I called you my stepmom, I didn’t know it was wrong.” As she spoke she kept staring at the television, voice quiet. 

“Arin, it’s okay, sweetie,” you told her, this time unable to stop yourself from wrapping an arm around her shoulders. You wanted to comfort her. She needed comforting. “You’ve done nothing wrong at all.” 

You knew what children were like together. The conversation she’d had with her friend had been innocent. She’d had no clue what the weight of such a word could mean, or even do. None of this was her fault. 

You held her for a while, getting consoled yourself almost as well, but time was passing and Seokjin hadn’t come back with her hot chocolate. You glanced at the clock on the wall, he’d been gone fifteen minutes. “I’m going to check on daddy,” you said, pulling away gently. “To see what he’s done with your hot chocolate.” You tried to joke around but your laugh sounded forced. Arin nodded, giving you a tiny smile as you stood up. “I’ll be back soon, okay?” 

You found him in the kitchen, leaning against one of the counters as he held a glass of whiskey in his hand. Arin’s drink wasn’t even half made. Irritation flooded your senses for a moment. You got that he was upset, angry, maybe even a little dazed by the situation, but he still needed to pull himself together and be there for his daughter. Drinking at two o’clock in the afternoon was unacceptable. 

However when he saw you, his expression softened into worry, concern colouring his tone as he asked, “Is she okay?”

You swallowed down your frustration, but once again your mind was beginning to whir. You had so many questions, so many answers that you needed, but now wasn’t the time. He needed to make sure Arin was settled and then you both could talk. 

You walked further into the room, speaking as you went. “She’s upset. She thinks she did something wrong, that’s why you and Nana argued.” 

Seokjin sounded regretful when he sighed. His eyes closed, fingers tightening around the tumbler. “Do you think she heard any of it?”

In a clipped voice you replied. “I hope not.” 

Hearing your tone he opened his eyes, coming to his senses almost. “I’m sorry,” he breathed, placing his drink down on the counter. He moved towards you, a hand ghosting over your back. “Are you okay?” Despite his tone of voice being one you were familiar with, his concern did little to console you. All you could do was nod your head.  

“Don’t take any notice of her, okay?” He continued, his voice slowly changing again. “This is what she does. She pushes and pushes. She can’t stand–”

“Seokjin, enough,” you begged, exhausted. You could hear him becoming more and more irate. 

The hand on your back froze and then dropped to his side. “Are you sticking up for her?” He more or less accused. 

“What?” You looked at him, baffled. “Of course I’m not. You just need to calm down. I know you’re angry but your daughter needs you right now.” 

His features smoothed out and he stepped back, rubbing a hand over his face. “You’re right.” He sounded apologetic. “I’m sorry.” 

“It’s fine.” You watched as he walked towards the fridge, getting out a carton of milk to pour inside Arin’s mug, chocolate powder waiting. He mixed it together with a spoon and placed it in the microwave, setting the timer. As it whirled around, you spoke again. “We can talk about it later.” 

There was silence as he placed the milk back inside the refrigerator. He closed the door. “Are you mad at me?” 

“No.” 

He didn’t believe you. Turning back he folded his arms across his chest, staring at you. “She’s gotten under your skin, hasn’t she? That’s what she does.” 

You heard yourself sigh. You didn’t want to do this now. Not with Arin just down the hallway. Why was he being so insistent? Your mind flew through the tonne of questions you wanted to unleash his way, but one slipped from your mouth before you could stop it. Before you could even acknowledge your own words. 

“Did she really cheat on you?” 

Seokjin looked taken aback, whatever he’d been expecting, it wasn’t that. Maybe you should have gotten your priorities straight, but stood in front of him right now, you felt deceived. You watched as he gave you a brief nod. Your heart dropped. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

He lifted his shoulders, not meeting your eyes. “It wasn’t a big deal.” 

“Not a big deal?” Your voice raised and you willed yourself to keep it down. “It seems like it was the reason you divorced her, Seokjin.” 

The microwaved beeped but you both ignored it. “It was over long before then.” He chuckled humourlessly. “She was right, I was a coward.”

A part of you wanted details but you knew right now wasn’t the time or the place. Besides, you didn’t think he’d share anyway. 

“Is that why you’re mad? Because I didn’t tell you?” He sounded worried, regretful, some other emotions you couldn’t think of right now. 

You sighed softly. “I’m not mad, Seokjin. I’m just… I didn’t know.” 

He went to step forward, to walk towards you but stopped himself. “I’m sorry, I should have told you. Especially with–”

“It’s fine,” you cut him off quickly, not wanting to hear the words you knew he was going to say out loud. You couldn’t bear it. You’d told him about Donghae in a bid to open up – because you trusted him. Why hadn’t Seokjin told you about Nana? You couldn’t help but feel betrayed. You didn’t know if you were being fair or not. 

“I should go and check on Arin,” he said suddenly, moving to the microwave to open it up. “Thank you for taking care of her. It’s more than her own mother could do, and she’s the one who caused this whole mess.” 

“Don’t,” you whispered, closing your eyes. He wasn’t going to do it again. “Don’t do that. Compare us.” Seokjin looked your way, confused now. “I don’t know Nana. I don’t know what your marriage was like, not really, and I don’t know what her relationship with Arin is like. You shouldn’t have said those things to her. She was obviously upset.” 

You understood that people spoke out in anger, that words just flew out, no matter how small the thought was, but it wasn’t an excuse. He was still emotional, but all you wanted him to see was the bigger picture. 

“I don’t care,” he brushed off. “She needed to hear a few home truths.” 

You scoffed. “And you used me to really drive them in, didn’t you?” You continued regardless of his frown. “It’s not a competition. I’m your girlfriend. I’m not even Arin’s stepmother. We haven’t talked about that yet,” – Seokjin went to speak over you but you stopped him with a hand in the air – “and I know Arin made an innocent mistake, but it obviously hurt Nana. She had no clue I existed, Seokjin. Not one!” 

He did look guilty at that, dropping his gaze, but you weren’t done. “You can be mad because of how she acted but you’re also at fault…” 

“I know,” he murmured. “I know that and I’m sorry.” 

You weren’t the only one he should be apologising to, but by now you were too exhausted to keep this up. You couldn’t stay here, not when you were sure it would end in an argument. You didn’t want to fight with him. You needed space to think. On your own. 

“I should go.” You told him, noticing his face wrinkle up in confusion. 

He was in front of you immediately, clutching your hand. “Y/N, wait,” his voice was unsteady, “You don’t have to go. I’m really sorry that I made you uncomfortable.” 

You appreciated his sincerity, and had no doubts that he meant his apology, but it still wasn’t enough to get you to stay. An I’m sorry wasn’t what you needed. It wasn’t as simple as that. 

“Honey, please,” he begged softly. “This is me with all my baggage. I’m not perfect.” 

Your brow furrowed. “I never thought you were, Seokjin.” This wasn’t about your so called flawless vision of him. He was human, just like you. Yes, seeing him mad like that had shaken you up at first but it wasn’t why you were leaving. Nor were you leaving because of the situation. Everyone had a history, or “baggage” as Seokjin chose to call it. It didn’t change how you felt about him. It was all just very overwhelming. 

You put your other hand over his, silently telling him to let you go. Above all else he needed to spend time with his daughter. “Go and check on Arin. She’s waiting for her hot chocolate.” You told him softly.  

He clasped your hand tighter. “Please don’t go.” 

“I just need some space to think.” You admitted. 

He watched you for a moment, eyes glassy – you expected yours were too – but ever the gentleman he respected your wishes and didn’t press you any further, no matter how much he wanted to plead with you to stay. Deep down he probably knew it was the right thing to do. If you stayed now no good would come from it. You could speak about everything when you were both ready. Whenever that was.

With a tight nod he slipped his hand from yours. You gave him a soft smile and turned your back to him. He had no choice but to watch you leave. 

Written 2020 - 2021. Please refrain from posting my work elsewhere. No translations allowed. © floralseokjin 2021

#seokjin fanfic #bts fanfic #jin fanfic #fic:mls #floralseokjin:writings