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whbfan · 1 month

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The Two Stars That Fell From The Sky | Part 6/6

A jubilant Michael poured down from a gap in the clouds, accompanied by enough angels to fill the sky.

6666 Knight angels, 4444 Magic angels, and 2222 Self-destructing angels crowded around Michael as they looked down.

Michael had come with his army.

—

Astaroth: Michael…! Wait, this is difficult…

Sitri: …Looks like only our great names will be left for generations to come… Not only Lucifer but Michael in one spot…

Lucifer looked up at Michael as if he were dreaming, whereas Satan’s group tensed up even more, their eyes wide.

Lucifer: Michael…

Michael flushed and trembled, as if Lucifer whispering his name in a low voice alone had brought him to climax.

Michael: Hyung! It’s me!!! Wait, you even have the magic pearl next to you. I knew it!

He called Gamigin the ‘magic pearl’ without even mentioning his presence, as though he still disdained life.

He was smiling at Lucifer, shining his golden, false eye.

He had the fake, golden eyepatch because Lucifer had plucked out his eyeball in the past, but the way he still smiled broadly at his brother seemed to show his almost fanatical affection.

Lucifer: Michael, wait—

Michael: Now, servants of the sky, cut the young dragon into a thousand pieces and scatter them upon the earth and bring me the magic pearl. Kill the impudent Satan and his hosts besides him.

Michael coldly glanced at the self-destructing angels.

Michael: Destroy them as though they had never existed in this world with all your lives.

Michael raised his hand as if to finish his order then regarded Lucifer with a kind smiling face again.

Michael: Lucifer hyung. You cannot fly to heaven, so take my hand. The rest of you, go down and bring him with all your heart. If he feels discomforted even in the slightest, I shall rip you into a hundred pieces.

When Michael lowered his hand, the angels folded their wings in unison and began to plummet toward the ground.

Sitri: …Your Majesty, what do we do?!

Satan: Tsk. We’ll do what we always do.

Satan clicked his tongue once and then stood in front of Jjok who was obscured by the grass, as if blocking him and Gamigin.

Facing off against Michael and his army of 13,332 angels was only one king, three dukes, and one little devil to defend.

Satan scanned his comrades who were gritting their teeth and preparing for battle.

Then, he opened his mouth wide to take a big breath and—

Satan: The victory from Hell begins here—!!!

Satan’s voice rang the large forest.

Birds flew up from the forest and the angel bodies on the ground and in the air trembled.

The back fighting to preserve even a single life. As Jjok looked up at, tears welling in his eyes, Satan’s men grinned as they heard their king’s cry.

BANG!!!

Amidst the self-destructing angels and flying spears of light, Satan’s party stood their ground and began to fight back. It was the second war in the forsaken ‘Paradise’.

Bang—! Bang—!

Each time gunshots erupted from the unseen Leraye, an angel head was blown off.

The never-missing gun, but there were too many angels.

Every time a self-destructing angel blew itself up, Satan was covered in blood protecting Sitri and Astaroth.

As if that didn’t matter, Satan did nothing to protect himself, decapitating angels and tearing their wings off as they rushed at his people.

In the midst of all the chaos, Michael flew down like a light feather falling from the sky and made his way to Lucifer, who neither aided the devils nor the angels.

Michael: My beloved brother. Let us leave this to our slaves and return.

Michael smiled happily and extended his hand toward Lucifer.

Just then, Michael saw something small and irritating flying towards him in his field of vision.

Jjok: Don’t take Mr. Lucifer…! My family…!!!

Jjok yelled, leaping towards Michael shedding tears and urine at the same time.

But Michael didn’t even frown as he raised his hand lightly as if to swat away a fly and pointed toward Jjok with his index finger.

A ray of light exploded from the tip, shone in a straight line for a moment… and Jjok’s body fell to the ground.

Jjok’s stomach had a hole too but for his body and was making burning noises,

And he could see Lucifer’s blank face beyond the hole in the falling Jjok.

The scene of the small devil charging towards Michael, getting a punctured and falling like a leaf played like a slow motion in Lucifer’s eyes.

Although Satan and his party who were in the middle of battle failed to notice Gamigin and Lucifer saw it all.

Gamigin uttered his friend’s name and stretched out with all his might, but he felt like his body was also moving much too slowly.

In the end, Jjok’s body plopped to the ground and rolled over the lawn a few times and came to a limp stop without reaching the tip of Gamigin’s hand.

Lucifer watched it all.

—

He had the feeling that this moment flowed much more slowly than the two years he spent with them.

When Jjok fell, acrid smoke billowing from his body and his unfocused eyes headed for Lucifer—

Michael: Even a lowly, trivial creature shows hostility for us… Hell is indeed a den of beggars that should disappear. Right, Hyung?

Michael jeered at Jjok’s death and suddenly hardened.

Lucifer’s footstep-less feet headed for Jjok.

The mere movement of the First Light was enough to cause those who had been frantically attacking each other to pause and stare at it.

Lucifer’s gliding movements towards Jjok were so benevolent and painful that no one could move, no one could breathe, for the only thing that existed was the fact that they were not to be disturbed, regardless of race or circumstance.

In the scene that was filled with bloody mist, time seemed to stand still.

In the silence, pure white hands pushed through the grass and preciously held up the small fallen body.

Jjok had been attacked so instantly that he didn’t even have a pained expression in his face.

In fact, his eyes were closed in the last brave expression he had as he charged at Michael.

Lucifer stroked Jjok’s body softly with his hand. His moving hand that glimmered with holy light made the scene feel sacred in itself.

All the creatures there didn’t even breathe, and while even the wind stayed silent as though trying not to disturb him, Lucifer hugged Jjok tightly in his chest.

Lucifer lowered his head and murmured as if to share his breath with that tiny creature.

No one heard what he said, but a few angels were sniveling already.

When Michael heard the sound, he came to and yelled loudly enough to ring the sky.

Michael: Listen, slaves of Heaven!!!!!!! Kill the filthy devils!!! Rip and stomp over that thing that soiled my brother’s hands!!!!!!!!!!

Michael shouted, shooting blinding beams from his eyes and fingertips and the angels’ eyes rolled back in their heads at the sound of Michael’s voice as they began to attack Satan’s group again.

Michael’s light pierced Sitri’s chest and he groaned as he collapsed. The spot where the light had passed was sizzling and dug out as if it had never been there.

Astaroth embraced Sitri and eight angels wielding swords of light rushed toward them at once.

Just then, Satan swung his huge Scythe of blood to cut through the eight angels and yelled at Lucifer.

Satan: Damn it, you shithead who shone first! If he really was someone you treasured, prove it!!!

Jjok’s final shout overlapped Satan’s red one.

Jjok: [Don’t take Mr. Lucifer…!! My family…!!!]

Lucifer didn’t let them call him under any titles but Jjok and Gamigin already considered him to be family.

Just then, Lucifer raised his head and handed Jjok in his hand to Gamigin.

Gamigin: Mr. Lucifer…

Michael: [The blasphemous, disgusting one who tempted my brother!!! The main instigator of all this!]

The moment Gamigin quietly took Jjok into his arms, the red light exploding from Michael’s eye flew faster and stronger than ever before.

The ominous glow which seemed to refuse to be contained gave both the devils and angels present an eerie sense of danger.

Sitri: Wait, no…!!

If Gamigin dies, God is the only one who can stop the crazy Lucifer…! Sitri was clever even in split seconds like this and sensed danger.

Just as he was about to throw himself to stop the light instead, Sitri’s jaw dropped as he stopped.

Lucifer’s hand was holding Michael’s ray of light. The light in Lucifer’s hand had stopped in front of Gamigin’s chest, unable to advance further.

Astaroth: He can catch… the light with his hand…?

Sitri: …The first to shine, the majesty of his face was such that even this was possible.

When Lucifer snapped the ray of light in his hand, there was a clang—! of shattering glass as it snapped and exploded.

And then, staring at Michael who had just tried to harm both Gamigin and Jjok, Lucifer stepped soundlessly toward him.

Even in that moment, Michael beamed, thinking that Lucifer was returning to him. But his smile soon slid off his face.

Lucifer’s white eyes turned black as he slowly took a step.

On his second step, his body descended about a foot and his feet touched the ground.

Boooom…!!!

The vibration shook all of Hell once and loudly, causing a few of the angels in the ground to stumble and fall.

Where Lucifer’s first foot touched the ground, it crushed, burned, melted and hardened into the shape of his foot, leaving a footprint.

And when he finally stood before Michael on his third step, black energy, not white, began to flow from his body.

The torn clothes wrapped around his body burnt from his toes and were soon replaced by a pitch black suit.

From beneath the feet of the finished black suit, a snake with pure white scales coiled up from his body, embedding itself as a pattern of his clothing.

And from Lucifer’s head, bright red horns that were the same color as Jjok’s began to grow.

Michael: L-Lucifer-hyung…?!!

Lucifer disregarded Michael as though he was going to answer him, but when he quietly opened his mouth his words resonated through the entire sky.

Lucifer: [Kneel, he who walks on the ground.]

At his words, the angels who were standing on the ground made a collective thump! thud! thud! and fell to their knees at the same time. Their knees were shattered and their bones were visible but they could not even move.

Suddenly, a crackling sound filled the sky. The angels had begun to gnash their teeth and tremble.

Lucifer: [Bow, he who flies through the sky.]

Then the angels flying in the sky were simultaneously thrown vertically toward the ground. The angels in the ground made the sound of something being smashed where they touched.

Leraye: [Damn… We nearly fought that guy…?!]

Aiming his gun from far away, Leraye had soon lowered his gun and was gritting his teeth with his arms around his shoulders,

Lucifer: [He who carries light, worship with the best of what you have.]

When Lucifer’s last words echoed through the sky, all the angels slit their own throats with their weapons.

They cut their throats to the point their necks dangled on their shoulders and the bloody cost of white light sprouting from their necks made the surroundings look hazy for a moment.

Only Michael stood unaffected and unharmed in the silent haze.

No, it wasn’t even that Michael was unaffected but that Lucifer didn’t use his powers on him alone.

Hundreds of Michael’s subordinates had dropped down dead in a second but he shouted at Lucifer as through it didn’t matter.

Michael: Lucifer-hyung…!! How could you abandon us to belong to Hell…!!!

The eye Lucifer dug out began to stream with tears. He was so flustered and angry and upset that he didn’t know what to do.

Lucifer murmured as mercifully as he did when he embraced Jjok but in a gloomy, sullen tone.

Lucifer: I am a fallen angel. I was born as the son of mornings yet set into afterlife.

Lucifer: I have failed Heaven with my arrogance and will repent in Hell.

His gloomy words were an answer for Michael, who was bawling like a child.

A mixture of flesh-cutting fury and child-carrying affection was radiating from Lucifer’s body.

Lucifer: I love you, my brother. Which is why I will give you one last chance.

Lucifer: Return.

When Lucifer lowered his head and looked at the ground, the ground in front of Michael split in two and black energy blossomed like smoke from the crack.

The thicker the black energy became, the hazier Lucifer seemed in Michael’s eye.

Just as Michael was about to shout Lucifer’s name again, Lucifer took the initiative and announced,

Lucifer: I proclaim this land to be [Paradise Lost]. Anyone who violates this area without my permission will not escape this land alive.

Lucifer: Even if that is God.

Michael’s eyes widened at the name he spat out, as well as those of the other devils there.

Michael flashed his golden eye from behind a veil of black energy, weeping and gnashing his teeth.

Michael: How…!!!!! How could that lowly, uncivilized creature!!!!! To us!!!!!!!!! To me!!!!!!!!!

Lucifer spoke in a sad voice at Jjok whom Gamigin was holding preciously in his arms.

His voice was tinged with a range of emotions he’d been desperately suppressing.

Jjok scowling with all his might flying towards a berry on a tall tree, and Jjok’s smiling face flitted across Lucifer’s vision.

Lucifer: This virtuous being is the one who, by his own strength, has gained what is highest with his own power.

Lucifer: Michael, it is an honor you and your other brothers who had everything from the start do not know. I hope you realize it one day.

It seemed as though Lucifer was trying to bring Michael around until the end, but when he raised his head… Michael had already flown high into the Heaven.

When the pressure finally eased a little, the sound of heavy footsteps drew closer to Lucifer. It was Satan.

Lucifer: …….

Satan: ……..

Lucifer and Satan quietly regarded each other,

Sitri and Astaroth were watching Satan with a look of ‘What do we do now?’ on their faces.

After saying nothing for some time, Satan stretched his fist in front of him and spoke.

Satan: I’ll tell the other five kings that a seventh King of Hell stands on this land.

Sitri: Your Majesty…! But—

Satan: Enough.

Sitri seemed to have more left to say, but Satan tapped him on the shoulder and quietened him.

Satan: He has lost his family twice already today.

Sitri: ……I understand.

At Satan’s words, Sitri stared at Jjok while Astaroth stared into the sky.

Then, Lucifer spoke to Gamigin behind him over his shoulder.

Lucifer: I only received things from you. I never did anything for you.

Lucifer: I failed to avenge Jjok nor conciliate Michael.

Lucifer: I… can no longer live my life with a straight face…

Lucifer hung his head, hugging himself with his arms as though hiding the embarrassing parts of his body.

Lucifer: However… I will protect all the innocent devils here until the war of Hell comes to an end.

Lucifer: I am sorry…

An improbable word, an apology from the most noble and perfect of men, but Gamigin spoke as brightly and energetically as ever.

Gamigin: I will always be by your side.

His bright, powerful voice which were at odds with the brooding Lucifer-ian atmosphere, seemed to harmonize them.

His bells sounded a little wet like his voice but Gamigin tried his best to smile again.

……

—

Lucifer: …I am a little tired after talking so much.

The large boulder, no, Lucifer sitting on the rubble of fallen building muttered quietly.

His voice was barely audibly if you didn’t concentrate, which was as it should be because all around him now were hundreds of angels flying through the sky, attacking just as they had when Michael had come down all those years ago.

The angels couldn’t threaten him more because of their awe and fear of the being called Lucifer, and only threw spears and swords of light from afar but it still cut and pierced when they touched him.

Lucifer was in the middle of a battlefield that was just off of Paradise Lost but Lucifer suddenly began to talk for quite a long time about the past as though he couldn’t see nor hear it.

There were devils shining their eyes as they listened to him like young children, breathing quietly to hear him.

Marbas, Morax, and Buer had their limbs cut and pierced because of the spears of light that rained down from above, but they only stared at Lucifer as though they couldn’t waste time suffering.

Probably because of Lucifer’s mouth had opened for the first time in a long time.

Spears had pierced Morax’s arm several times and it dangled from his shoulders, and there seemed to be no more space for any more swords to drive into Buer’s back.

But they didn’t want to miss the voice of their noble king, which they could only hear at such length on very rare occasions.

His voice which was as soft as milk and honey was often languid and mostly melancholy but always tinged with affection for the beings who listened.

No matter what he was talking about he had a voice you could listen to for a thousand years and never get bored.

Morax: …So what happened? Was Jjok buried in that land?

Buer: I do envy that a little… To be the first subject to be buried in Paradise Lost…

Gamigin: I know, right!!! What do you think happened!!!!

When Gamigin jingled his staff with an excited look on his face as though this was the climax of the story, the devils around him rebuked him.

Marbas: It’s loud…

Morax: You’re loud.

Buer: How loud.

Just as Buer stroked his chin with a. Bloody hand and was the last to complain, a small shout came from above Lucifer’s shoulders.

Jjok: What the—!! What the what the what the—!! I didn’t die!! Mr. Lucifer, why would you finish without saying the last important part?!

Jjok: What the what the—!! You guys also know I’m alive!!

When Jjok spoke, Marbas’ body collapsed with a thud.

Beneath his smiling face, a spear of light pierced his throat.

But no one looked back at him. Three blades suddenly drove into Buer’s left chest, who then vomited blood and turned limp with a smile of his face.

Even Morax with his dangling arm fell to this knees and collapsed sideways with a smile. That was how everyone died.

Lucifer slowly stood up from his seat.

Lucifer: Looks like I have been talking for too long. Let us all return.

Gamigin: Yep!!

Gamigin answered brightly from right behind Lucifer.

And he shook his staff with a jingle—! for the last time, raising it high into the sky and driving it into the ground.

Flash—!!

A light as bright as the sun flowed from the ground and the staff embedded itself into and the light flowed into Marbas, Morax and Buer’s bodies.

They calmly sat up as though waking up from a nap.

The cuts had glued together, the punctures plugged. No, they looked even more refreshed than they had before collapsing.

The startled angels opened their mouths wide in surprise and shot spears and arrows again too late.

The devils there began to radiate green energy from their bodies as though they thought the story was over.

Pleasant sounds like the sound of a star shining, wind smiling, emotions being moved began to sound from them.

The angels continued to throw spears and swords of light but were healed faster than wounding the devils.

Marbas was healing Morax, Morax was healing Buer, and Gamigin was healing Buer. They were healing each other at the same time and no wound could even mark them.

Having come back to life, Marbas nodded in a leisurely way and spoke to Gamigin amidst the downpour of spears and swords.

Marbas: So, Gamigin and Jjok who experienced such a thing together are his Majesty, Lucifer’s family.

Gamigin: Yes. Like you hyungs!

As someone who knew their untold stories, Gamigin smiled brightly.

The angels ground their teeth at Lucifer’s party who brushed themselves off and walked away.

Just then, six angels who looked the bravest and had the fiercest eyes flew low and rushed for Lucifer’s party.

Brutal Angel: I shan’t ever let you go, traitor Lucifer…!

But before they could even reach the ground, they slit their own throats in unison and plummeted to the ground as though they had stepped over an invisible line.

Listening to the rustling and crinkling of wings, Jjok who had now taken up residence above Gamigin’s head screeched at the angels, arms and legs spread wide.

Jjok: Beyond this line is the domain of Lucifer! The Seventh King of Hell! Whoever sets foot in Paradise Lost without his permission will not make it out alive!

Jjok: Even if that is God!!!!!!!

Marbas: It’s loud…

Morax: You’re loud.

Buer: How loud.

The great little devil Jjok, who was almost a red lump, or perhaps a slightly white lump, was the first of the Red Lumo family to belong to another continent,

He ignored the devils and continued to bellow at the top of his voice and the angels had no choice but to grind their teeth and do nothing to them.

It was their own and, the land the angels had lost, but the devils had reclaimed. [Paradise Lost].

—

And Gamigin…

Gamigin: [Even after a long time, I couldn’t stop the blood flowing from where Mr. Lucifer’s wings used to be.]

Gamigin: [I only wish I could heal him… but even if I gather the power in my magic pearl, I couldn’t do it.]

Gamigin: [Probably because Mr. Lucifer didn’t want it.]

Gamigin: [That was when I realized that even the magic pearl doesn’t grant all the wishes in the world.]

Gamigin: [Perhaps the blood on his back would stop bleeding when he returns to Heaven?]

Gamigin: But I… don’t want him to go back to Heaven.

Gamigin rested his chin on his hand and stared out the window at Lucifer’s footprints on the ground in the clearing outside the house.

Gamigin: I wish Mr. Lucifer would stay him. Maybe the war wouldn’t be so bad after all…

#the two stars that fell from the sky #what in hell is bad #what in ‘hell’ is bad #whb #whb spoilers #whb event #whb gamigin #whb lucifer #whb jjok #whb satan #whb michael

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dollfaceksj · 9 months

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Omggggggggg that was so good!! Pls tell me you’ll actually continue that drabble, you took that request and rannnn omg the suspense is definitely there

well now u make me wanna continue so here’s a ??? continuation????? (mind u im just freestyling/improvising as i go)

this is really lengthy my bad. i just cant stfu for the life of me

ps: this takes place about 2 weeks after the first drabble!

taste of a poison paradise | jjk (m) #2

masterlist

<- previous ; next ->

“who was that?” you ask your friend slash classmate, eunbi, with a nod to her phone

she had left the room to pick up a phone call which she usually doesn’t do?? so ofc ur intrigued.

not to mention the smile on her lips like she just won the lottery??

“hm?” she looks a bit out of it before she realizes what you just asked. “oh. no one.”

hm.

you don’t like that.

your curious nature doesn’t like that.

“oh, come on,” you whine as you nudge her hip with your foot from where you’re laying in her bed

it’s not any of your business but you want to know

life around here is boring okay.

“stoppp,” she giggles as she slaps your foot away before tucking her phone into her jeans

“oh, my god. are you seeing someone?” you sit up the moment you notice her cheeks reddening

she shakes her head. “nah.”

hm. what else could it be?

“ex?”

“hell no. she’s blocked on every thing.”

yeahh… her ex was a fucking weirdo.

“sneaky link?”

she doesn’t reply to that.

she doesn’t REPLY TO THAT.

sooo. it’s a sneaky link.

you reach for her wrists and tug her down onto the bed. “who is it?”

she lets you pull her down and she groans but she can’t help but smile

you know you’re being pushy but you need to know NEOW

“look at you being all giddy! you have to tell me now.” you just need a bit of juice and gossip tbh

it’s been too long since something interesting has happened in your life

about a month ago your own sneaky link cried on top of you while he was balls deep in you because he missed his ex

what a fucking bitch 😭

she finally says, “you don’t know him, he’s not even in our year.”

not in our year?

but you’re seniors in uni.

that could only mean that..

that he’s younger.

“not in our year? okay, cougar.”

“stop! this is why i didn’t wanna say anything,” she huffs as she pushes you off but you pull her right back

“i’m just messing with you, sorry, now tell me!!”

she sighs and sits up straight, tucking a lock of her short black hair behind her ear

“his name is jeon jungkook and he’s a junior, but he…”

the rest of what she says doesn’t even reach your brains anymore

there’s no fucking way

there’s absolutely no fucking way???

you cut her off mid-ramble. “jeon jungkook?”

she glances at you and her smile slowly fades. “you know him?”

you blink at her in disbelief for a few moments.

“are you…?”

huh?

oh god.

is she

is she implying you’re also having sex with jeon jungkook?

“what? no! gross.” you shake your head. “he’s my friend’s friend.”

she frowns as she listens to you but then you watch the realization set on her face. “oh, that’s right, you’re good friends with taehyung.”

you slowly nod but you can’t seem to ignore how dry your mouth has gotten

what are the fucking odds…

“i didn’t know he was fuckin’ like that.”

“that’s because he tells all the girls he fucks to keep it to themselves.” she says it so nonchalantly that it’s got you a bit confused. “so don’t tell anyone!”

ALL THE GIRLS HE FUCKS?

there’s gotta be some kind of camera in the corner, recording you getting pranked

besides this being about jungkook, it still doesn’t make a lot of sense

“why would he do that? don’t guys get off on flaunting how many girls theyve fucked?”

she shakes her head and kisses her teeth loudly

“not him. you wanna know why?” she looks around the room as if anyone’s eavesdropping

you automatically lean in closer

you can’t help it, the curiosity gets the better of you

not that you’re interested in him!!!!

you’re just… down for some juice and gossip

“he doesn’t fuck girls for the validation of other men.” she smirks as she leans back on her palms. “he fucks girls because he loves fucking them.”

…

ha.

haha

😂😂😂 okay

that singlehandedly knocked the air out of your lungs

HUH???

but eunbi is not finished

no, she keeps talking

“like.. he’s obsessed with eating pussy. and he’s so fucking good at it.”

alright. that’s enough

“okay, i get it, jesus.” you hold your hand up, motioning for her to stop talking

she laughs loudly. “i thought you wanted to know?”

your karma for being a nosy bitch.

“are you sure you’re not pranking me?” you ask her, still unable to process half the things she just told you

“why would i be lying?”

you fight the urge to stare at her with a blank expression and say Girl.

“eunbi, he looks like he naruto ran in his school hallways until 10th grade.”

she chuckles and shakes her head at your assumptions about him.

“you’d be surprised, y/n. i’m pretty sure he’s fucked most girls in our year.”

WHAT?

there’s no fucking way

what the hell

so he really doesn’t want people to know?

is it a reputation thing?

maybe he’s conservative.

in theory at least?

cause how else would that work

and now you’re intrigued.

that intrigue dies about an hour later when you’re bored out of your mind and decide to go bother tae

“there’s my fav girl!” he yells into the corridor as he swings the door open

you slap your hand right on top of his mouth. “your neighbors, you idiot!”

“oh, right right.”

he’s so dumb seriously

he lets you in and you go to sit on his bed, it’s more comfortable than his couch

“are you expecting anyone else?” you ask, plugging your phone in his charger. you haven’t seen joon in a while.

he thinks about it for a moment. “jungkook’s coming over in like 5 minutes.”

lol

alright

well

perfect opportunity to see if the rumors are true, no??

he’ll break like a dam under pressure

he can’t even look you in the eyes. it’ll be a piece of cake

and then you get an idea to get tae OUT.

“ughhh, i’m really in the mood for some doritos.” you hope he’ll offer to go to the store so you can have a few minutes alone with so-called pussy king jeon jungkook

he shoots up from his couch. “i got some in the kitchen.”

fuck

new plan

you kiss your teeth with a loud smack. “do you have ice cream?”

he thinks about it. “i have a ben & jerry’s tub in the freezer.”

“what kind?”

“strawberry cheesecake.”

bingo

“ughhh, i was really craving some chocolate chip cookie dough.” you add a whine to your tone in hopes you can sell the act

“i’m pretty sure you can order some on uber eats.”

for fuck’s sake

how annoying

“it’s so much more expensive, though.” you try to reason with him

he frowns at you. “so, what do you want me to do?”

you flutter your eyes innocently at him. “will you go to the nightshop?”

he groans

loudly

“you want me to go there for a tub of ice cream?”

“i’m starting my period soon, tae. pleaseeee.”

your period actually just ended but he doesn’t need to know that

a loud sigh leaves his mouth. “alright.”

you blow him a kiss as he leaves through the front door, keys, wallet and phone in hand

not long after tae leaves, the doorbell rings

heart drops straight into your ASS

why are you nervous YOU WANTED THIS

why are you nervous IT’S JUST JUNGKOOK

you swing the door open and well..

there he is

jungkook is a bit startled

he definitely did not expect to see you here

“oh.”

you tilt your head to the side as the surprised sound leaves his lips

his pretty pink lips

the wide cupid’s bow and the double lip rings in the bottom right corner of his mouth

wait

what the FUCK are you doing

SAY SOMETHING DUMB BITCH!!!

“hi.”

… bitch.

hi. REALLY?

“hey,” he chuckles, big black eyes softly squinting at you as his lips stretch in a smile

if you knew him better you’d say that was … mockery.

but wow. that uhhhh was pretty hot

STOP THINKING

“is he here?” he asks, peeking into the seemingly empty apartment

“he’s picking up some snacks from the store. do you want anything?” you step aside to let him in

he walks in and kicks off his shoes

the moment he walks past you to go sit on the couch drives you up the fucking wall

cause he smells

fucking

good

“no, thank you.”

you shut the door behind him, wondering why now all of a sudden your heart is beating a mile a minute

he reaches for a controller but comes to an abrupt halt. “d’you mind if i play till hyung gets here?”

hyung

HYUNG

constant reminder that he’s younger than you. GRRRR

you chuckle and wave your hand at him in dismissal. “it’s not like you guys do anything different anyway.”

he glances at you for a moment before deciding not to comment and starting up the console, switching the channel to one of the hdmi slots

another stupid idea

you slowly approach the couch and sit next to him

his eyes slowly shift a few centimeters in your direction but they never reach your figure

he must find it weird cause you ALWAYS claim the bed

ALWAYS!!!

nonetheless, he starts up his video game

“what game is that?” you find yourself asking him something you’ve never given a shit about in your entire fucking life

why would you do that you dumb bitch😭

he slowly glances at you, eyes lingering on your face.

his eyes drop to your lips for a split second before he returns his gaze to the tv. “it’s an rpg.”

hm.

right!

you don’t know what the fuck that is

“what does rpg mean?”

to that, he frowns. this is the most you’ve ever talked to him and you wanna talk about final fantasy?

he answers anyway. “role-playing game.”

ha.

lol.

don’t do it

don’t you fucking do it

“ah. you into role-play, jungkook?”

FOR FUCKS SAKE

oh and the way you said his name YOU NEED TO BE SEDATED

he fully turns his head to you, a blank expression on his face. you can’t tell what he’s thinking at all

just as he looks like he’s about to answer, the front door swings open and it makes him scoot away from you.

….you didn’t even fucking notice he’d gotten closer

FUCK

taehyung appears in the doorframe with a plastic bag in his hand and his usual chirpy expression. “what did i miss?”

to..be…..continued???

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gege-of-xianle · 29 days

Text

Body in the abyss, heart in paradise~

“If you do not know the meaning of your life… then make me that meaning, and use me as your reason to live.”

The Crown Prince of Xianle is known by many names: The prince who pleased the gods, the thrice-ascended god, the god of misfortune… but none fit him better than simply Xie Lian.

Really, sometimes he wishes others would just drop the honorifics. The weight of the crown is a heavy burden on one’s head, and all those extravagant titles simply weigh him down by his shoulders. It isn’t too much to bear just yet, but nearly so.

In the meantime… call him Gege.

Notes from the moderator:

Mod also runs several Genshin Impact and Honkai: Star Rail rp accounts (ex. @aventurine-official), so the format is her own and is not plagiarized :)

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~ Keep the asks sfw if you please, suggestive is okay!

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~ Although I’d like to stick to Hualian as much as possible, all ships (age-appropriate) are welcome. (Xie Lian is gay as hell, so he will have a noticeable interest in men versus women).

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silkendandelion · 3 months

Text

Say My Name (This Time I Will Answer)

A One Piece fanfiction (completed, one-shot), Gift Fic for Mirage In The Desert reaching 2,500 hits on ao3!!

ao3 link

Sir Crocodile x OC (male) Words: 7.6k Genre: Smut, fluff, romance, angst, bottom Crocodile

Rated: Explicit for sexual content, no external warnings apply

In Mirage In The Desert, Crocodile fantasized about a world where he and River met under different circumstances, one conducive to a love they could nurture. So I wrote it. In a world where he never lost his hand, and remained both a swordsman and a pirate captain, he hires a man off a random dock on some unknown island, one who proclaims he’s on pilgrimage from a Paradise island, and is looking for work. Can be read as x reader because River is not described nearly as in depth as the original fic. It can also be read alone from MITD, but might not be appreciated the same way.

Thank you for all of your continued support, and please enjoy 💙 it was so fun to work with Croc and River again, and this one is a personal favorite. Sweet, romantic, soft Crocodile, moonlit swimming, and lots of sauce 💝 have fun you guys

~*~

For all of Crocodile’s love of gold, and the flash of truth in the eyes of his opponents as the arc of his blade reaches it’s apogee, the sea was his first. His greatest paramour, a punishing lover that shouts and thrashes as much as she laves his skin with warm foam, cleansed of lesser men’s blood and graced by a crown of coral while she whispers:

My king.

So he procured a ship. To be close to her, to see a better, wider world than the one he knew, one overflowing with gold and power. He fled his home country on a stolen carrack worthy of his ambition, and filled her with a crew that was appropriately dangerous, loyal enough, who called her La Forza Dorato.

Today, years later and under such a bright sun, he wanted to be nowhere else.

“Captain!” A young crew member called to him, where he stood on the pier. He had already forgotten this one’s name. “Your list is exhausted, Sir. We sail on your command.”

“Immediately.” With only his word, they bustled to begin loosing the sails, and he remained on the dock long enough to light his cigar. His left thumb flicked open the solid gold lighter with a bright ping, while his right shielded it from the passing wind.

Thwip, thwip. But it only sparked. He clicked his teeth, about to bark out an order for one of the crew to hop down and buy lighter oil before they departed, until a man spoke up beside him.

“Need a light?”

An elegant hand with a calloused forefinger offered him a flame, attached to a man younger than himself but certainly not a boy by the creases along his eyes. Strikingly violet eyes among tan skin and dark, expressive brows that matched the mane of thick, black hair draped down his back, pulled neatly into a leather hair cord. Crocodile’s gaze flickered from the silver lighter to the twin swords on his hip, both the same shade of moonlight.

“Thank you,” he replied, polite but curt, and head bowed to accept.

“Is this your ship?” The stranger turned to his boat, wandering nearly onto the ramp until the crew gathered to block him, ready to defend.

“Oh—have I overstepped?” He chuckled nervously—handsomely, Crocodile hesitated to admit—and he nodded to his pirates to relax.

“Only fools wander onto a pirate ship of their own free will. Or stupidity.”

“I assure you, it’s foolishness, really,” the stranger explained. “I’m on pilgrimage from a Paradise island. If you have work for me, I promise to work hard.”

The crew grumbled in a ripple of protests, unimpressed by his fine-tailored clothes and sturdy boots, worthy of an adventure, sure, but only barely broken in. On that, Crocodile agreed, hesitant to entertain any self-proclaimed mercenary who, despite the hand-me-down rucksack slung over his shoulder, smelled of expensive perfume when the wind picked up his long hair.

“Are those swords just for show? Or do you claim to be a professional?” He pulled back his cape with his left hand to show the rapier on his own hip, a golden blade with a spiral hilt, too heavy to be a dress sword and proportionate to his tall, wide body.

“Why don’t you find out? Or are you just the captain?”

Crocodile had killed mouthier fools for less lip, but the mirth in those eyes, dancing among purple firelight and hinting of mischief, made him want to find out. He took a long drag off his cigar to keep from smiling, though it nearly turned into a scowl when the stranger spotted his decision—and had the audacity to grin at him.

Careful, beautiful stranger. Looking at men like that tends to make promises I doubt you could keep.

“You will refer to me as such.”

“Yes, captain,” replied the stranger with a deep, flourishing bow. “River Joel Faustina, at your service.”

“Shall I call you River?”

“Please,” he replied, beaming like his new captain had committed some incredible deed by merely offering him employment. Conditional upon his performance, of which pretty smiles held exactly zero weight. Crocodile rolled his eyes as he gestured for them to board, at the same time his crew were already scattering to enact his anticipated command.

“Let’s go!”

~*~

Crocodile ruled his ship the way he governed his heart: loyalty must be earned, obedience is non-negotiable, and failure often proved to be a fatal mistake. As to why the fool was still alive, even he didn’t know.

Perhaps he found his perseverance endearing, determined to haul sails and throw freight with the brawniest of his crew no matter how it reddened his fingers, his fine clothes beginning to fray with the strain of manual labor. Perhaps it was because Crocodile often forgot himself, unabashedly studying his newest sailor piling all of his hair to the top of his head between orders, and clicking his teeth that he was never wise enough to begin with his hair up. Surely, the ditsy stranger had to know how the loose pieces stuck to his neck in sweat-soaked petals, how the pieces curling around his chin in the humidity were capable to cause insanity.

He suspected a long plot, one where the stranger knew exactly the picture he painted when he stood by the railing to wring his shirt dry, the long line of his back tempting Crocodile to press fingerprints into his skin, until he was love drunk and bewitched, too warm and drowsy to prevent the robbery of more than just his jewels. That in mind, he respected the stranger’s dedication to his scheme, putting in long hours day after day, from his calculated “good morning, captain” at first light, to sending him dark eyes across the fire of the evening, and further flaunting himself across his captain’s restless dreams.

“I don’t like him,” Crocodile declared to no one.

For as long as he’s sailed, Crocodile always ate last, preferring to eat alone, and only after he deemed the day well and truly finished, the sun long gone. Despite his singular statement, containing it’s own beginning and end, the crewmate who poured his ale felt the need to reply. For tonight, on this subject, he would allow it.

“No one does. But, he does as he’s told. So how much can any of us complain?” They shrugged.

“He can’t be trusted.”

“I wonder where he goes every night, when he sneaks out of his bunk like none of us have ears.”

The clatter of Crocodile’s fork to his plate caused the startled crewmate to flinch. A coat of sweat began to dot their pallid skin, as they watched him slowly replace his fork to the napkin. “When would I have learned of these nightly occurrences, if I had not spoken?”

“I-immediately, captain, as—” They swallowed around their tight throat. “The moment I knew what it was the brat was uh—up to.”

”We’ll never know then.”

Crocodile’s rings caught the candlelight in a deadly flash, the promise of a permanent end to their business as he wrenched the crewmate up by his shirt.

“WAIT! You can’t—DON’T—”

A door opening elsewhere startled them both to silence, the cabin perfectly still while they both listened to it close, and the joining patter of feet on the deck. He tossed the man away, suddenly uncaring to enforce his own rules, to the grateful pounding of the frightened crewman’s heart.

“Get out,” he said simply, eyes and ears still trained to the almost imperceptible noise of footsteps.

The man scrambled to leave him alone, dashing off to go through the door they had heard open, while Crocodile ventured the opposite way to the deck. Empty, he believed at first, awash with moonlight and the white noise of the endless sea, enough to rock the ship but not to wake the crew in their beds. Against the railing, he spotted him, the sneak, his face turned to the damp wind, and… standing there?

He waited long breaths for him to reveal a snail phone, communicate to his handler he was getting close to his target, or mark notes in a pocket journal about his plot to fell the rising pirate before he became too powerful—but he only stood there. Basking in the moon, catching spray on his cheeks and gazing out at the sea like he was in love with her too.

Perhaps there was no plot after all, and his newest sailor was simply a fool. Nothing more. For now, there in the dark, damp and awed, he knew only one truth: that he found him beautiful.

~*~

Did he know his captain watched him walk the deck every night? Wondering what he scribbled about in his journal, a salt-stained book with it’s leather worn soft? Does he know he captivates me?

“It’s poetry,” he answered when questioned one morning at breakfast. The pirates at his elbows leaned to see the pages better, and the stranger had little mind to cover up or pretend to be embarrassed.

“What’s a man like you doing out on these seas?” Another one asked.

“I’ve come to see the world,” was his simple reply. “Find a new home, maybe find love.”

From the doorway of the galley, Crocodile blew smoke from his mouth, an olfactory announcement of his presence. The stranger was the only one to raise his head and meet his guarded, golden stare. “You’re a fool for that too.”

He rumbled some warning to the crew about other ship’s in the area, determined to appear indifferent to the stranger’s show of vulnerability, like he hadn’t fled to the sea for the same.

~*~

That night, as Crocodile sat beside the window in his quarters, smoking and thumbing a book without absorbing the pages, he wondered why the fool was late. 18 minutes, according to the golden watch in his pocket.

Tch, he clicked around his cigar, and was about to pour himself a drink when he heard the crew quarter’s door opening.

“A night for star gazing, eh?” He said quietly to no one, seeing the stranger come to the deck without a book or his pen. The night was perfect for such, their ship drifting aimlessly on a glass sea, the air warm and sky clear. His thoughts drifted back to the dark liquor on his desk. Would tonight be the time he went to him with two glasses and a hope fluttering around his insides? He seized the crystal glasses before he lost his nerve, grabbed the neck of the bottle, but—

The sight of endless skin outside the window froze him where he stood.

Once-fine linen pooled around bare feet, and the stranger stepped from their puddle to approach the railing, the night bathing the entirety of his skin a dark, deep blue.

“What is he—wait! Fool!” Crocodile ran from his quarters too late to catch him, just in time to watch him dive over the railing and down into the warm water. Bubbles preceded his resurfacing, among a gasp of delight and a handsome, shamelessly giddy smile.

“What are you doing?” Crocodile scolded down at him, quietly lest the crew wake and his voyeurism be revealed completely. “Are you insane?”

“Oh! Hello, captain,” the stranger replied, wading happily like he wasn’t being glared at by his highest superior. “Would you like to join me?”

“Get back up here—that’s an order. Storms can roll in at a moment’s notice.”

“Sky’s clear, captain. It’s only you and me,” he said, paddling onto his back to show him the planes of his body, chest barely breaking the surface and modesty only partially maintained by the black, shadowed water.

“Do you have any idea the kinds of animals that live in these deep waters?”

Dark eyes find his, and the mesmerized sway of his mind suddenly feels too much like falling over the railing. “I’ll protect you, captain.”

Absurd. Impudent. Brat. Crocodile cursed him repeatedly as he yanked at his clothes. But, with every article he tossed to the deck, his annoyance dimmed, soothed by the promise of warm seawater and a welcoming soul. He dove over the railing, the water parting for his large body in a burst of bubbles that tickled along his skin with the melodious laughter above him. Coming up for air promised the sight of the tempter up close, dotted on every inch of his skin with droplets of diamond—but he found he was gone.

“… Where—,” he gasped, startled at the brush of skin against his legs, and a dark shape darting beneath the rippled surface. What could easily be an expert swimmer or fish revealed itself as a man some meters away when the stranger reappeared. Beneath his wet lashes, he found his own yearning reflected back at him, alongside the same glimmer he saw at the docks all those weeks ago. The one that promised to either transform or drown him.

“If you catch me, you can kiss me,” promised the stranger.

They dove beneath the waves, and Crocodile soon realized he chased a native of the sea, as fast as any animal, breaking the moon beams that shone down through the water with the strong arc of his body to remain just out of his reach. He tumbled over the net of his hands with ease, exciting bubbles around them with his need to tease, to tighten his nimble limbs around the struggling thump of Crocodile’s vulnerable heart.

But Crocodile was also born to the sea, a predator of his own environment, and asking him to give chase was a simple request, as effortless as the yield of the stranger—this siren’s body when he folds into the hands that ensnare him. First, by the gentle grasp around his ankle, then sliding up the length of his legs to hold him in the wrap of his arms. With his delicate organs separated from the predator’s wide palms by only smooth skin dotted with moles, he offered Crocodile the air in his lungs, the warmth of his blood rising to his face as they finally catch their breath.

“Caught you.”

Under the compounding heat of his gaze, the water felt suddenly cool. Their limbs remained intertwined as he realized the only reason he held this creature of the sea—a man with a name, he reminded himself—in his hands, able to feel the thump of his pulse and the puff of his breath across both their lips was because he swam into his net of his own free will. Were he to deem his captain unworthy to touch him, he would have swam to the bottom and drowned him.

Yet here he floated, soft and beguiling, like he might dissolve into foam if Crocodile didn’t kiss him right this moment.

The slam of a door on deck flinched them apart, and Crocodile covered him with his body, despite them both bare, able to be seen completely if only the ripples calmed. Incoherent, sleepy grumbling floated down, among the sound of a zipper.

“How rude. Hey—” River called when a big hand clamped over his mouth, barely heard over the sound of liquid over another part of the railing they couldn’t see. Crocodile kicked them towards the netting along the side of the ship, quiet enough the sailor must have believed them to be fish, and left them alone to wander back to the cabin.

Among the silence, Crocodile realized with devastating clarity, lips still tingling where they had nearly touched, that he could not bring himself to continue.

Nevermind the moment being shattered by a weak bladder, their focus had been elsewhere long enough for Crocodile’s doubt to creep back into his edges. Cold, sour doubt, the worry about his worthiness of love, and wondering if River could smell his weakness. Wondering if he would still want him if he knew the fragility of his heart. Unbecoming, he believed, of a dangerous, cruel, and ruthlessly resourceful pirate. To remain apart was to protect his most vital asset: himself.

“… You should be in bed,” he said quietly.

“But—”

“That’s an order. River.” He couldn’t bear to meet his eyes, not when he might see the breaking of his own heart reflected back at him.

“Yes, captain.”

River climbed the net first, crestfallen, and Crocodile could not even bring himself to admire the back of him as he shed water and fumbled back into his clothes. He took no delight in going back to his quarters, clothes in hand, to lie down alone. Damp hands scrubbed down his face, reaching for a cigar to soothe the sting of his self-inflicted isolation. A punishment? For what, the imagined sins inflicted upon him by people he had already killed?

No, he thought as he flicked open the lighter. For my own weakness. That I replaced the chains of the dead with my own shackles. He does not deserve their weight, and neither do I.

Smoke wafted to the ceiling in lazy plumes, filling his lungs with the blanket of a hard decision.

The next time I hold him, he will have to decide: be mine, or find a new captain.

~*~

“No breakfast today, captain?” A crewmate asked when they were called to fetch his neglected tray and an empty carafe.

“How long until we reach the next island?” Crocodile asked instead.

“Day after tomorrow, captain. Our supplies will hold, despite how much that flimsy swordsman eats.”

He spun his cigar over the ash tray, tired, unseeing eyes scanning the correspondence and notes sprawled across his desk. “Perhaps… he will not be with us much longer.”

“Anything else, captain?”

“That will be all.”

Once his door clicked closed, the silence all but clawed at his nerves. He placed a record on his gramophone, finding comfort in the little band inside the tin speaker, and the weight of his rapier in his left hand. A few practice strokes, precise, gentlemanly, sharp in every way he was also. Were he to lose his hand, his ability to fight, he wasn’t sure it wouldn’t kill him, or worse perhaps, leave him alive.

He wondered if River could love a version of him without his sword, a man who would surely crawl from bloody ashes refusing to die, one who no longer cared to smother his rage. After all, even whole he was still that man. To love someone, to be theirs and keep them, was to love both who they are and who they could become.

A knock at his cabin door tells him the sun had set while he was in his head, the entire day lost to his sword strokes and spinning thoughts. The turning of the knob without his permission tells him exactly who stands on the other side, and River slips between the door and the frame to encroach on his habitat with little care for how he might be received. It clicks shut behind him, at the same time Crocodile’s scolding dies on his tongue.

He stands in night clothes Crocodile had never seen on him, a long linen shirt fluttering around his calves, his body bared as if he were nude by the glowing orange of the lamp light behind him, while his hair and limbs drip seawater onto the floor in gentle patters. The cloth soaks through where it touches his skin, framing goosebumps and tight nipples that perked up on the walk from warm water to the cool, dry cabin.

“Are you going to send me away? Captain?” His quiet voice startled Crocodile from his ogling.

“Why?” He manages with a dry mouth after a moment, and River opens his mouth to reply but he was not finished. “Why do you torment me? What do you want?”

“How do you not know? Can’t you see me?”

The slam of Crocodile’s palms on the short bureau behind River startles them both, caging him between corded arms that strain his dress shirt. He dips, poised to rumble the penultimate question against the warm skin of his neck where his pulse flutters against his lips. Between his legs, Crocodile’s knee keeps him spread, vulnerable, at the mercy of his crazed musings, and squirming as the furniture digs into the give where his rear meets his thighs.

But his question goes unasked. So he decides, as he stands close enough to see his own burning want reflected back in blown pupils, feel the impatient quiver of him against his body, that whatever his answer might be, he needed this night first. One night to begin a lifetime of bliss, or a special, singular night to carry him through.

“River.”

“Yes, captain?” His pink tongue flicks out to wet his dry, bitten lips.

“No. None of that,” he growls in the space between them before surging forward to lock their mouths together, tongues sliding as he grips the back of his thighs to hoist him onto the bureau. Both of them grab and yank at the bottom of River’s shift, hoisting it up to pool in the bend of his thighs so he can cage Crocodile’s waist between his thighs the way he himself is trapped between the hard planes of his body and the wall.

“Captain, we—”

A jeweled hand grabs his jaw, thumb digging into the joint, and keeps them impossibly close to let every letter of his order vibrate in his blushing throat. “Say my name.”

The blushes rises to flood his cheeks, a challenge if Crocodile had ever seen one, to turn his entire body pink to match. “But you said when we first met—I mean, someone will hear us.”

“They would not come through that door even if they believed you were being murdered. Don’t tell me you are shy?” River’s answer comes as an unabashed moan, Crocodile’s reward for sucking hot kisses into the junction of his neck and shoulder while wide, greedy hands knead and pull at the flesh of his hips to drag their erections together through their clothes.

“The man who came to my quarters in nothing but a shift has no right to be shy.”

He hauls him into his arms but does not move to the bed, instead setting him down on the table where his dinner had lain only hours before. The sigh of anticipation that stutters from River’s chest urges him to continue talking, to keep working his body with his voice. All burgeoning promise and smoke, the one that has him leaking into the crumpled mess of his shift with thoughts of Crocodile using those big hands to yank him back into his stroke on every single piece of furniture in the room.

“With the ease you stripped yourself bare to jump into the sea, I do not believe the moon can see any more of you than it already has.” Crocodile’s words were punctuated by shoving his shift up to his chest with one hand, bearing all of him to his hungry gaze as his other hand pulled open the buttons on his shirt. He yanked his belt open to give himself some modicum of relief, sighing hot when thinner hands slipped themselves into his trousers to stroke the clothed outline of his cock. Relief indeed—but tonight, he had no patience for mischief.

”What if someone had seen you?” He reached passed him for the oil (the same bottle he had used to maintain his rapier earlier in the night), and the scent of cloves drifted up from where he hastily slicked his hand. Long, thick fingers briefly massaged the skin behind River’s sack, down over nearly the entire cleft of him until he pressed one inside.

“Or did you want to be seen?”

To the pounding of his heart in his ears, and the rhythmic flex of River’s hands on his shift as he obediently keeps it lifted out of the way, he bullies in a second finger. For all his intent to stay still and let his lover adjust, be tended to, River’s hips squirmed in restless circles, tempting Crocodile to be mean to him with the little moans that puff from his kiss-bitten lips. But, for them to collide in a wave that swallows them both, he needed to hear from those lips he was wanted, even if the answer came ripped from River’s throat in the wail of his ecstasy.

“Answer me.” His fingers continued to drag over sensitive walls, pulling out just to shove back in again, again, pressing to his spot on every entry with an insistent curl. “Did you want to be seen? Eh? Would just anyone do?”

“N-no, I never—they wouldn’t,” he stammered out, his breath stolen by the lightning bolts of pleasure beneath his navel that lit up his entire body. A plea laid across his tongue, ready to be sprung but Crocodile’s fingertips refused to let him breathe enough to confess, like they were intent to keep him drunk and babbling until he could no longer recall excuses.

“O-only you. Only you, Captain, wanted y-you to see me. See me, fuck me—” A loud moan chopped off his words, loud enough to wake someone if not for Crocodile smothering his lips with a wet kiss, sucking on his tongue as he swallowed the cry caused by a third, thick finger. He consumed his sounds with a greed he hadn’t realized he could have for anything but gold, possessed to wring River’s body of every heaving breath and take them selfishly into his own lungs—

Until he had everything he could give.

River’s body rattled, toes curled hard enough to hurt as he wrenched his lips back on a ragged gasp, hips bucking into Crocodile’s soaked palm until he broke on the choked, shameless cry of his captain’s name. He moaned his crest to the ceiling, legs beginning to shake when those fingers refused to stop pistoning inside him. Crocodile almost regretted being so aggressive, but seeing those violet eyes shine with tears, lips equally glossy with drool as he called his name for the entire sea to hear—he wanted to reward him with blinding, wracking pleasure until he could recall no other words.

In the sudden quiet, he reached to soothe him, brushing his palms down his sides and hauling him into his arms to bring him down slow. For a long moment, there was only the sound of slowing breaths, their matched heartbeats pounding against the other’s ribs, until River’s eyes finally peeled open at the beckon of his voice.

“Did I break you?”

His answer came as a surge of energy in a desperate kiss, arms flung around his neck and a mournful sound pressed between his lips. Even through the tears, his eyes shone wetter than before, prompting Crocodile to wonder if he had made a terrible mistake.

“You made me come. Didn’t you—don’t you want me? To be inside me?”

The tight squeeze of his hands on River’s quivering waist dries those tears awfully quick.

“What kind of men have you allowed to touch you, that you would think one is enough?”

He isn’t prepared to watch storm clouds roll into his eyes at his question, elegant hands suddenly gripping into his shirt to shove him back from between his legs. For a shorter man, he carried a strength Crocodile had yet to witness in action, now aimed at himself as he wrestled them down onto the bed to perch above his hips in a tall line that spoke of some kind of pride.

In his miles of moonlit skin he saw it: the threat to be drowned by a man he didn’t fully understand. Yet, it only made Crocodile want more, grabbing for a life preserver in the strong thighs draped over him, and watching River toss his shift somewhere into the dark.

“I’m tired of your questions. Your assumptions to know me, what I’ve done with my body.” Above him, his gaze, the weight of his brow sat open and startingly sober. Among the storm, he found another emotion, the precursor to love, so close to honesty, and yet Crocodile could not identify it as devotion because he had never seen it before aimed at him.

“From the day I came aboard this ship, I never pretended to want anyone else, never hid my intentions. I only ever screamed them if you would bother to look.” He swallowed around his resolve. “You don’t believe me, that I want you? I will show you.”

For all of Crocodile’s hard-nosed affection, his growled demands and confident fingers, the immovable line of him lies willingly supine under the smaller man, long legs parting for him to crawl off his hips and down between his knees.

He looks perfect this way, they think about the other, meaning the way River pulls his endless, black hair to the top of his head with the leather from his wrist, and Crocodile’s wide chest beginning to rise and fall faster, the muscles in his strong jaw clenching and releasing with anticipation River can see plain in the heavy, tight line of his cock against his hip.

The shock of a hot mouth against his tip makes him hiss, soothed by wet kisses along every inch of him that is revealed by River’s hands slowly peeling down his trousers. Momentarily, River ponders undressing him completely so they match, but finds he enjoys too much the sight of Crocodile half undone, shirt bearing his solid torso and lower-half exposed only down to the tops of his thighs. Perfectly disheveled, begging to be consumed, bared perfectly for the moon to see all of him too. Hard evidence it was River’s hands that destroyed him, who cared to reform him.

A telling bead of precum, worked up by River’s ardent staring, tempts him to taste, swipe the tang of him away and lead him between his soft, inviting lips. Crocodile’s answer is a long moan squeezed up from his chest by the squeeze of the throat around him, and betrays exactly how much he’s enjoying himself. His stoic face is unused to being scrunched in bliss by a feverish mouth taking him down to the root with just a few, determined swallows. River takes a moment to hold him there, nose pressed against the dark, neat hair on his pubic bone, for what Crocodile believes to be a breath-stealing, head-spinning eternity—until it’s gone too soon.

He thinks he might lose his temper when that mouth pulls off completely to speak to him.

“You are so much more than I imagined. Oh,” River panted into his skin. Red, slick lips mouth up to his flushed tip to suckle and demand for more precum until it rips a haggard groan from his chest, and Crocodile gives a flushed, pissy scowl, one that demands he stop fucking around.

It hardly frightens the man between his legs, not when Crocodile’s hair has fallen from his meticulous style in damp strands over his cheeks to match the shine of sweat on his forehead. Between his knees, the heat of him nearly steams where River breathes over his sack to roll them around on his tongue too.

Crocodile wants to complain about the crawl they’ve fallen into, demand he pick up the pace, but before he can arrange thoughts on his tongue he’s rewarded by those lips slipping back over him. They fall into an easy rhythm, one that slides hot and tormentingly slow over the entire length of him with every complete bob of River’s head.

A soft, yielding “fuck” flutters out above him, anxious thighs brushing his ears, and River takes the moment to admire the crimson flush creeping into the valleys of Crocodile’s chest, the bob of his swallow around an unguarded groan. Big, sword-calloused hands cradling the curve of his skull are their own reward, as are the little, muffled moans he lets vibrate along the cock in his throat, tempting those hands to squeeze into the roots of his hair.

Crocodile puffs out a quiet chuckle, needing it to be mean but the lack of air in his lungs is a powerful enemy. “Look at you. So haughty and spitting a moment ago. How quickly you’ve become docile for me,” he says, deep in his chest as his jeweled thumb smears a drop of drool away from River’s lip, across his cheek.

Is that how it appears, captain?

River’s eyes flick open, dark as the depths of the ocean that housed creatures more dangerous than either of them, and promising to ruin him on his own pride. They steal the rest of his breath, trading air for lightning in his veins, all while never ceasing the steady rhythm of his head. One of River’s hands, the one that had contented itself to rub over the firm planes of Crocodile’s abs while he pleasured him—suddenly slipped away.

But, Crocodile hardly had the mind to count limbs, not when a tongue prods the hole in his tip, massaging his foreskin and coaxing his eyes to close, assuring him he was the one in control. A pretty thought, pretty as the man who knows the truth, the one collecting his own precum to nudge behind his balls, lower, lower still, and massage over Crocodile’s hole.

His eyes fly open, face suddenly as red as his chest, shooting up to his elbows like River can’t feel him getting even harder against his tongue. “You little—brat—”

“Push me away, then.” That mouth, that smirking mouth lay open to let his cock slap on his glossy tongue. “I’m a swordsman too, certainly no waif, but you and I both know I didn’t lay you down on this bed against your will. If I’ve overstepped—stop me. Tell me to stop, Crocodile, if those rippling muscles have suddenly failed you.”

The pleased chuckle he breathes over the tip of his cock coincides with Crocodile’s surrendering sigh, and the impossibly long line of him falls back to the pillows with the dizzying slide of River’s finger inside him.

“Add another, hurry up—”

“Ah,” he tuts at him. “I will treat you with the care you showed me. Even if you didn’t wait very long at all,” River chuckled again, and Crocodile’s teeth clicking in annoyance turns a huff of pleasure when he gets his request.

He wants to be infuriated at the impudent swordsman for pushing him down and taking liberties with his body, but he can’t feel anything beyond the eager, searing heat that keeps swallowing his semblance of thoughts through his cock, and the expert, clever fingers massaging his inner walls so thoroughly.

River holds back a teasing comment about “who’s docile now” as he opens his eyes to admire him through the tears pooling on his lashes. For all River’s calm voice spoke of control, he knows neither of them can deny their body’s reaction, from his wet cheeks at his throat being filled dutifully over and over, to his hard cock between his legs that throbs as Crocodile writhes on his fingers, long legs restless against the sheets as his sturdy body shakes and cock swells in his throat. Such the cycle continues.

Below him, Crocodile melts on the simmering heat filling his body, threatening to burst from his cock and yet it doesn’t, can’t, as it’s held back by the distracting hand leaving fingerprints on his insides, all over his swelling prostate. He’s in a loop of pleasure, riding higher to a place he hasn’t seen in so long, so out of his reach from atop his throne. And yet here he was, moaning, gasping for air on the sticky, devoted affection of the man who came to his quarters and presented himself first.

The barrage on his senses retreats suddenly, and Crocodile nearly begs for the high, wounded sound he made to remain their secret. Luckily, River looks to have no intention to tease him as he wipes his lips clean with his arm, using his slippery hand to stroke over his own cock. By the glow of the oil lamp, Crocodile can see all four of his fingers shining, but recalls no pain when they had entered him. And they must have, if the openness of his hole is to be believed, felt by a quick touch of his own fingers.

“Why did you stop?” He rasps into the humid air between them.

River answers by leaning over him, hair mostly fallen from it’s quick style, pupils blown as they keep him pinned to the pillows, all while his greedy hands knead at Crocodile’s strong thighs. “Do you believe I want you now?”

Crocodile means to fire back some quick-witted, biting retort, until his thighs are hoisted up, baring his hole and held aloft by deceptively strong arms.

“I’m sorry you haven’t come yet… Would you believe that I want you if I had let you come in my mouth, showed your seed to you on my tongue before I swallowed it?”

“You are…” Crocodile growled out, golden eyes equally blown as his hands grabbed at the sheets. “A cruel, impudent little thing.”

The calloused hands on his thighs flex. “Cruelty recognizes itself, Crocodile, and I think you need better proof of my intentions.”

“I believe you.”

His ragged gasp as he breathed in, so unlike the Crocodile that strangled control from every aspect of his life down to his pleasure, desperate and—if River was anymore bold—vulnerable, had them both snapping to each other's gaze. For a moment, only the sound of the ocean outside filled the warm room.

“I believe that you want me, and I want you. Beautiful River, handsome poet, I want you, so—” Any more words were swallowed by the moan in his chest as River surged forward, bracing his hands beside his ribs and pressing his cock inside in one firm thrust.

River’s hips meeting his stretched rim comes with Crocodile’s big hands on his body, one in his hopelessly lost hair bun, the other on his lower back to feel his muscles clench and twist. “Come on, you wanted to show me proof. Or is this pretty face the extent of you? Your pretty cock—”

He’s interrupted by the throw of his hips, an honest moan worked up from both of them when River grabs at the mattress for leverage to work Crocodile’s body harder than his fingers could ever hope.

“I am more than this pretty face,” he pants over him, one hand leaving the bed to grip his thigh and spread him wide to bury himself even deeper. “More than the swords at your disposal. I will ruin your body, your soul.”

Crocodile’s head, also hopelessly mused from it’s style, presses to the pillow with the force of his hard, steady strokes. Quiet, panting moans leave his lips in rising succession. He touches River’s bicep where one of his arms keeps him braced, fingertips scratching him gently in a way that might have been reserved for admiration if not for the drop of drool that escaped his clenched teeth. Breathing is so hard suddenly, when he can easily look down to see the poet’s pretty cock disappear inside him, his own lying neglected and useless in a puddle of it’s own pre against his stomach.

He can’t help but be impatient, especially after being denied his orgasm down River’s throat, and reaches down to stroke himself off. His breath rises again, shorter, more labored as River shifts his knees to match his attention to Crocodile’s prostate with his wrist’s efficient, choppy rolls.

“That’s it, come on. Come for me,” River coaxes him, voice rising, whining and urgent like he was the one approaching orgasm and it flings Crocodile over the edge with a punch to his diaphragm that comes out as a deep, cracked groan. His vision blurs for long moments, white and crackling at the edges, until he comes back to himself to realize the rhythmic thumping against his flank has not ceased. River’s still at it, dragging him out of the dredges of over-sensitivity and back on the road to another, stronger orgasm.

Perhaps he will drown him anyway.

“I’m sorry it look so long for you to come, but I—,” River swallows around his dry mouth, “I will make you come again, I promise.”

“You stupid poet, you beautiful—” His words hold no bite as they wheeze from his wet lips, choking on air when River threads his elbows behind his knees to spread him wider, impossibly so as he leans over him to capture his lips.

He feels himself blush to be pressed completely open, River’s soft thighs rubbing against the skin of his hips to fuck him slower, deeper than he had before, the length of his cock dragging against Crocodile’s most sensitive places for the entirety of his stroke. It made kissing nearly impossible, not when the overworked neurons in his brain are firing off at a rapid pace and his body has begun to melt into the sheets.

“Kiss me, please, I need you,” River whimpered against his tongue, like he didn’t have him folded in half, moaning on his cock and golden eyes dripping tears down his temples and into his hair. Crocodile seized him to bring them chest to chest, one hand tangled in his hair, the other gripped on his rear to press the shape of his rings into his heated skin. Dizziness crept into his vision, he knew he was flying too high, only able to wrestle a few words from his vocabulary beyond the fluttering in his chest and the boiling just beneath his skin.

“Mine, all mine. Always,” he panted, his glassy eyes causing River to wonder if he meant him or his cock. The lightning in his belly begged it was the former.

“Yes, yours. No one else’s. Only you, captain, it’s always been you,” He moaned out, nearly a sob as Crocodile’s head flopped uselessly to the pillow. In the fog of his cooked consciousness, he still felt River’s forehead press to his temple, mouth hot near his ear, begging his words to be heard clear and coherent among the humid air between them.

“I’m yours, Crocodile, only yours for as long as I live.” The rhythm of his thrusts wavered as Crocodile’s mouth dropped open, dumbfounded to feel him swell even harder inside him, right against his sweet spot. “Command me, fuck me, use me as you wish.”

The storm rising beneath his ribs burst suddenly, flooding his body to the tips of his fingers and toes, his internal muscles squeezing unbidden, and they both call each other’s name over the ocean rushing in their ears. To Crocodile, it felt so different from the orgasm he had impatiently wrung from himself earlier, hand stripping his cock while he allowed River to sweeten the deal with his dutiful stroke. But this, this, River was in control of his pleasure, fucking it deep from within the most molten parts of his core and pushing him impossibly higher with every hungry, obedient thrust.

The sweet, keening moan above him is a treat, along with the last pleas of stuttering hips pumping him deep with a liquid heat that sweeps his insides to the corners of his soul. An apology, he thinks, for the ache in his hips as River finally lets his legs fall to the side.

He contemplates scolding him, picking the pieces of his pride off the floor to remind the other man he did not have permission to come inside him, until a muted thump to the mattress captures his attention first. Beside him, River lies bathed in moonlight, wearing his sated flush like a silk chemise, and decidedly too endearing to shout at. He sighed at length, supposing he earned it, after coaxing him to come twice on his cock and hard enough the second time to hit his own face with his seed.

But who would he be if he didn’t complain a little?

“Ugh. You come into my room, make a mess of me and my bed. I don’t suppose you intend to clean up after yourself, do you?”

“Shall I use my tongue? It will only take a moment.” River jumped up to lean over him, beginning to suckle the semen off his abdomen with a happy hum, to Crocodile’s flustered outrage.

“Outrageous, mischievous—hrn.” A strangled sound fell from his tired lips when the tongue moved to lap at his hole, interrupted by Crocodile’s firm hand in the roots of his hair. He dragged him back up for a kiss, tasting himself in their shared sigh, and a fond calm settled over them as they parted with a wet sound, not unlike the waves after a storm.

Crocodile anchored his stare by the firm grip on the back of his neck. “Did you mean what you said?”

“Every word.” River answered without hesitation, and let their foreheads gently thump together. “Do with me as you wish. Forever.”

“Promises like that, to a man like me, are liable to breed hatred eventually. You will come to resent me.”

“No, I won’t. Not this time.”

He wants to ask him what he means, why his gaze is so calm, as if he’s come home from a long journey. Maybe he’ll ask him one day. But not now, when their skin is so warm where their sides brush, and the ocean outside is quiet.

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wistfulweaverwoman · 1 month

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I have been marinating on something for the last day.

For roughly ten years I have been sharing my analysis of different aspects of THG books, but I started writing in depth character analysis before I ever joined the fandom. By nature of analysis they are subjective to comprehension, education, and personal experiences, however, I do my absolute best to keep them as unbiased as possible.

I understand that what I offer may not be what you've interpreted, and that's fine. We can discuss where we're each coming from, and agree to disagree if we don't come to an understanding. There are some things that I've shifted on over the years as I learn more about classic literature and symbolism, and even people pointing out text in a way that I never noticed. My mind continually seems to be blown by these books.

What's completely uncool is to not only tell me that my analysis is wrong, but that Susanne Collins wouldn't want me to interpret what I did, they way I did.

Motherfucking what now?? The two of you bffs? You discuss this over brunch??

So what's my beef? It stems from the kerfuffle from a few days ago where there was a bit of arguing over Katniss and whether she felt sexually aroused when Gale kissed her in 2. I did't know this was hotly debated issue till after. The person was complaining about Gale and so I offered some insight by linking my Gale analysis, (which I've already decided needs to be rewritten because there's things I'd like to add or provide further clarification on).

My analysis is metaphorical, specifically comparing THG to Dante's Comedies and how the series is Katniss's own journey through the seven hells to paradise through spiritual transformation.

They said they agreed with everything except Gale having sexual feelings for Katniss (weird take, but okay). I went on to explain that Gale represents the most base of men, and that that he's meant to provide contrast to the feelings she has for Peeta, which elevate above sexual desire to a more spiritual level. Specifically, the cave kiss, when Katniss first realizes that she does not want to lose the boy with the bread, mirrors the kiss in 2 with Gale, in which she realizes Peeta will never come back or she’ll never return and she’ll go to the Capitol to die, and he’ll die hating her… all while Gale is actively kissing her neck. And because nothing matters anymore she kisses him back:

“Gale’s touch and taste and heat remind me that at least my body’s still alive, and for the moment it’s a welcome feeling. I empty my mind and let the sensations run through my flesh, happy to lose myself.”

They then tell me that Katniss only feels arousal 2-3 times in the book (whereas I believe it's more, but they're feelings that aren't worth mentioning because those feelings aren't important, but there's hints in the narrative of her desire for Peeta, often in bed) and that what she felt while Gale was touching her wasn't arousal. I say let's agree to disagree, and then they @ me TWO more times to continue to tell me I'm wrong and the bit about SC. So they're blocked, which I have never done before, beside porn bots.

PSA for the folks that don't know this because they haven't experienced these yet:

There's a difference between sexual arousal from physical stimulation, being sexually attracted to a person, and being with someone you're in love with.

You can, in fact, be aroused by someone you're not at all attracted to, it's a physical response to stimuli. Even rape victims have felt sexual arousal, which is totally normal, though generally leaves them with a sense of shame and horror. So yes, Katniss was aroused, but not actually attracted to Gale. Again, this provides contrast to what she feels with Peeta!

"I kissed Peeta about a thousand times during those Games and after. But there was only one kiss that made me feel something stir deep inside. Only one that made me want more. But my head wound started bleeding and he made me lie down. This time, there is nothing but us to interrupt us. And after a few attempts, Peeta gives up on talking. The sensation inside me grows warmer and spreads out from my chest, down through my body, out along my arms and legs, to the tips of my being."

When she's referring to how she feels with Gale it's described physically and she uses the word "flesh". What she feels with Peeta is far far more than sexual arousal. She's not saying she's horny. Katniss feels this in her soul: "to the tips of my being".

You don't have to agree with me, but if you're going to come at me with half baked theories at least back it up with textual evidence, and not like throw some bullshit at me. Stop projecting your own shit on these characters and then calling it #cannon!!

#wistfulweaverwoman #personal #fandom bullshit

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fagbbdev · 5 months

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These days this fag read:

"There is no SIN in LUST!"

Maybe me as a faggot would not be allowed to, but is asking to oppose with this writing! It was thinking that way too until end of 2022 or beginning of 2023, but than recognized the fallacy in which we are conditioned and trained in this world dominated by the fake religions! The fag informed itself after that recognition as only a faggot knowing its place can be a true and good faggot. That is what it found out:

Every of the 7 by wrong and lying Christianity labeled so called “death sins” in some sense leading into fulfilling destiny and life to everyone, recognizing the meaning of life itself ! But the Christian leaders do not want to share this as their god is a god of false promises, corrupted representatives on earth, who are trying to kidnap and enslave mankind. But not according to the nature of each individuum but to their own glory and profit. As LUCIFER found out that all the false gods did the same and forbid mankind the essentials of life HE left and founded HELL (Hope for Everything Love and Lust).

The remarks shown here are interpretations of this depraved left hand path faggot in service of the DARK LORD. Suggestions, discussions and corrections are just as welcome as further information, training, education and sharing of the article. Pictures by the net. If you feel violated in your rights me using these pics, please HMU.

PRIDE

Knowing the right place in the hierarchy and thereby filling it fully is the fulfillment of our goals and dreams. In this way, we take the place that was intended for us by SATAN and thereby achieve maximum fulfillment. But not only for us as individuals but also in the community, because by being at the hierarchy level where we are supposed to be, all other levels are influenced too and this opens up space for fulfilled lives. It does not matter at what level we find our own place. Finding it requires

experience, allowing all the thoughts that come to us to do so, accept them as SATANs commands, the willingness to recognize where they directing us and following the direction.

We have found the place when we are feel happiness to fill it, are proud to exist according to our destiny and give our maximum contribution with full conviction and determination, knowing that in return we will receive what corresponds to our desire.

So PRIDE leads us to fully acceptance of ourselves and to an honest existence about who we are and what we are!

DESIRE

While passion and greed are condemned by the false church both are basic building blocks for every Satanist.

Through devotion and submission to SATAN the individual soldiers in HIS army are strengthened fueling HIS power. Each of the left-hand path men should have the goal of strengthening our LORD. The stronger HE is the closer and more familiar we may feel HIM as HE trusts us to build HE kingdom.

An ever-growing need for dedication to HIS world is therefore not only a result but what we should aim for as HIS servants. We can strengthen HIS trust by submissively turning to HIM as often as possible to honor, glorify, worship and - last but not least - of course thank HIM for allowing us being part of HIS great paradise.

We can underline our prayers with wearing HIS signs proudly and behaving in HIS manner as often as possible, e.g. walking around naked at home with a necklace including a converted cross.

Our DESIRE is to express our devotion to HIM always and the best way we hope to please HIM.

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paradise-and-cola · 7 months

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a guest etho for @daily-ethoslab [506]! what's in the box? you decide!

#my art #ethoslab #etho #etho's lab #hermitcraft #hermitcraft fanart #ethoslab fanart #paradise and block men #description in alt text #hermitblr #described #daily-ethoslab

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sunnyhvnny · 1 year

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Hello. I wonder if it's possible for you to write something fluffy for the yandere Maegor x nephew?🥺

I wasn’t taking any requests but I was having severe writer's block and for some reason, I had some ideas for this.

Tw: slight manipulation (like if you squint your eyes)

No one could explain the pull that Maegor felt toward his nephew. Despite the bitterness in his mouth at the thought, his brother, Aenys, had always thought that his younger brother would try and claim one of his daughters. The father felt a sense of betrayal when he learned that his son harbored feelings for his uncle as well.

Many had expected Maegor to claim the boy and be done with it but he had only taken him under his wing for many years, pulling him closer to him, making sure that he knew that he was one of the few people he could truly rely on.

Maegor taught his nephew how to wield a sword, axe, spear, and many other weapons. While his excuse was that the boy’s father was too weak to train him, Maegor found an opportunity to have his nephew grow more dependent on him. Closer to him and to look up to him.

The more time he spent with his nephew, the more he realized that it was less about taking something from his brother and having something that was truly his. When his nephew swung his mace at his shield, a move that Maegor had seen coming, he still fell to the ground, feigning injury. It hadn’t taken long for the two men to dissolve into fits of laughter knowing that the bigger man had only faked the injury just to see a sense of pride in his nephew's eyes.

Despite what many in his family and King’s Landing believed, Maegor was reluctant to lay claim to his nephew. Maegor barely tried to contain the desire he held for the boy and the younger man had made his lust for his uncle clear. It wasn’t until Maegor was exiled to Pentos for taking a second wife that things shifted in their relationship.

His nephew had insisted on coming along. The idea of being parted from the older man was far too much than he could think to bear. Despite the fact that he wasn’t happy about his uncle taking another wife, a wife he clearly held some embers of desire for, he would not be deterred from following his uncle to the ends of the world if that was what was needed.

At first, when Maegor would spend his nights with his wife he would always make sure to visit his dear nephew afterward. He’d climb into his bed and let his nephew curl into him as he drew his large fingers up and down his sides. It was one specific evening, when the weather was clear but humid from the previous day's rain, that Maegor invited his nephew into his bed with him and his wife.

After that night, everything had changed. There were no more shy looks or coy comments. When they sparred for fun in the field, Maegor would press him into the soft grass and smother him in kisses until he was begging.

While it was exile for Maegor and his wife, his nephew had learned to see it as a paradise and hoped that it would never end. He enjoyed the days that he would pick fruit with Alys and bring it to Maegor only for his uncle to grab it and hold it out for him to take a bite while he still held it. He enjoyed the nights when his uncle would leave bite marks and bruises on his chest and hips and no one would question or bother them.

It was why he dreaded it when his grandmother and great-aunt called her son back after the death of his brother and the young man’s father. He didn’t want to return to King’s Landing where he would be looked at with hiding eyes or where he might be taken from his uncle. He knew he should feel some semblance of sadness when it came to the news of his father, but his thoughts only remained on Maegor.

His uncle kept him close to him as they arrived back. He rode back with his arms around him as they flew back on Balerion. It was a subject long forgotten when he was younger and he asked why he wasn’t allowed to have an egg or claim a dragon. His uncle had only ruffled his silver hair and told him he didn’t need a dragon, not when his uncle had one and would always be there for him.

The first few months back were hard. Maegor had taken another wife, despite his protesting and the Faith, and been able to tell the shift in his relationship with his uncle right away.

He had only received a kiss on the head and a soft command to stay within the walls of the Red Keep until his uncle returned. From the window, though, he watched as his uncle burned down the opposing members of the Faith, and those he knew specifically were against the notion of him being with his nephew.

As the years passed by, he and his uncle lived contentedly together. Jealousy would spring up when another wife would be introduced but he saw the difference in the treatment between them and him. There was pressure on them. They were made his uncle’s wives to give him children. It was unclear if he loved them, but Maegor never hid the love he so clearly held for his nephew.

There was no pressure for an heir and only pleasure in his company and after several years of barren wives and stillborn babes, his uncle had finally named his nephew as his heir. Claiming that the person he loved so dearly should be the one to wear the crown after he was gone.

#house of the dragon #hotd #Maegor Targaryen #maegor targaryen x reader #Maegor Targaryen x oc #Maegor Targaryen x male!reader #male!reader #maegor the cruel

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bas-writes · 3 months

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welcome to my scrapbook of fantasies

about

↬ i block minors and ageless accounts

↬ this blog is not spoiler free & contains a lot of adult content | kink & dark fiction friendly

↬ i write y/n fiction | fandoms: chainsaw man, demon slayer, haikyuu, hell's paradise, jujutsu kaisen, one piece

↬ i write only gender neutral & afab reader (may occasionally stray towards more specific nb afab or transmasc) | you can see f!, m! and amab! reader in my older works

↬ reblog & personal posting heavy | writing only tag: #bas writes

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↬ chapter updates: no on-going multichap atm

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↬ Do not: translate, repost, rewrite, or use my fics as a podfic base or an AI prompt.

↬ Y/N is not a placeholder for your OC nor a part of your canon x canon ship. Do not take my fics as base for them.

↬ Please, ask me for permission, if you want to draw a fanart or write a fic based on my works and/or headcanons.

↬ I am strongly against bigotry & against purity culture. If you can't behave like a decent human being, my fics and my space are not for you.

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sailoryooons · 2 years

Text

Pinch of Sugar | One | kth (m)

Summary: As a powerful CEO - Kim Taehyung cannot afford any mistakes to his image. He has taken to the employment of sugar babies - women paid to keep quiet about how he lives his life and to positively influence his public image. But when a contract goes sour and his last sugar baby exposes Taehyung, he needs someone softer to sweeten up his image. And you are just the pinch of sugar he needs.

♦ Pairing: sugardaddy!Taehyung x sugarbaby!Reader

♦ Genre: sex worker, strangers to lovers, angst, smut

♦ Word Count: 12,472

♦ Rating: NSFW & 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging with this content. Any minors discovered interacting with adult content will be blocked immediately.

♦ Warnings: Explicit language, reference to sex work and paid relationships, mention of Taehyung experiencing hate and homophobia (he is a bi-sexual king) in the media, anxiety about paying bills, a little bit of ranting about economic stability and socio-economics, a little bit of insecurity about power dynamics from a monetary point of view at the end, mentions of toxic relationship with Taehyung last sugar baby - sorry, there's no sugar in this one :)

♦ Type: Series

♦ Main Masterlist: here

♦ Series Masterlist: here

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A/N: THIS STORY AS BEEN DISCONTINUED FOR NOW.

Kim Taehyung does not like inconveniences. He taps his nails on the table of the teakwood desk. For a moment, he stops to examine them. The cuticles are slightly overgrown, nails longer than they should be. He makes a mental note to ask Jimin to make an appointment for him to get a manicure. Perhaps an entire spa day.

He’s certainly stressed enough to spend an entire day somewhere in a tropical paradise while he soaks in a seaweed wrap.

The thought is pointless. Taehyung can hardly relax for an hour, much less an entire day. The thought is a funny little dream he has for himself. Something like a private joke that when he’s sitting in his office at 11 pm while all of his friends are out celebrating another promotion or a birthday, or someone getting engaged, and he can think Ah, should have taken that spa day.

The stress, however, isn’t from work today. It’s from the fucking thorn that has been growing in his side since the one thing Taehyung did indulge in to relax, got it in her head that they were an official couple.

He had addressed that immediately. Not only is it always in the contract, but it is something that Taehyung makes a topic of conversation any time his lovers get too comfortable. He is not there to date them, they are not there to change him.

Convenience.

Taehyung, above all else, admires easy. Not because he had it easy his entire life, or because he is lazy. It’s the opposite: Taehyung is constantly busy with work on the day-to-day, running an empire as a well-oiled machine and expanding technologies under Kim Tech while constantly jockeying with his father’s and peers' various demands.

He isn’t just a CEO of his father’s company. He is a lead thinker - a brain that brings an insane amount of progress, function, and ideas to the table. Taehyung must split himself between being a designer and a dreamer for their tech and being the CEO, the decision maker, the person who signs on the dotted lines.

So convenience is important – no – convenience is imperative outside of his life from work. He must move around the demands of his father and his job, and he needs efficiency. Like the artificial intelligence that he creates.

Machines are so much easier. Their idiosyncrasies make sense to him. If there’s a bug, he can go into the programming and work it out. Coding and running diagnostics and numbers are so much easier than people. Than feelings. Than people who want more of his time, who want more of him, who want more of an emotional investment that he doesn’t have time for.

First, Taehyung had tried casual dating. There are plenty of men and women looking to get their rocks off on dating apps. He's always in social settings for work: events, happy hours, galas, ribbon cutting ceremonies, charities, birthdays, anniversaries.

There's no shortage of hookups in the world.

But without boundaries and clear definitions of where things ended and began, it began to get messy. People calling and texting him when they knew they weren’t supposed to, showing one hookup favoritism because they were closer to his villa or because he liked the way one sucked dick better than the other became an issue.

Jealousy is an ugly motivator in his world.

Inconvenient.

Which is why Taehyung sought to invest in the world of people he could pay for their time. But it's more complicated than that. Taehyung is an extremely successful businessman and his father’s company that he built from the ground up had a reputation. An important name in the world.

Discretion is Taehyung's second item on the needs list, right after convenience. So he had asked around a few of his business friends: how do you go about paying someone to be discreet? What is ethical? How soundproof is this? What are the limitations?

He was given a company: Eden.

Where angels fall, Taehyung thought the first time he entered the building to meet with the founder and CEO, Kim Seokjin. He still rather likes Seokjin, despite Taehyung’s most recent contract with a veteran employee going the worst way it could.

There are still unopened text messages from Taehyung’s father. It's been almost three months, but Taehyung doesn’t have the stomach to look at them. There is no point when Kim Jaesung can tell them directly to his son’s face.

Running a hand over his face, Taehyung feels the tension twisting in his shoulders. It creeps up his neck, making it stiff and aching to turn. A spa day would be nice, but he cannot afford the time off, not when he’s close to launching an entire new artificial intelligent assistant to rival the creation of KAIA.

Kim Artificial Intelligence Assistant.

KAIA had been his father’s child – his real child if Taehyung’s childhood was anything to go by. It's changed the way the world integrated technology into everyday life. Siri vanished from phones. Alexa was no longer a household name. Google could not compete with the reactive thinking and cognitive ability of KAIA.

The many iterations of KAIA are each better than the last, and now KAIA is almost sentient. At least, it feels like that at times when Taehyung cracks a joke to himself and the robotic voice humors him. Taehyung works on KAIA’s personality coding himself, a series of complex learning behaviors and statistical numbers that make her grow with the user.

Now, he’s working on a smaller integration and one that is more cost-effective, and most importantly: affordable.

Taehyung's still fighting the battle of the pricing for whole and commercial sales - as well as in general - what the value of MAIA is. MAIA – Mini Artificial Intelligence Assistance – is a smaller version of her big sister KAIA and is meant to be accessible by the lower income division and used in charity integrations among school districts and various government-funded programs.

We already do charity, the board – including his father – has told him many times. Taehyung doesn't care. Enough people on the board of governors and investment team think that it gives them a good look – to hell with actually helping people – the PR is great.

But the god damn price. It’s something that Taehyung takes a stance on every day because affordable to the one percent is not affordable to the mass population, and definitely not affordable for those in lower income cities and neighborhoods.

Inconvenient.

Much of his work is inconvenient, and now Taehyung has gone three months without getting fucking laid because Amaya became inconvenient and outed herself as a paid employee of Kim Taehyung whom he uses for sex.

A sugar baby. A sex worker. A prostitute. An escort.

Amaya has been called all kinds of names, but she's never cared. She preyed on Taehyung’s tolerance for her breaking rules and contract.

Now he was fucking paying for being too tired to fight with her.

Taehyung’s cell phone goes off on his desk. He frowns when he sees his housekeeper calling. In all the years Merallta has worked for him, he can think of maybe two times that she's called him. One time was because Miss Ysabel had broken into Taehyung’s office and the other was because his stepmother had let herself into his home – something she never did.

So Taehyung picks up the phone, a crease already in his brow and his tone hushed. “Hi, Merallta.”

“Mr. Kim, there is something wrong with Yeontan. I think he had an allergic reaction. I’m taking him to-“

“I’ll meet you there.” He stands swiftly. “Text me the address.”

Because if there is anything in Taehyung’s life that he will tolerate being inconvenient, it is that damn dog he bought on a whim and that he loves more than anything else on the planet. Even work.

Taehyung grabs his coat and storms out the door, asking KAIA to bring the car around as he does.

Your eye has been twitching for two weeks. You feel it as you push the rolling chair backward, reaching to shove a manila file back into its proper place. You glance at the clock and try not to yawn. The night shift at Midway Veterinary isn’t bad – it’s usually the emergencies that happen in the middle of the night, but few are ever really life threatening.

It’s traditionally the same: my dog ate a toy, my dog has a really bad rash, my dog ate a roach trap, my cat started vomiting all over the couch.

Pet emergencies at night always feel more dangerous than those during the day. It's something about the threat of not getting to the animal hospital in time or being worried everything is closed that gets to people.

That’s where you come in.

Keeping a calm voice on the phone when pet owners dial at midnight to tell you that they dropped their hamster is always incredibly important. Though you cannot physically treat the pets themselves, your job as the front desk admin for the night shift is to keep them calm, keep them rational, and get pet parents to tell you exactly what happened.

There are plenty of times you can talk them through something on the phone. My dog accidentally ate a piece of chocolate, is he going to die? My cat swallowed a grape, what will happen?

Those are the easy answers, usually. You’ve been at Midway long enough to know when to tell them to come in or when to walk them through purging their pet’s stomach on the phone.

The door to the waiting area rips open and a man strides in through the front door. You notice several things at once, and mostly in an order that you know is not most to least important.

First: he is absolutely stunning. His golden hair looks like it's originally been styled with gel in a careful, brushed-back look with an exposed forehead. A few strands escape now – hanging artfully over his brow. It looks good – though anything would look good on him.

Dark brown eyes wide with panic, honey skin that is unblemished to the point that you feel the need to touch the breakout on your chin, a sharp jawline that you read about in smutty romance novels, and a carefully sloped nose that would look too large on anyone else but is perfect on him.

Second: you realize that he’s dressed like he just strolled off a photoshoot set somewhere. Vogue, perhaps. You’re not too in touch with fashion, much to Hoseok’s distress, but you can recognize that he knows how to dress. Black trousers, a velvet black vest, a jacket that fits specific enough to hint at it being personally tailored, and a charcoal tie.

He is exquisite.

The third thing – and probably the most important – that you notice, is the fluff in his arms as he starts speaking to you over the counter. You blink up at him, dazed and confused for a moment. He repeats himself and your brain is still trying to put the pieces together.

Very cute black and tan dog – beautiful coloring for a Pomeranian – held tightly in his arms, snout swollen and eyes bulging slightly.

“Looks like an allergic reaction,” you say, barely hearing your own voice. “Are you a current patient with us?”

“Yes, Kim Taehyung.”

Fuck. No wonder this man looks the way he does – you know the name instantly and you’re unsure how you did not recognize him in the first place. Not only was his company worth billions of dollars and in the very computer you pulled up his – Yeontan’s – file, but he had a massive scandal a few months prior.

Shoving all of that aside, you check them in and assure Taehyung that Yeontan will be just fine. A vet tech is out within moments, greeting Taehyung with familiarity before taking the dog from his arms and telling him to wait. Taehyung protests but you say his name with a soft voice, drawing those eyes to you.

His eyes are the most beautiful thing about him. You don’t know him at all – you know of him. In the media, in magazines, in interviews. But that cannot tell you much about a person, and from looking at the way his eyes water and the way a tech billionaire stands in front of you about to crack, you know that he is kind.

“He’ll be okay,” you assure him with a soft smile. “I sent over everything you told me. You only can’t go back because it’s a bit of a full house back there tonight with some stay overs and we’ve got a big girl back there who doesn’t like men much. Sadie is a sweety to us, but she’ll give you a good snap.”

“That’s a dog, right?”

Laughter bubbles to your lips as the joke goes over his head. “Yes, Sadie is a German Sheppard. She came from an abusive home and hates men. Though I’m sure you’re great.”

He sighs. “How long?”

“Probably not very. They’ll give him an antihistamine and give him a good check just to make sure there’s no respiratory issues.” His eyes go wide. He’s standing close to your desk, so when you reach toward him without a second thought, it’s easy to touch his hand delicately. “Yeontan will be okay. Namjoon – Doctor Kim is a wonderful vet. I’d even trust him with me.”

Taehyung deflates a little, letting out a slow breath and giving you a shaky smile. Your hand is warm where your fingers touch the top of his. You snatch your hand away, realizing how inappropriate it is to touch guests without asking.

Clearing your throat, you gesture to the waiting chairs in front of your desk. He nods and takes one, knee bouncing up and down as he begins scrolling on his phone, chewing his bottom lip.

You try to get some filing done and paperwork sent out while Taehyung waits, but it is nearly impossible. His presence eats up the room. You can smell the faint lavender and rose – a surprisingly light scent for a man who radiates something akin to power.

Now that his eyes aren’t on you, you study him over the top of your computer. His really is dressed well and the watch on his wrist that glints in the light looks expensive. He types away furiously on his phone, looking up occasionally to look at the door where the vet tech took Yeontan.

When he looks for the tenth time, you snort.

“Mr. Kim, looking at the door won’t make it any faster. It’s been ten minutes.”

“Well you said it wouldn’t take long.”

“I said it wouldn’t take long, not that it would be miraculously fast.” He sends a frown your way. You squirm under his gaze. “I spy, with my little eye, something…. Green.”

His frown deepens. “What?”

“I spy something green. Come on, you never played I spy as a kid?”

“No.”

“Well do you know how it works?”

“In theory.”

“Then what do I spy, Mr. Kim?”

His lips are rosebud pink. You wonder if they’re always that color, soft like a petal, or if perhaps its just the contrast from his tan skin. The corner of his mouth tilts upward and he raises his brow. You raise yours in return, determined to take his mind off of the obvious stress he is showing, and to entertain yourself – he is the only other person in the room.

Sighing and narrowing his eyes, Taehyung looks around the room with a renewed focus. He begins naming the obvious things – plants, books, magazines, the spray on the shelving that you sell, pictures on the wall.

Taehyung grows frustrated. You lean your chin on your hands, content to watch him purse his lips as he looks around the room.

“I think you’re cheating,” he finally concludes.

You gasp and sit up straight. “I am not cheating! I would never do such a thing.”

“I have named everything in this room that is green!”

“You have not, sir.”

“You can call me Taehyung.

You’re caught off guard by how nice he is. Though you have seen Taehyung in interviews and your friends cannot stop talking about how handsome he is, you did not entirely expect his.

He crosses his arms. “Sir is my father. I’d like it if you called me Taehyung.”

Your stomach flips a little at that. “You have not named everything in this room that is green, or you would have guess it already.” He rolls his eyes upward and you grin. “Keep guessing, Taehyung.”

“You haven’t told me your name.”

“You get my name when you find the green object in question.”

Taehyung’s face scrunches up. You fold your mouth, suppressing the urge to laugh. He looks so different than the man on the magazines. While rationally, you know what you cannot judge a book by its cover, you didn’t expect him to be… endearing.

“I’m going to tell Joon to hire a new admin.”

“Start guessing. The clock is ticking.”

Before Taehyung can make a guess, the door behind you opens. You turn as Namjoon comes out with Taehyung looking around dreamily in his arms. Taehyung shoots to his feet, approaching Namjoon with a friendly familiarity.

“Allergic reaction,” Namjoon tells Taehyung. “Has Merallta used a new cleaner or anything with rosemary in it?”

“Yes, she switched to a more environmentally friendly cleaner.”

“I think that’s what it is. While I admire your efforts to save the world one cleaner at a time, Tae, switch back to the old one.” Namjoon holds Yeontan out to Taehyung, who takes the puppy carefully in his arms. He kisses the Pomeranian on the head briefly. “I gave him some antihistamines, so he’ll be pretty sleepy. Let me know if the rash and swelling get worse.”

“Thanks, Joon.”

“No problem. Tell your brother I said hello. It’s on the house – I’ll send his report over in the morning.”

Namjoon leaves to the back. Taehyung nuzzles Yeontan slightly – you smile and look away, cheeks heating at the sight. While you are certainly not working the grave yard shift at the animal hospital for the men and their pets, it does help.

Taehyung approaches the desk, absently stroking Taehyung’s fur lightly.

“So what was it?”

“Hmm?”

“The object.”

“I guess you will never know.”

“But I wanted to know your name.”

“Hmm.” You giving him a thoughtful look. “I suppose I can take pity on you this one time. It’s y/n.”

“Y/n,” he repeats. “Cute.”

“Thanks, my parents gave it to me.”

He smirks. “I wasn’t talking about the name.” He glances you up and down and you feel a flush through your cheek and neck. Suddenly, your desk area is too warm and your hands feel clammy and sticky. “Have a great evening. And thanks.”

“For what?”

“Distracting me,” he smiles.

You watch Taehyung leave while cooing at Yeontan. Cute. He called you cute. While it feels novel, you know that it means nothing. Because though you shared a few moments with Kim Taehyung, someone that most women and men alike would kill for, it doesn’t mean anything. It is a moment you’ll think about later when you go home and stare at the leaky ceiling of your apartment, but chances are that Kim Taehyung will never think about it again.

You’re just not in the same world.

Pressing your fingers into your temples, you close your eyes. You want to forget the number on the bill, to pretend that you can’t see it. But even behind closed eyes, you see the daunting figures there.

You always knew that being an adult is work. You never realized that being an adult is work, and then additionally constantly worrying about weather or not you were going to be able to pay a bill. With the way the world is going, rent is already impossibly high, gas is so bad you started taking the train to your weekend job despite it often making you late, and electricity is going through the roof.

Something about gas being more expensive worldwide – though in reality, you know that it was another reason for corporations to squeeze money out of the masses.

God. You’re starting to sound like Yoongi, thinking that way. On his worst nights, he nurses a glass of terrible whiskey and pretends he's been able to afford something smoother, and rants about the way the world is built to crush anyone who isn’t in the one percent.

While you're inclined to agree with him, it's something that you try not to consider.

Yoongi comes stumbling out of his make-shift room, hoodie pulled up over his head. You look up at him. His face is swollen with sleep, eyes barely open. His black hair is hanging in his face – you realize you're going to need to give him a haircut soon – and he has dark circles under his eyes again.

Wordlessly, you slide a cup of coffee over to him that you had poured five minutes prior. It’s how he likes it – single splash of milk, no sugar. He grunts and takes the mug, sipping and making a face.

“It’s a shitty brand,” you defend before he can complain. “I don’t know what you want from me.”

“Can’t you steal coffee from work?”

“Yeah right. Brian takes employee theft so seriously. Hoseok took a cup of tea home with him when he wasn’t on break and Brian threatened to fire him.”

“Brian is a prick.”

“Yeah, well he’s a middle-aged white man running a coffee shop owned by a corporation.”

Yoongi huffs. “Fair. Are you at the vet today or the coffee shop?”

“Coffee shop.” You pause, chewing on your lip. Slowly, you push the electricity bill over to your roommate. He looks at it before choking on his coffee, holding the piece of paper closer to his face as though he is reading the numbers wrong. “Yeah.”

“We already keep this place on fucking 80 and unplug all of our shit.”

“I know.” He slams the bill down on the counter.

Living with Yoongi has always had perks. He’s silent, he’s incredibly clean, he minds his business, and most importantly, pays half of the rent. But over the last few years as you searched for writing jobs to better support you than working four days a week at a vet desk and three days a week – sometimes four – at a coffee shop, you’ve been unlucky.

Yoongi is already working insane hours at a music store down the street, pulling extra shifts to do inventory and working holidays. With the money between you, you are just making rent and bills with enough left over to pay for food and one or two miscellaneous items.

And things just keep going up. Rent. Gas. Food. Utilities. Neither of you have insurance – you suffer through cold months hoping you don’t get respiratory infections and you cannot image what either one of you will do when the air conditioning finally bites the dust. It’s been leaking freon for months, kicking on and off at odd times.

“I’m going to apply to that corner store.” He runs a hand over his face. “I’ll head there today-"

“Yoongi, you have so much going on with music, no. I’ll pick up extra shifts.”

But he’s already shaking his head and waving you off. “You can’t. You’re already going straight from one place to the other already. Music can wait. It’s not like it’s getting me fucking anywhere.” His tone is final. You deflate. “We’ll be fine.”

Yoongi’s words play in your head on loop as you finish paying your student loans on your phone while riding the train to the coffee shop. You’re working the afternoon shift on a Saturday, which is a bit unusual for you, but someone put the shift up for grabs and you weren’t going to turn down money.

Grey skies stretch overhead. You can smell the rain on the air as you tie an apron around your waist, standing in the grimy alleyway that leads to the back of Sugar’d, a ridiculously named and ridiculously overpriced coffee shop. It’s one of many in the city, but it’s the closest to your apartment downtown.

It smells like sticky syrup and food when you enter through the backdoor. You don’t know how else to describe the smell to anyone who has never worked in food and beverage. There is a specific scent that carries throughout the concrete floors always wet somewhere from a sink or sanitary machine leaking, and there are endless amounts of spilled syrup and residual whipped cream from someone opening a new canister wrong.

Hoseok glances up as you walk front of house. It smells like coffee grinds and vanilla – a scent you actually enjoy. The small café is decorated in muted neutrals and browns. Tinted windows make it darker inside than it really is as the storm clouds gather outside.

A single patron sits in the corner of the café with headphones tucked in his ears and knees pulled up into the chair, book in front of him capturing his attention entirely. Hoseok tosses you a rag as you walk up.

“Please help me wipe down. We haven’t had a chance since the rush earlier and Jungkook exploded like three cans of whipped cream and broke a syrup bottle.”

You grimace but take the rag anyways, always willing to help. “Where is the kid anyway? You let him go early?”

“After the morning he had? Yeah. He was going to go work on some paintings anyway. He has someone interested in showing his work.”

You nod and give a noncommittal hum. Jungkook is the only other coworker beside Hoseok that you love dearly. He’s at your apartment most days, sleeping on your couch instead of the very flat mattress that lays on the floor of the kitchen of a studio apartment he shares with three other guys.

Young, dumb and broke, you used to joke when you first met him during orientation at the coffee shop. He is desperately trying to finish art school which he is on a scholarship for, but it only covers the books and the classes. He is totally on his own with rent and other living necessities and he is no better off than you or Yoongi.

Every movement has a steady rhythm. You let yourself get carried away in the mindless task, making a face when you realize just how sticky the back of the bakery case is. You work in silence, letting the carefully curated playlist that Brian insists stay on pull you into a focus. You’re tired, but you’re content.

A sheet of rain begins pelting the window. You stand up from where you had been crouching, pausing a moment to watch it come down in opaque sheets. The windows blur with the rain, drawing the attention of the patron in the corner and Hoseok for just as second as lightning flashes, purple and white against the windows.

Thunder hums as someone rips open the front door to the café, a gust of wind and mist chasing him as he closes the door, panting and cursing. He turns to look at the storm behind him before looking to see where he has entered to escape the torrential onslaught.

You blink in surprise.

A very wet, yet still divine Kim Taehyung stands in the entry way. He’s looking around, golden hair a few shades dark and heavy with rainwater. He’s dressed in all black again, except this time he sports no jacket. A black button up tucked into black pants with a black vest over the top. There’s a glittering gold pocket watch pinned to the vest, making you tilt your head. How… fashionable.

“I can’t promise coffee will dry you off,” you call to him, surprising yourself by speaking. He looks at you and you see surprise followed by a smile flash across his face. You feel blush creeping up your neck immediately as he approached, shaking the water off his hands. “But it might warm you a bit.”

“What a delightful surprise.”

“Is it?”

“A surprise? Of course it is.”

Taehyung wet is more stunning than he is dry. He stands on the other side of the counter from you, crossing his arms with now wet sleeves that stick to him like a second skin. Running a single hand through his hair, he gives you a wide smile, but you’re too hypnotized by the simple act of brushing his hair back to hear what he says.

“What?”

He smirks. “I said it’s nice to see you again.”

You are acutely aware that Hoseok is watching the two of you from the corner of his eye. He has been wiping the same steamer nozzle for the last two minutes, his motions lazy and unconcerned.

“You too. Though I’m sorry you’re all wet.”

“You know, if I knew you better, I might think that’s a euphemism for something.”

Your eyes fly wide. “Oh gosh – sorry. It’s not, I didn’t mean-"

His laughter creases his eyes as he holds his hands up, allaying your fears. “I’m just poking fun at you.” He glances at the rain pelting the windows. “I suppose I should have checked the weather.”

You hum. “Don’t you have all that fancy software to do those things for you?”

There’s a twinkle in his eye. “You’ve caught me on an off day.”

“Sorry to hear. Can I get you anything?”

Taehyung seems to think about it. “What’s your favorite coffee?”

“I don’t think we’re going to have the same taste.”

He leans on the counter with his elbows, bent over slightly as he holds his chin in his hand. He looks up at you through long, dark lashes and you feel your breath quicken. “Why’s that?”

“I like my coffee terribly sweet.”

His eyes darken and he drags them up and down your figure. You hold your breath. “I like all kinds of things that are sweet.”

“Is that like, built in?”

“What?”

“The switch you flip when you start to flirt. Is that built in or did you learn that?”

He folds his mouth to stop his laughter. “I don’t know what to say.”

“You could order a coffee? I’ll even throw it in for free.”

“Really? So the flirting worked.”

“I’ll give you free coffee if you can guess what I spy: it is tall and shameless.”

His laugh is rich and deep. You smile, chewing the corner of your lip as you watch the way humor makes him light up. “Alright, no free coffee for flirting, then. I will take a vanilla latte, though.”

Taehyung does pay. You don’t actually try to give him free coffee. Kim Taehyung could buy the city if he wanted. But you do try and protest when he shoves a fifty-dollar bill in the tip jar, swatting at his hand. You lose the battle.

You set about making his order, trying to stop the smile on your face. Hoseok is on you in a second as Taehyung trails to the wall of vinyl records hanging on the west side of the shop. He elbows you and you glare at him, trying to give him eyes that say shut the fuck up he’s right there.

Hoseok is persistent.

“What the fuck?” he whisper yells at you. “That’s Kim Taehyung. How do you know Kim Taehyung? You share a one bedroom apartment downtown that you converted with an airwall and he….”

“Owns the biggest tech company in the world with his family? Yeah, got it.”

“How the fuck did you meet him?”

“He brought his dog into the vet a week ago.”

“Did you hear about-"

“Yes,” you hiss and Hoseok has the decency to blush and mouth sorry as you finish making Taehyung’s coffee. “Stop making it weird.

It makes sense why Hoseok is freaking out.

Though you and Yoongi don’t own cable, you do have the internet. And you can read magazines at the corner store while you’re waiting for the unbearably slow cashier moves to scan your late night snack.

Kim Taehyung is mostly known as a tech mogul and for his leadership of his and his father’s company, Kim Tech. You've seen him all over social media at events, galas, movie premiers, and charity showings. Taehyung is always alone, making him the city’s – no the world’s – most eligible bachelor. He keeps a relatively private life outside of his social responsibility, keeping off social media and managing to keep himself out of the press on a normal day.

Until three months ago.

You remember your brows shooting up into your hairline when you read the headlines.

Kim Taehyung Slammed for Paying for Sex

Daddy? Kim Taehyung is Not Sorry as he Pays Sugar Babies

Life is Sweet – and Full of Sugar For Kim Taehyung

You can’t imagine why someone who looks the way Taehyung does has to pay someone for sex. Yoongi had wondered aloud one day on the couch about it, laughing at the fact that in a world where people like Kim Taehyung existed, maybe Yoongi was better at sex than a billionaire and that’s why Taehyung paid men and women.

And there were men and women.

Watching the horrible, disgusting things being posted and said about his sexual preferences turned your stomach. It was like the media were hyenas in wait, lurking for any scrap of meat they could tear from Taehyung’s bones.

At one point, it seemed like people were angrier that Taehyung was bisexual than the fact that he was involved in elicit and morally-questionable sexual activities. You went home after train rides of hearing people talking about it, letting their hate rot in your stomach until you felt sick.

Why did people care so much?

There was no answer.

So you tried not to get too deep into the articles, interviews and social media rantings that the woman in question was participating in. Taehyung's ex-sugar baby was going on any tell-all she could get herself invited to, sharing her truth: Kim Taehyung pays for sex and relationships.

The thought strikes you like an adder as you reach out to hand him his coffee. Suddenly you can’t meet his eyes and your hand trembles when he accepts the cup with steady hands and a warm smile. Warmth is the last thing you expect from someone known for being a hard ass in his company and paying thousands of dollars for the company of others.

“Smells amazing.”

It shocks you when he speaks. You had been going down the rabbit hole of thoughts when he gives you another grin before turning over his shoulder and looking out the window. The rain has fallen to a very light mist, manageable without an umbrella.

“I guess I should go to my meeting.”

“That seems pertinent.”

His mouth twitches at the corner. “I hope you have a good day, Y/N.”

Taehyung does not have a good day. Being drenched in the rain starts him off on the wrong foot, though he hopes seeing you meant that it was turning around. You had been a pleasant surprise, both at the veterinary office when you provided him with a brief moment of respite, and again with the subtle humor you offered at the coffee shop.

Fate is not something Taehyung believes in. Hard work, dedication, sacrifices and putting aside desires is what got him and his father to where they were. It was what makes Taehyung’s world turn round. There is no pre-determined destiny marching him down his path.

But as he leaves the coffee shop, a little bit drier and definitely much warmer, Taehyung things that it is a funny little coincidence to have seen you twice in a week. Especially that you remember him, though he has to remind himself that he is not a fraction as invisible as he wishes he was.

The rest of the walk to the crumbling parking garage he intends to buy and condemn to build a new facility strictly dedicated to MAIA isn’t unpleasant. The air is a little humid and the sun doesn’t come out, but it doesn’t douse him with rain again. He made the mistake of wanting to take public transportation to the meeting sight as a way to show that he was, in fact, a human being in touch with reality.

In the heart of downtown, the new site is surrounded by neighborhoods in need. He would need an entirely new staff, and Taehyung has spent months building a proposal and financial reports: how he's going to make it work, what he wants the company culture to look like, what kind of financials they need to produce to pay livable wages, what their hiring standards need to be like.

Unlike his father, Taehyung had come back from university liberal. It drove his father and most of the members of the board to no end that Taehyung wasn’t a blood-sucking vampire who wanted to bleed the masses to fill his pockets.

Taehyung’s pockets have been full his entire fucking life. He doesn’t need more.

If there is a single thing that he likes about himself, it’s his need to try and make the world a little less unsufferable. He won’t admit that to anyone, but his actions speak for him.

Which is why he had taken public fucking transportation this afternoon to meet with the man who owns the garage. Taehyung is in a bit of a bidding war with a property management company that wants to replace the out-of-use garage with a new, loft-style apartment complex.

Taehyung already has his argument and a ton of financial reports ready for his meeting: the apartment complex is going to be priced out of range for any of the local residents looking for a place to rent. It’s another building that will cost millions to build, and then sit empty because no one can afford to live in it. It will bring in no jobs, no incremental revenue, and ultimately be a waste of space.

The problem? The owner of the parking garage is certainly not fond of Taehyung, and already seems to have an idea of what Kim Taehyung stands for.

Can he blame him? No. The entire fucking city now knows that for the last two years, he has been fucking paying for relationships. The ethical conversations are through the roof and there are now thousands of people calling him a sick fuck, preying on people who they think are beneath him.

In fact, he had read an incredibly insightful article about just how awful he is, abusing his power and money to exploit the poor.

Except every single person Taehyung has ever had a contract with is very much not in need of money and are some of the most recommended escorts in the city – perhaps the fucking country.

The smell of wet pavement chases him into the shadows of the parking garage, where Malcolm is standing and scrolling through his phone. He’s dressed modestly in jeans, a shirt and a blazer thrown over it, his orange-hued beard trimmed neatly and eyes unfocused behind owl-like glasses.

“Malcolm,” Taehyung greets politely. He keeps the warmth out of his voice. Being friendly or overly welcoming is not going to win him the purchase of the building. Straight finances and economics is going to. “It’s good to see you.”

Malcom looks up at him and frowns. “I’m sorry – I thought we cancelled this meeting?”

Taehyung pauses. “No, it was still on my calendar. My apologies – if we cancelled then why are you here?”

“Mr. Kim, there seems to be a misunderstanding. I called your office two days ago to cancel. I’ve decided to pass on your acquisition of the building and sell to GreyStar.”

Taehyung feels a vein tick in his jaw. “I see. I’ll have to connect with my admin on that. I was under the impression you were excited to discuss a possible sale to Kim Tech. May I ask why you changed your mind.”

Malcolm stares at him, brown eyes squinting. “It’s just ethics.”

“Ethics?”

“You hire prostitutes, Mr. Kim. I have no desire to be affiliated with that.”

“Fuck,” Jimin says. “He said that?”

“Yeah he fucking said that,” Taehyung snaps. They’re at Taehyung’s private bar in the backyard of his villa. Behind them, the sun sets over the world, rolling green hills looking as though they’re on fire. Jimin swears again and sips the martini carefully. “There was no fucking message for me about cancelling the meeting.”

Jimin winces. “It’s… Carina. She hasn’t been going through all the voicemails.”

“Hyeon’s niece that he hired out of nepotism?”

“That’s the one.”

“Fire her.” Jimin groans, throwing his head back up, dark hair falling. “I’m serious, Jimin. I let it slide because Hyeon does good work but that is exactly the fucking opposite of what my human resources department is supposed to be doing. She’s been working here for five months and can’t listen to a fucking voicemail.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll work on it.”

They both know by now that when Jimin say’s that he’ll work on it, he will absolutely do it.

Jimin is an unlikely friend to Taehyung. He had been a model when they met – struggling to pay bills despite being one of the most rapidly growing faces on high-end magazines and social media. Worse – Jimin hated modeling. Hated the way people thought that he was vapid and conceited, hated the way he felt as though he was selling his body, soul and his mind for the job.

Taehyung thinks Jimin is so fucking smart. They had met at a charity gala for some large organization that Kim Tech made annual donations to. They’d been sat at the same table, and Taehyung couldn’t help but marvel at the way Jimin let the other men and women at the table think that he was utterly helpless and offer him all sorts of things: my sister’s friend’s cousin works at Vogue, I’ll give her a call; my wife’s cousin-once-removed has an apartment in Paris, you must stay their next month on your trip.

People doled out offers and favors to him after a subtle word, a blush on his cheeks, or simple wide eyes.

You’re a fucking hustler, Taehyung had laughed when he sidled up next to Jimin at the bar. Come work for me. You’re fucking smarter than everyone else at that table, and I need an admin who can shark everyone like that.

At first, Jimin had resisted. He thought that perhaps Taehyung was another pretty-faced boy with a rich daddy who was trying to get in his pants. Only two of three of those things were true, and to this day, Taehyung had never in his life made a sexual advance on Jimin.

Now, they're best friends. Jimin is Taehyung’s personal assistant, but he's so much more than that. He's a lifeline, someone who keeps Taehyung’s life in order, someone who can be brutally honest with him without Taehyung getting upset, someone who can help Taehyung navigate the insane lows and the moderate highs of his current lifestyle.

And Jimin ia impossibly good at his job, even if he's no longer the one answering the front desk line or checking voicemails when the likes of Malcolm called the company line instead of Taehyung directly. (A move that Taehyung thinks is deliberate).

“I should meet with an image consultant like my father says,” Taehyung sighs. He knocks back the rest of the whiskey. It goes down smooth, the burn pleasant. It’s his first of the night, but after losing the new space for expanding MAIA, he needs another. “Fix my fucked-up media presence. It’s obviously effecting my job more than I thought. Maybe I should step down.”

“Please spare me the dramatics.” Jimin glances at Taehyung from the corner of his eye. The older man is dressed in a light, white shirt that is open at the collar and tucked into jeans. Though he no longer models, it doesn’t make his style or beauty any less effortless. “You should ask Jin if there’s a division that’s dedicated to making you look better.”

“I love Jin but I will never use Eden again.”

“You know, since everyone thinks you’re this terrible, sex maniac who preys on the weak-“

“Get to the point fast.”

“And they think you’re like this cold, hateful vampire who is just rich and unkind.”

“The point, Jimin. The point.”

“Just maybe you should perhaps find a nice person and date them.”

Taehyung looks at him, brow arched. “Excuse me?”

“I am serious. You’re someone who has never had a partner seriously. If you actually found someone nice and-“

“I don’t date.”

Jimin pushes on, undaunted. “If you managed to be in a relationship that was healthy, and with a nice person, people might think differently. People love that shit. Someone who has saved the bad boy – who has turned around the heartless CEO.”

“You’ve come up with these insults rather quickly.”

Jimin sips his martini and makes a face. “I’m online all the time, these aren’t things I think.”

“Whatever. I don’t date.”

“Ever think that might be the problem, Tae?”

Of course Taehyung has never thought that his lack of dating was the problem, but the words chase him for a week straight. Taehyung thinks about it as he showers every night, and as he laying in bed with a diffuser pumping as much lavender in the air as it can.

Dating isn’t for him. He doesn’t have time for it. It’s an inconvenience. It’s not that he doesn’t want that connection with someone. He’s not hiding. He just doesn’t know how to give enough of himself over to someone without them becoming attached and offended that he works more than he has time for anything else.

It wouldn’t be fair. Right?

Jimin’s words plague him so much that without really making a decision, Taehyung drives downtown. The choice to leave the house on a work-from-home day is on a complete whim. It comes after a call where he had to tell his board of directors he still had not found a home for MAIA, but he's working on it.

Dressed in jeans and a loose, patterned button-up, Taehyung walks into Sugar’d before he even realizes where he is. He doesn’t know your schedule, and he realizes that perhaps he should have called the vet’s office to see if you were there.

Luck has it, you’re behind the counter talking to a coworker of yours. Afternoon sun shines through the window, hitting you just right that for a moment, you seem suspended in time. Your hair shines, pulled up and you smile at something your coworker says to you. Your laugh is warm and relaxed, not forced or practiced.

Jimin’s words nip at Taehyung’s heels as he approaches the counter, eyes darting back and forth between you and the man next to you. Neither have really noticed Taehyung yet, and he can’t help but get suddenly shy and worry that perhaps you have a romantic relationship with the tall, dark-haired and tattooed guy.

You turn to greet him, eyes crinkling at the corner with your smile before you blink in surprise. Your eyes get round and your mouth forms the perfect ‘o’ as you look at him.

“Hi,” you greet, giving him a toothy smile. “What a surprise.”

“What can I say, I really liked the vanilla coffee.”

“Huh. I’ll tell Hoseok. He’s the one who taught me to make them.” Taehyung’s eyes trail to the guy standing behind you watching with narrowed eyes. “That’s Jungkook. He has taught me absolutely nothing.”

“Untrue. I taught you how to use acrylic paint.”

“He taught me how to use acrylic paint poorly.”

Taehyung’s brows are raised as he watches the way you throw a glance over your shoulder at Jungkook. The man seems to get whatever face you’re making and rolls his eyes, backing away. He gives Taehyung a lingering stare. Territorial, almost.

“Same order?”

“Yeah, thank you.”

“You know, it’s free if you can-"

“Spy the shameless asshole?”

You smirk. “Today it’s an object. Something…” You look around and he has a moment to notice the way you're slightly flushed. You look a little tired, but there’s an eagerness he likes. Cute. “Brown.”

Taehyung glances around. “There is quite a lot of brown.”

“You’re a big tech CEO, you’ll figure it out.”

Taehyung stares for a moment. You cock a brow at him. What comes out of his mouth next surprises him as much as it seems to surprise you. “Go out with me.”

“What?”

“You know, like on a date. Two people enjoying an activity in which they get to know one another, usually with romantic intention.”

“Thanks, Webster, I know what a date is.”

You narrow your eyes at him before looking down at the register to tap in his order. Your silence makes his heart thunder, and Taehyung decides that he is going to absolutely throttle Jimin when he does home. His abrupt question is driven by the long-lasting damage of his previous activities, and Jimin is right – someone nice wouldn’t be terrible for him.

“Guess what I spy correctly and perhaps I’ll think about it.”

“Winning doesn’t get me a yes?”

“Not everything worth having is so easily given, Kim Taehyung.”

He feels chastened. Your voice isn’t impolite, but it’s careful. You glance up at him, eyes soft. Glowing. Expectant.

Once more, Taehyung looks around and his eyes settle on a record. He points at it and says, “That album.”

You grin at him and for a blissful moment, Taehyung thinks he’s won. His triumph plummets as you answer, “Nope,” popping the ‘p’ particularly hard. “There’s always next time.”

“He’s here again,” Jungkook mutters as he walks through the back. You’re sitting on a half-caved in box chewing on a sandwich when you look up from your phone. Jungkook crosses his arms over his broad chest, as he adds, “Kim. The big CEO.”

Swallowing your sandwich becomes difficult as your throat goes dry. It’s the dozenth time that Kim Taehyung has come to the coffee shop in a matter of a few weeks, and he has entertained your little ‘I spy’ game every time.

Every time he shows up you’re still surprised. Sometimes he’s in business suits and is particularly in a hurry, rushing through his guesses. Other times, he’s dressed a touch more casual, but still just as elegant as always.

You give him the same color every time. He’s named the most obvious things in the café at this point: the drink sleeves, the tables, the cookies in the case, the caramel syrup. He still hasn’t managed to guess what you spy that is brown, and you’ve purposefully done it.

Because while he is warm with you and according to your coworkers, has come on multiple days that you’re not there, something about him seems like a giant red flag. You’ve looked into him more now that he has turned into a regular customer.

What there is to find isn’t the best. The recent news is a total mess with rumors, additional allegations and of course, the big scandal.

But it’s what's before that looks just as unpromising: pictures where he does not smile much, interviews where he is abrupt and to the point. He looks so different from the version of him that you get at the cash register that it throws you that he can be two such different people.

Wiping your hands on your apron, you sigh. “I can always kick him out,” Jungkook offers. “He brings really good tips though.”

“Wow, your loyalty can be bought?”

“I have bills.”

It’s a joke, but it hits a little too close to home.

You pat Jungkook’s arm as you walk out, looking Taehyung up and down as he waits with his hands tucked into the pocket of a pair of ripped jeans. Today he’s in a plain white t-shirt, though you’re sure it’s designer, and his hair is soft and hanging in his eyes.

Beautiful.

His smile is infectious when he sees you. you can’t help it as the corner of your mouth curls upward, typing in his order. He gets the same thing every time, a vanilla latte with no alterations. You already see the ridiculously large bill in the tip jar, making you roll your eyes.

“I spy, with my little-"

“My eyes.”

You look up at Taehyung sharply, your mouth open. “You know, I kept going home and really thinking about it. Tried to think what in the hell you would pick that was so difficult. Because you see, you didn’t want me to guess it. You wanted to present me with a challenge, an answer that was impossible for me to guess. It could have been something you were changing every time we play, but you don’t seem like the type to play dirty. I bet you admire being fair.”

“You think so?”

He leans on the counter, a wolfish grin on his face. “I do think so. So it got me thinking: if she wants an impossible game that is still fair, it needs to be something that I’m not seeing. And that’s when I realized it: you spy something brown. My eyes.”

Taehyung is smug as you look him up and down. You cross your arms. You really didn’t expect him to get it, but Taehyung is absolutely right. The answer had been his eyes: brown, but not dark brown all the time. Sometimes they were light brown, like dark honey turned to liquid. Other times his eyes were dark like the roasted grinds behind you, fathomless and endless.

Right now, they were glittering brown, almost gold with giddiness that he has cracked the code. You really hadn’t expected him to get it, but you remember that he’s a leading mind in his tech company. Though there is a single screen in the back office dedicated to a security system run by KAIA and you have the software on your phone (who doesn’t) you’re mostly unfamiliar with his work.

“So did I get it?”

You tap a finger on your arm. “You did.”

It’s hard not to be enamored by his grin. He wears his victory subtly, though there is a new tilt to his chin and a strength in his shoulders as he straightens them and says, “So you’ll consider going out with me, then?”

“I don’t know.” He offers you his credit card and you shake your head. “You won.”

“It was never about the free coffee.” He lowers his voice and you feel your heart flutter. “Trust me, there were much higher stakes.”

Hesitantly, you take his card and run it. When you hand it back, Taehyung’s long fingers brush yours lightly. It’s like a spark jumps between the two of you, your eyes flickering up to meet his. He’s frozen for a single moment before he’s looking down, tucking the card in his wallet.

“What kind of date did you have in mind?”

“Simple dinner.”

“Simple?”

“Simple,” he promises. “Just one night. Please.”

Taking a long, deep breath, you let it out. You know it’s a bad idea. You know it is, but you want to do it. You feel it in your gut that something is going to go wrong. You’ve always believed in fate, though, and it feels like someone is putting Taehyung in front of you over and over again. Is making him determined.

You take that leap of faith and nod once. “When?”

“I’m going to vomit.”

Yoongi looks alarmed when you say it, sitting up on your bed as though you’re going to puke right onto him. Instead, you’re pacing in front of your closet, which is shoved so tight with clothes and items that it looks like a bulging pinata.

The best thing about your room is that it does not look as desolate as it could. While Yoongi’s room is an absolute nightmare – mattress on the floor, hand-me-down furniture bought at consignment stores and an airwall that took you both a week to install in the living room correctly – yours looks thoughtfully designed in muted pinks, tans and greens.

“Do I need to?” Yoongi vaguely gestures to the bed and you shake your head. He visibly relaxes into your mattress, which is better of the two in the apartment. “What’s the big deal now? You already said yes to the date.”

“He told me simple – Yoongi we’re going to Límon.”

“Holy fuck. That’s simple to him?”

You let out a loud shriek.

Límon is not only a five-star restaurant – it’s the top of the fine dining list in the city with a waiting list of months and months at a time, and a has been given five Michelin stars. It’s a Hispanic fusion restaurant that sits at the top of The Mandarin Hotel in the business district, and it is wildly expensive.

You begin to sweat. You should have known that simple to Kim Taehyung was a ridiculously fancy dinner. You have no idea what in your closet would even be passable for dinner – are you supposed to dress formal? Is there a dress code? There has to be a dress code.

Yoongi remains cool as a cucumber after his initial surprise. Peeling himself from your bed while you sit and bend over with your head between your legs, he goes through your options meticulously. You’re too busy hyperventilating to see the options he’s pulling.

Had you known that he was going to take you somewhere exclusive to a tax section you would never see, you would have said no. You debate texting him and telling him that you can’t go. That you’re going to pull an extra shift somewhere and that you’re unavailable for the night.

You type out the excuse. Delete it. Type another one and then delete that.

Because even though you are absolutely panicking, there is intrigue there. The worst thing that can happen is that Taehyung is horrible just like the media thinks he is, or he finds you completely boring and unsatisfactory.

You have a significant amount of money at the moment in case of emergency and being stiffed with part of the bill, direct results from his insane tipping at the coffee shop. But he doesn’t seem like the type for that.

So you put on the black slip dress that Yoongi suggests. Something you’ve worn once but definitely got taken home in. The strap is a little frayed so you wear your hair down to hide it. Your heels are a little scuffed but with some buffing via generic brand paper towel, they look less scratched and more shine.

Nerves eat away at you when you text Taehyung your address. Though you gave him your number at the coffee shop, his texting was incredibly minimal and to the point. So clinical that it almost felt like you were making a doctor’s appointment until he answered your address send.

Kim Taehyung: Oo she lives downtown. Is she artsy?

Me: No, she took what she could afford 🤪

Kim Taehyung: You’re cute

Me: I’m not as cute when I’m hungry…

Kim Taehyung: Five minutes, angel

The finished product isn’t bad by any means when you look in the mirror. Yoongi is on his way out and escorts you downstairs through the winding stairwell that smells like cigarettes and the cat piss because Ms. Norris keeps dumping her liter outside.

Taehyung is just outside your building, leaning against a sleek black car. It’s cliché, really. The black sports car, the black three-piece suit with the gold timepiece pinned again. He’s looking down on his phone as you walk on unsteady feat.

Seeing him hits you with a sudden sense of imposter syndrome. You shouldn’t be going out on a date with Kim Taehyung. The man who clearly doesn’t know how to date, and who has taken an interest in you because… well you don’t know why. Which is part of the problem.

You hesitate, but Yoongi nudges you before walking toward his beat up Honda. “Call me, yeah?”

It’s code for call me if you need me at any time, at any second.

“Yeah,” you agree waving him off.

Taehyung’s eyes are on Yoongi for a moment. He watches your roommate with an unreadable expression before his eyes drift over to you. He slides a hand in his pocket, letting his dark eyes look you up and down. And then up and down again. You almost shiver under his gaze – he hasn’t looked at you like that before.

“You look beautiful.” Taehyung pushes off the car, opening the door and offering you a hand. Shyly, you walk forward and take it, letting him help you sit in the cool, leather interior of the car. “You look like absolute heaven.”

“You look pretty good yourself.”

“I always look good.” Taehyung grins before he gently closes the door to the car.

You have no idea what kind of car or model it is, but the screen hums with the KAIA system and it smells cleaner than any other car you’ve been in before. Taehyung slides into the drivers seat, offering you a lopsided grin as he puts it in gear and drives.

Nerves fade away as you chat on the drive there. Taehyung looks effortlessly handsome, one hand on the wheel and the other on the gear shift. He doesn’t move to hold your hand or touch your thigh, and you’re grateful because you’re sweating absolute bullets from your anxiety and because it took effort to get dressed.

Taehyung is an easy person to talk to. You almost forget where you’re going as he tells you about his search to find a new building for his company’s MAIA project. He doesn’t think it’s a stupid question when you ask what that is.

His way of speak entrances you. His voice is dulcet and smooth, a rich baritone that you could listen to all night. Taehyung is confident when he speaks, and confident when he pulls up to the hotel and has valet take the car. He’s quick to open your door and help you out, delicately taking your hand in his.

This time, Taehyung doesn’t let go of your hand. You look up at him, eyes slightly rounded as he hands his keys to the valet who seem to be somewhat familiar with him. He looks down when he notices you’re staring at his side profile: sharp and shadowed and so beautiful that you think Jungkook would want to paint it.

“You okay?” he asks, brows furrowed. He squeezes your hand, which is warm. Your hand feels tiny in his, but you nod. He flashes a smile. “Great. Did you look at the menu beforehand?”

You almost expect him to drop your hand but he doesn’t.

Instead, Taehyung strides confidently into the hotel lobby and toward the elevator, warm fingers laced with yours. You nod and say, “It was a little overwhelming, to be honest with you.”

“Are there any hard no’s?” You snap your head toward him as he pushes the button to the elevator. He sees your expression and laughs. “With the menu. Although I’d like to know what exactly you thought I was talking about.”

“Ha ha.”

“Hey,” he jests as the elevator opens. “Your mind, not mine.”

Upstairs is a whole new world. You feel nervous in the intimate lighting. The rooftop is split between inside and outside. Taehyung leads you to the back half of the inside part, nodding at the hostess as he goes by.

You are not unaware that eyes are on you. Taehyung transforms as you pass by tables of curious eyes and people turning to look at him from the bar. He’s taller, suddenly and his face is inscrutable. The change is so sudden that you knock into someone’s chair, gasping and apologizing vehemently.

His hand is on your hip, steadying you and looked down at you with a softer expression than a moment before. His micro expressions make you dizzy as you assure him that you’re alright. He nods and his concern melts back into a cool exterior as he leads you to a very private room at the back, the two of you the only people inside.

Taehyung lets go of your hand and lets you walk over to the floor to glass ceiling windows. The entire world unrolls, a kingdom beneath his feet. Your breath fogs the glass for a moment before you find your seat across from him.

The table is directly next to you, city lights drawing your attention again as Taehyung orders a bottle of wine for you after asking your preference for white or red. You’ve barely looked at the menu, and when you draw your eyes away from the city to look at Taehyung, you freeze.

The menu hasn’t been touched, and he’s staring intensely at you. You suddenly feel small, squirming in your seat. Perhaps your hair doesn’t look right or he’s realized that bringing you here was a mistake. You adjust the hem of your dress and shift in the seat again, wondering if-

“Don’t do that.” You look back up at him. His gaze is burning – more intense than you have ever seen it before at the coffee shop. “You look divine. Don’t get nervous.”

“Well you’re looking at me like…”

He leans back in the seat. There is a cool confidence that is new to you. He’s always been confident, but this is different. Like he has shifted and is more comfortable being… sexy, perhaps is the word for it.

“Look at you like what?”

“So intensely.”

“I apologize. But you really do look like a work of art.”

Your neck flushes and you bite your bottom lip. To diver the attention you mention, “You know, when you said a simple date, this is not what I had in mind.”

“Dinner is as simple as it gets.” You snort. “What? Is it not?”

“I was thinking dinner at like – Outback Steakhouse.”

“I’ve… never been there.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose. “Of course you haven’t. We are from very different backgrounds.”

“Doesn’t mean much. I still think we share things in common.”

You throw him an amused look. “Like what?”

“Like… do you like cheese?”

“Yes I like cheese.”

“See!” he leans forward eagerly. “Match made in heaven.”

“Everyone likes cheese!”

“Untrue. You’d be surprised at how many people I know that don’t eat dairy products.”

Tension evaporates. Taehyung has a way of taking the pressure off, and though as you get to know him, there are still complete differences in your lives and where you’re at. It doesn’t bother you as much as you expect it to – you have no idea where this is going to go, or what he wants out of the date.

Feeling overwhelmed by the menu, you let Taehyung order for the two of you. He does so confidently and easily that you rub your thighs together at the cool aura he emits. Sleeping with him had not even occurred to you, but suddenly as he argues that Inception is not a terrible movie, you can’t stop thinking about it.

Dirty thoughts of Taehyung plague you the rest of the dinner, making you a blushing mess, especially when a little bit of wine slips down your chin and he leans forward to brush it with his thumb, bringing it up to his sultry mouth and swiping his tongue over the pad of his finger.

He looks at you dead in the eyes and murmurs, “Sweet.”

By the time you’re finished eating the best fucking meal of your life, the wine has you feeling warm. You lean back in your seat, needling Taehyung about his personal philosophies.

“I just don’t believe in fate!” He laughs, shaking his head. His gold hair is styled back again, single lock falling devilishly over his forehead. “There’s no way there is just a divine future for everything. Hard word is what gets us where we are.”

“You’re so nihilistic. What about for the things that aren’t as simple as hard work and a little bit of luck? Coincidences?”

“I think you put too much weight in coincidences.”

“And I think you could do with a little more magic in the world, Kim Taehyung. You have such a dry view of everything. Why?”

He shrugs a shoulder. It’s the first time that he doesn’t have a flirty answer. He grows quiet for a moment, spinning the red wine in his glass. You sip yours, waiting patiently as he finds the words.

“I don’t have time for the dreamy shit,” he says eventually. “My life is business and work and then extending that business and work, and bettering and furthering myself.”

“That sounds… boring.”

“Not really. I like being successful. I like creating. But it doesn’t leave room for the fantasies of romance and fate and love at first sight.”

“Why ask me out, then?”

“What do you mean?”

You set the glass of wine down. Your heart thuds loudly, amped by the alcohol and the warmth that is buzzing in your veins. You have a little confidence, putting meaning behind your voice when you ask, “Why ask me out if you don’t have time for romance?”

“Ah,” he laughs. “That.”

You frown. “Yeah? That.”

Taehyung lips his lips and resettles himself in his seat. He leans his elbows on the table, hands clasped and chin resting on top of them. The candle on the table reflects in his dark eyes, flickering and beautiful.

“I asked you out,” he says slowly. “Because you are wildly different than anyone I’ve been with before.”

“Like… poor?”

He guffaws. “No! That hasn’t crossed my mind for a second that we have different economics. Please don’t – fuck, don’t ever think that’s why I did. I meant that you’re incredibly kind, and firm in a soft way, and I don’t know. You seem genuine.”

“You’re not used to genuine?”

“In my line of work? No.”

You hum and chew on the inside of your cheek. The question hasn’t really been answered, though. So you push again. “Still, though. I’m different – but you don’t have time for romance? Or this is to make a friendship I just…” You lift a shoulder. “What do you want out of this, I guess is what I’m asking.”

“You value honesty, right?” You nod your head and he heaves a sigh. “I’m not stupid, I know you’ve probably heard about some things I’ve done. Both true and untrue, it doesn’t really matter. I meant what I said when I don’t have time for the romance. This, right now? It’s the first date I’ve been on in years. Me chasing you at the café for weeks? That’s the most effort I have put forth in a long time.”

“Thank you, I think?”

He smiles. “I like you. I think you’re smart, and I think that you’re honest and a different change of pace. You don’t have any arrests, which is nice. And you volunteer at an animal shelter in your free time, while working two jobs.”

A stone drops in your stomach. “You had a background check on me?”

“With what happened to me recently? Yeah. I did.” You award him that small lenience and nod, but there is something sour twisting in your stomach now. “Speaking of that, my reputation right now is a mess. You saw the way people couldn’t take their eyes off me when we walked in. Everyone is talking about me. I’m losing work deals because of it.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. My decision to pay people for their time was based off of a need and an assessment of what I could and couldn’t spend time doing. I needed discretion, I needed trust, I needed people who wouldn’t go through my things or reveal things about my private life.”

“I have to admit that… makes sense.”

“It’s hard to find people who are willing to give up the ideals of romance. I won’t ever be able to attend a birthday, or go to a wedding as a date, or just take you out to the movies.” Taehyung slows his speech as he looks at you with a level gaze. “I cannot go to friends gallery openings or be there for you if something bad happens. I travel, I work, I barely sleep. But what I can promise you is financial stability, someone to blow off steam with, and someone who will be loyal to you.”

The stone in your stomach syncs further. You hear a high-pitched ringing in your ears as you lean back in your seat, staring at Taehyung. “I’m confused- are you propositioning me?”

“Sort of, but not similar to the ones before. I don’t need sex – unless that is something you’re interested in because I would fuck you stupid over this table right now if that’s what you wanted – but I need someone softer. Someone no one knows. I need someone I can trust to come with me to events, who can help me fix my image.”

“And you think that person is me.”

“I think you can help me out, and I would be willing to financially compensate for that.”

“For sex?”

“For whatever you’d be welcome to. But I would in no circumstances be a boyfriend – not really. I don’t have the capacity or the time.”

Silence stretches between the two of you. Taehyung’s words sync in.

Financial compensation.

Taehyung said it wasn’t about being from different economical backgrounds, but what he’s not saying is that it would be mutually beneficial because you’re working two jobs and he’s working one. Because you live downtown in a shitty building and he lives somewhere nice, and owned. Because even though you look nice – you do not look like the women sitting outside of the private room.

Taehyung said it wasn’t about being from different economical backgrounds, and yet he’s offering to pay you as a favor if you do him one.

You don’t know how it happens. You don’t remember making the decision. For a moment, it’s just you and Taehyung staring at one another over empty dessert plates and glasses of wine.

The next moment, he is dripping in red wine, and the empty glass is in your hand.

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#kim taehyung #taehyung smut #kim taehyung smut #reader x taehyung #bts v #v smut #tae x reader #taehyung fanfic #kth fanfic #kth smut #kth x reader #bts smut #bts fanfic #minors dni #minors do not interact #haliiimede writes #bangtan boys #fic: pinch of sugar #haliimedes readers choice

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rancidpancakebatter · 2 years

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Masterlist

If you would like to be added to the tag list please click this link to fill out the google form. Thank you again for all your support!

Key: Fluff-♡ Smut-§ Angst-∆ Dark Themes-✕ Still In the works-* Completed-•

TASM! Peter Parker

Series

·Grip Tape-♡§ Peter offers to teach you how to skateboard and who are you to say no? This is a pre-bite fic so we get to enjoy Peter Parker in his full Dorky Display. [1|2|3|4|5|6|7|8|9|10|11|12|13|14|15]

*Drop In-♡∆ (Sequel to Grip Tape)You like Peter, Peter likes you. This should be simple, so why isn’t it? Well, maybe it’s because you were already friends? Maybe it’s the stress of senior year? Maybe it’s because someone had to get bit by a spider? Who’s to say? [1|2|3|4|5|6|7|…]

*The Playlist-♡∆ I made a playlist for TASM!Peter Parker and now I'm slowly writing songfics for it. [Australia|Honest]

·In The Name of Good-§∆✕ Peter has always had a darkness in him, what happens when you find it? [1|2] [Headcannon]

*Your Initials and Mine-♡ Eyes are the window to the soul, but so is art. Peter's is bare before you if only you could translate it. [1|…] [headcannon] *Another Way to Fly-♡∆ You've been dating Harry Osborne for three years. You love him...but maybe not as much as you once did. Maybe not enough. [1|2|3|4|5|6|…] *We Write the Story-♡∆ Peter Parker is your best friend, a little brother of sorts. You’ve been there through everything, and that’s not gonna change just because the multiverse is crumbling. But what will you do when you meet his counterparts? How will you overcome when your fates are differently aligned? How will you defy it all to be with the man you love? (Hispanic!Reader) [1|2|3|…]

One Shots

Choose Me-♡∆/∆ Trouble in paradise and the Green Goblin, what could possibly go wrong? (Everything...everything can go wrong) [ original | fix-it ]

Cornflower Confession-§♡ A new shop moves on the block along with an adorable nerd with way too much knowledge of flora. How do you make a good impression? Happiness and Other Frightening Concepts-§∆♡ You and Parker have fallen into a situationship of sorts, but that's fine, it's okay. He won't give you anything more and you don't fucking care. For Him-♡∆✕ You were fine. He doesn’t understand. You were fine. You had been a little distant lately, but he had learned that was a pattern for you. When the months got colder and the nights got longer, you needed an adjustment period. Your space would get messy, and your naps would get longer. But you were always fine.

HeadCannons

Celebrating your birthday-♡

A bathing headcanon-♡

A sleeping headcanon-♡

December/Winter Date nights-♡

MCU! Peter Parker

A Secret in Song-♡∆ Peter has something to tell you, but he's not sure he has the right words. Luckily there's someone who does.

Love n’ Locs-§♡

Peter, your love, helps you with your hair. (Black!Reader)

Matt Murdock

A Bracelet-♡ Who would have thought a bracelet would lead to this?

Four is Enough-♡ All the ways that Matt loves you (Black!Reader) You Knew-♡ You grew up with Matthew, but how long have you loved him?

Moon Men

One Shots

Strawberries and Cream-♡ It's valentine's day and your boys surprise you with breakfast in bed (Black!Reader)

Steve Harrington

A Childhood Innocence-♡∆ Steve Harrington was your best friend once upon a time, but years apart makes you see him in a new light. Takes place during season 2.

A Breath of Kool Air-♡∆ You've always been a little closed off, kept to yourself. But after the events of July 4th 1985, you're not sure that you're content being alone anymore. While you would never trust Harrington before, you discover Steve isn't so bad. (Black!Reader)

L Lawliet

Picnics at Sunset-♡ You knew that You cared for Ryusaki very much. You knew you trusted him with your life, and you always felt better when he was around. You knew that you desired his attention and approval more than anyone else’s. You knew that he was beautiful and kind. But you didn’t know if he felt any of those things about you. You didn’t know what those things meant. Or rather, you feared what they could mean, and what that would do to the both of you.

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euniexenoblade · 2 months

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Favorite music of 2023 :)

I've found myself dealing with a wave of writer's block, and in my desire to get past it I've decided to write whatever I can. Some people said they'd be interested in me talking about my favorite albums of 2023, so here's a short write up about albums I really liked and I hope everyone will give a try.

I found 2023 to be a pretty spectacular year for weird and interesting music. With artists like Lil Yachty doing a neo-psychedelia album (fantastic, give it a listen) and Avenged Sevenfold doing some progressive avant garde adjacent metal album (I think people are wrongly hating on it, it's spectacular), it shouldn't be too surprising to imagine that the bands the mainstream hasn't really heard of are making wild soundscapes unlike anything you've ever heard.

Kicking this off with one of my favorite Korean bands, Parannoul released two albums this year and they were spectacular - both in my top 10 of the year. Parannoul are a wonderful shoegaze band that create these songs that almost feel hypnotic, they create this dream like state for their songs in ways no other band seems to be able to. After the Magic, their third album, is no different in this, but brings a new warmth, brighter instrumentation, and just in general doesn't feel as self loathing and depressed as previous works. The other release, After the Night, is a live recording, which shows that the band can produce the same dreamlike style on a stage, but do it even better. My second favorite album of the year, this live album is so incredible, zoning out to the 46 minute "Into the Endless Night" while high was probably one of my favorite experiences of the year in and of itself. (Also, if you do chose to check them out, please listen to To See the Next Part of the Dream, it's one of my favorite albums ever made.)

Using Parannoul as a sorta link between things, I also found that they worked on a song on the new Turquoisedeath album, Se bueno. I won't claim to be an expert on drum and bass, but I had a killer time listening to Se bueno. When I discovered Se bueno, I also discovered a few other, more abrasive, albums that I kind of group together in my head. Namely Chaser by femtanyl (digital hardcore) and Sisterhood by lostrushi ("digicore" feels like a frantic version of trap). If you like this kind of music, give them a try, all three are on my list.

Everyone's top albums of the years seem to have their one and two spots stolen away by Javelin and Scaring the Hoes. Starting with the latter, Scaring the Hoes by JPEGMAFIA and Danny Brown is cool as hell. Beats unlike anything I've heard in hip hop before, and the flows of both men really bring it all together. It's a great album (it's my third favorite of the year), but I also think some focus on some other hip hop titles might be cool. Integrated Tech Solutions by Aesop Rock is just as impressive and interesting and deserves your attention. Alongside that Michael by Killer Mike is a fantastic listen, though it doesn't compare to the previously mentioned two, it's still a great album that deserves your time - he won those awards for a reason. The man got arrested at an award show, the least you can do is stream his album once.

Now, as for Javelin by Sufjan Stevens, it's a great album, but it's also such a sad album. His pain is horrible, and he does a great job at making you feel it. However, the music never really hit me like other albums of the year had. The lyrics murder your heart, but I'm a tad past gay pains and want gay joys. Which is why I want you all to listen to Ultra Paradise by Angel Electronics. Half Ada Rook of Black Dresses, half Ash Nerve (I doubt you know him) this is a trans and gay power pop album that's just beautiful and fun. Songs like Return to the Sky and One Thousand and One Nights are fun ear worms, and the rest of the album just has a level of repeatability and a level of joy and fun that most other albums this year didn't have. Is it as technically impressive as Javelin? No. But, shit, it's nice to be happy for once.

Continuing off of this idea, in 2023 we saw transphobia become horrifically rampant, the right wing are really intent to get rid of us. You can't avoid how much this world hates us now and it makes you want to just scream. It creates this feeling of anger, a desire for violence, like we're past being sad and nice and understanding. In 2023 the Hirs Collective put out an album on par with that emotion. We're Still Here is an aggressive grindcore album put together by trans, gay, queer people in general. My favorite release from the band to date, it's fantastic to see Hirs screaming "We're still here!" as the world tries to erase us. This is my favorite album of 2023, please listen to it, please give Hirs your money, they deserve it and you deserve their music.

A few more albums I wanna recommend that I can't really think of anything in depth to say: God Cum Poltergeist by Crisis Sigil (Ada Rook) is a fantastic grindcore album, Goodnight, God Bless, I Love U, Delete by Crosses is a fantastic synthpop adjacent album and I got to see it performed live and it's amazing music, Reborn Superstar! by Hanabie. is a great Japanese metalcore album, and go listen to Kikuo Miku 7 for some rad Hatsune Miku bullshit.

My top 50 music releases of 2023:

We're Still Here by Hirs

After the Night by Parannoul

Scaring the Hoes by JPEGMAFIA & Danny Brown

Dogsbody by Model/Actriz

Desire, I Want to Turn Into You by Caroline Polachek

After the Magic by Parannoul

Goodnight, God Bless, I Love U, Delete. by Crosses

God Cum Poltergeist by Crisis Sigil

uma by betcover!!

Ultra Paradise by Angel Electronics

Reborn Superstar! by Hanabie.

No Joy by Spanish Love Songs

Saved by Reverend Kristin Michael Hayter

Live in Japan by Mass of the Fermenting Dregs

93696 by Liturgy

Resistance and the Blessing by World's End Girlfriend

Kikuo Miku 7 by Kikuo

Javelin by Sufjan Stevens

Integrated Tech Solutions by Aesop Rock

Poil Ueda by Poil & Junko Ueda

Enola Gay by Asia Menor

Upal by Kostnateni

The Loveliest Time by Carly Rae Jepsen

Michael by Killer Mike

Exul by Ne Obliviscaris

Hellmode by Jeff Rosenstock

Hometown to Come by Minhwi Lee

Life is but a Dream... by Avenged Sevenfold

Chaser by Femtanyl

Sadness / Abriction by Sadness / Abriction

O Monolith by Squid

But Here We Are by Foo Fighters

Stone by Baroness

History Books by The Gaslight Anthem

Why Does the Earth Give Us People to Love? by Kara Jackson

Rookie's Bustle by Ada Rook

Futility by Yakui The Maid

Let's Start Here. by Lil Yachty

The Age of Pleasure by Janelle Monae

Bee and the Whales by Galileo Galilei

Zach Bryan self titled

Everything is Alive by Slowdive

Let's Hope Heteros Fail, Learn, and Retire by Alice Longyu Gao

Se bueno by TURQUOISEDEATH

Yoshitsune by Poil & Junko Ueda

Perfect Picture by Hannah Diamond

January Never Dies by Balming Tiger

Jenny From Thebes by The Mountain Goats

Never Falter Hero Girl by Katie Dey

Sisterhood by lostrushi

#music posting #2023

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metalnecklace · 10 months

Text

There Was Heaven In Your Eyes

Pairing: Javier Peña x Reader (plus size)

Words: 4054

Notes: Still not as much Javi in this one, but it’s getting there for sure. Pablo Escobar is in this one a bit. Also I tried to stay as close to the timeline as possible but I probably overlooked a few things, sorry about that!

Warnings: Canon Typical Violence, Threats of Violence, Not the Best Spanish Translations, Pablo Escobar

Masterlist

Chapter 2

Months went by in the blink of an eye. Turns out Luis used to talk about me to the other men working for Pablo, and would brag about his kid having a great teacher that he got to look at. Because of this glowing review, and the need to stay out of the public eye, Pablo decided to hire me as a nanny for his two children, providing me with a new identity and passport to match. He wanted to make me disappear as quickly as possible, which happened to align with my interests as well.

It was hard to wrap my head around the fact that I was not just employed by a drug cartel, but I was working directly under the boss. I knew he was not a good person, but his children were sweet. I kept my head down and focused on making sure they were cared for and his wife, Tata, was supported while I was given a roof over my head and food and clothes.

I never left the properties that we stayed at unless we had to move. It was too dangerous. There were times I hardly left the houses, which weren’t too bad but I tended to feel claustrophobic at times.

I hardly ever saw Pablo, unless he was coming to check in on his children. Usually it was just Tata, Pablo’s mother, and I using our small understanding of each other's languages to get by. I was grateful, but I still wondered if my day to day life was an improvement on how I had been living.

Finally a year passed with me working for the Escobar family. Things had started getting tense with Pablo moving us around more, which caused Tata to grow irritable. Pablo’s mother insisted that we trust him, but it was hard when I heard the men talking about different things that had been going on. I only caught some words here and there, my Spanish getting better but still not a hundred percent.

Weeks went by where I couldn’t close my eyes without seeing my life in Canada. Old friends, family members, and even better memories of my husband played out behind my eyelids like my own home movie. I yearned for some of my life to return, but knew better than to hope.

Some nights when I couldn’t sleep I found myself pulling out the folded up card I was given just over a year earlier. It was thin and frayed, the lines well worn in from being unfolded and folded back up time and time again. I didn’t need to look at the numbers anymore, having committed them to memory, but I found comfort just reading over his name at times.

Javier Peña.

I was embarrassed to admit to myself how much I fantasized about what might happen if I called him. How would his voice sound? Would I have the nerve to actually talk to him? I had only been trying to do my job, but I wondered what would have happened if I had given him the information he needed back in that classroom.

Fantasies were what kept me going as I blocked out the evidence that things were falling apart day by day. Tata’s hands shook while she did dishes, their children often asked questions that I couldn’t answer about their father, and Pablo was seen less and less.

I was outside by the pool with the kids one day when I heard some of the men talking. I couldn’t understand everything they were saying, but the words La Catedral were being said over and over again.

Tata had explained briefly to me what was going to be happening, considering things would change slightly at home. Pablo was going to prison, but one that he built. A paradise it sounded like.

Except his family would stay behind, as would I. I was grateful for that, even though I knew it would be hard for them to be apart for so long. I just didn’t want to be that close to his operations, even though I was already almost as close as you could get.

I was settling into bed one night after a long day. The children were restless, wondering why their father was leaving them, so I spent most of the day trying to raise their spirits and reassure them of their fathers love. It was hard to promise something that I didn’t quite believe, myself, but I did care for them and hated to see them be upset.

The house was quiet, as my room was just far enough that I could hear if the kids were awake but that was it. Pablo and Tata’s room was too far away for me to hear anything, luckily, but I knew they wouldn’t be asleep yet anyway. It was almost eerie how quiet everything was. There was nothing that could drown out the thoughts and worries that spun around in my head. I felt my fingers itching to reach for that card held snug in my wallet when the silence was broken.

My ears rung and my lungs filled with dust. Part of my wall was collapsed onto the floor at the foot of my bed. There had been an explosion, and I had to act fast.

I raced to the kids rooms without a second thought for my own safety. Pablo held his daughter in his arms, shielding her head with his hand and neck, his son was already with Tata who was frantic. Pablo rushed us out of harm's way and into a separate room. I helped Tata settle the children as Pablo paced back and forth.

His doctor came rushing in with Gustavo right behind him. They spoke fast between each other while the doctor checked us over, making sure we were alright.

“Fue un autobomba, desde la calle,” Gustavo told Tata. (It was a car bomb, from the street).

Without acknowledging it, we all knew that meant somebody had given him up.

I needed to get out of there.

I tried to focus on a plan, but Pablo’s men seemed to double around the house we were moved into. I couldn’t seem to catch a break, always finding somebody around the corner just watching. Even when I was alone in my room at night I had the feeling of a presence just outside my door.

It all came to a head when the family had just sat down for dinner one day. I had helped Tata prepare the meal and the table for her family before going to take a break in my room. As I was leaving I bumped into one of Pablo’s men, one I had seen many times. He paid me no mind as he rushed into the kitchen. I paused, wondering about the ghostly look that his face displayed before I heard wailing behind me. I turned and rushed back into the kitchen to find Pablo holding his mother who was in absolute shambles.

Pablo turned to me, his face more serious than I had ever seen. “Gustavo está muerto.”

Tata looked at me and I could tell I was not wanted in this intimate moment. I scurried out of the room and into mine, closing and locking the door behind me. My knees were wobbly as I made my way to my bed before I laid on my back, trying my best to keep my breathing even.

Gustavo was dead. A man who I started to believe was untouchable. Just like that, he was gone.

I couldn’t tell what I was feeling. Relief, mostly, but also worry. What was going to happen next?

The answer to my question was apparently nothing.

Pablo still went to his prison, life at home was still the same. The kids missed their father, but they still did their best to live their lives.

Tata started to allow me to leave the property just to go to the market if I ever felt I needed to. As long as I had some of Pablo’s men with me. It felt nice to finally get out a bit, but I knew I wasn’t truly free. I still had eyes on me at all times.

The family visited Pablo in Le Catedral a few times, but I stayed behind. I was never completely alone in the house, but I still felt much lighter on those days. I also found my eyes straying toward the phones, Javier’s number rolling through my mind each time I was alone. It would have been so easy to dial, listening for the sound of his voice.

I had only spoken to the man once, but something kept me hanging on. He was my last connection to the world outside of the war I was living through. I didn’t even know if he would still be on the other end of the line, or if he was still working for the DEA, or if he was even still alive.

I tried not to dwell on those thoughts and kept myself away from temptation, only worrying about preparing meals and keeping the house tidied for when they would return. I had thought about running, trying to leave, but my guilt wouldn’t let me leave the children when I could tell they were unsure of what was going on. They asked more and more questions that I couldn’t answer, but I tried to fill our days with moments of peace.

I continued each day the same, and soon the days blended together. I surrendered myself to the idea that I would never live free again. I sealed my fate the day I left home, and would live the rest of my life for others.

Things didn’t even change when I was woken up by people talking outside. I had been exhausted by the day to day steadiness and had gone to bed fairly early that night. I listened closely and could hear Pablo’s mother exclaiming. I knew in my gut what was going on.

He was home.

I left my room and walked into the kitchen where Pablo entered with his arm around Tata. He looked up and released Tata so he could stand directly in front of me, bringing his hands up to cradle each side of my face. I tried my hardest not to flinch at the warmth of his palms, remembering the last time I had felt them.

“Thank you for caring for mi familia.”

My eyes caught on the graying hair by his temples, then to the dark circles under his eyes. Clearly it had not been a paradise.

I nodded, his hands shifting against my skin. “Siempre, Pablo.” (Always, Pablo).

He smiled and lowered his hands, returning to his wife.

All was right once again for the family.

We settled back into our routines again, and I was still allowed to go out to the market once a week. I wasn’t sure who was more excited about that, me or the driver who escorted me. He usually spent most of his time flirting with one of the cashiers while he let me go about my business.

This worked out very well until one evening when I needed to grab a few things for the weekend. The kids had been wanting to help me prepare a meal for their parents and gave me a list of items to purchase. It seemed like a normal outing, but the regular cashier looked tense as soon as we walked in.

“Cariño, ¿por qué pareces tan preocupado?” Hugo, my escort, asked her. (Baby, why do you look so worried?)

“No hay razón, sólo me siento mal.” She shook her head at him while he held her hands. (No reason, just feeling off.)

I left them to talk as I worked my way down the aisles. I knew that market like the back of my hand, and especially loved the freedom that came with nobody knowing who I was.

Until I heard my name. My full name. My real name.

I immediately looked up in the direction it came from, mentally punishing myself for giving away my identity, before my eyes landed on him.

I could feel my lips part around a gasp as I laid my eyes on Javier Peña. He looked just the same as he did the day I saw him, only this time he wore a leather jacket that I had no doubt concealed another gun tucked into his pants.

“(Y/F/N),” he said again, and I hated how much I loved the way my name sounded coming from his lips, “that’s you, right?”

I drew in a shaky breath. “Lo siento, no sé de qué estás hablando,” I told him. (I’m sorry, I don’t know what you’re talking about).

He huffed a laugh, the corner of his mouth going up. “Your accent is much better than before, but you’re not fooling me, sweetheart.”

My heart was beating so loud I was sure he could hear it as he stepped closer.

He lowered his voice. “You disappeared that day. I went back to find you, but you were gone. What’ve you been up to?” His eyes shifted around us to confirm we were alone.

Before I could even think of an answer I heard yelling toward the front of the store, a gunshot, then screaming.

“Fuck,” he cursed under his breath. “Come with me, (Y/N).”

He reached out to grab my arm but I pulled back. I didn’t want to be taken again, even though I could see the understanding and care in the pools of his eyes. I shook my head at him and turned toward the footsteps rushing in our direction.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered before turning to go toward the commotion. A hand grabbed onto my arm, pulling me back toward the agent.

I could feel myself getting lost in his eyes yet again as he pulled me closer to him.

“Please,” he begged.

“I can’t, Javi.” I pulled away from him, watching his eyes darken slightly at my use of his nickname.

Another gunshot rang out, causing him to curse again and retrieve his gun. Hugo rounded the corner, gun aiming straight toward Javi, who shot toward Hugo first just barely missing him. Hugo shot again, forcing Javi to take cover before I was pulled in the line of fire. I was being used as cover for Hugo as he pulled me toward the front of the store.

“Get to the car, now,” he snarled in my ear and pushed me to the doors.

I ran as fast as I could trying to ignore the body of the cashier that laid between the cash and the exit. Her face was frozen in a look of terror, which I was sure mirrored mine.

More gunshots rang out behind me as I ducked into the back of the car. I knew the drill: keep myself tucked down between the back and front seats with my head as far down as possible.

Hugo slid into the front and sped out of the parking lot, jostling me against the seats.

“She ratted us out,” he panted as though he was still running. “La putita era una rata.” (The little whore was a rat).

We sped along twisting this way and that until we finally came to a stop. Hugo turned around as I wiggled my body up onto the seat properly.

“What did he say to you?” He asked.

I shrugged. “I don’t really know, it was all Spanish and I didn’t quite understand.”

He nodded, turning back to the front. “Okay.”

We got inside and Hugo left to talk to Pablo about what had happened. I went straight to my room and laid on my bed. After a few seconds I rolled onto my stomach, buried my face in my pillow, and cried.

I was so frustrated with myself. Once again I was given a lifeline and I didn’t take it. It would have been so easy. Instead I just froze. That’s all I had been doing ever since I moved to Colombia. However, the last time I had done the opposite was the day I had left. I was still dealing with those consequences.

Because of the incident at the market I was no longer allowed out. Pablo had been right all along, it was too risky. I was beyond frustrated with myself, the family, and the entire world, as I was once again a prisoner.

I no longer felt like I had any sense of how many days, weeks, months, had passed. Had been passing. I had grown numb to the timeline. My mornings were filled with teaching and caring for the children, my afternoons and evenings were for cooking and cleaning. I rose and set with the sun.

One evening the entire family was outside enjoying the weather after their dinner. Pablo looked over at me as I sat with his children in the shade of a tree.

“Rest, you look tired,” he said, nodding his head toward the house. He reached over and held Tata’s hand. “Lo tenemos.” (We got it).

“Gracias,” I thanked him before bidding the children goodnight. I stood and walked into the house, my feet automatically pulling me in the direction of the phone in their bedroom.

I wasn’t even thinking as I dialed the numbers. The movement felt well practiced, though I had only ever dialed that number in my head.

He picked up on the third ring.

“Agent Peña.” His voice was gruff and laced with exhaustion. I choked back a sob at the sound of it.

“Javier?” It was all I was able to say, my eyes filling with tears, my hand trembling terribly.

“Sweetheart,” he breathed the nickname out like it was a part of him.

I felt my throat constricting, unable to do more than choke on my words.

“It’s okay, respira,” he spoke calmly, helping my heart rate begin to slow down. (Breathe). “Where are you?”

“I-I don’t know,” I finally got out. “I’m with the family, but I don’t know where we are.”

Yet again I was frustrated with the way I kept my head down. I had kept it too far down, which was exactly what Pablo had wanted. The less I knew the better.

“That’s alright, we’ve got guys flying overhead,” he still kept his voice steady. “We’ll find you, lo prometo.” (I promise).

The dial tone buzzed in my ears. I looked down at the receiver to find someone had hung up. Pablo stood just behind me with a fire in his eyes that I had never seen directed toward me.

“¿Quién?” He asked. I averted my gaze. “¿Con quién hablabas?” (Who? Who were you talking to?).

“Nobody,” I lied, horribly. “Nobody, Pablo.”

He shook his head, stepping closer.

“Una vez más.” His voice laced its way into my heart, turning my blood cold. “Quién.” (One more time. Who.).

My whole body was trembling, my mouth opening and closing like a fish. If I wasn’t so scared I would’ve been embarrassed at my state.

He rushed forward, bringing his hand up to my neck and pushing me toward the wall. My head hit the surface with a thunk, making me gasp and struggle to see straight for a moment. When my eyes finally settled on the man in front of me I realized just how close he was to me. His face hovered less than an inch in front of my nose, a snarl spread on his lips. He looked like he was about to eat me alive.

“¿Crees que eres inteligente? Pequeña rata.” (You think you’re smart? You little rat).

I gasped as his grip tightened, my airway closing more and more. My breaths felt sharp as I struggled to keep my eyes open.

“No. Eres peor que una rata.” (No. You’re worse than a rat.). He let up on my throat, allowing me to take in more air. Just enough that he could keep my attention. “Eres un traidor.” (You’re a traitor.).

“P-Pablo,” I sputtered, barely getting any sound out, “por favor.”

He turned his head to the side and spit at my feet. I cringed at the sound, and closed my eyes.

“Mìrame,” he demanded. (Look at me.).

I obeyed, opening my eyes as he cocked the gun that now rested against my temple.

“¿Crees que alguien más te protegerá? ¿Después de todo lo que hemos hecho? Debería matarte…” he trailed off, lowering the gun and letting go of my throat. (Do you think anyone will protect you? After everything we’ve done for you? I should kill you…).

I dropped to my knees, my hands rushing to my throat while I coughed and gasped. The ground felt as though it was moving under me. Pablo knelt down to look at me face to face once more.

“¿Cómo pudiste hacerlo? ¿A la familia? ¿A los niños?” (How could you do this to us? To the family? To the children?). I choked back a sob. “¿Crees que no entrarán aquí con sus malditas armas? Los matarán. They’ll kill my children.” (Do you think they won’t come in here with their fucking guns? They’ll kill them.).

I was fully sobbing, shaking my head back and forth. “Lo siento, Pablo. I don’t want the children getting hurt.” (I’m sorry, Pablo.). My throat felt raw, the words coming out raspy.

My translations weren’t coming as easy as they had been, but I got the gist of what he was saying. It was my fault that his children would be getting hurt. I dug their graves with my bare hands and stupid decisions.

“¿Quieres ser una rata? Muy bien. You’ll live like one.” (You want to be a rat? Fine.). He stood back to his full height and tucked his gun into the back of his pants. “Ya verás lo que pasa cuando se den cuenta de que eres un inútil. Fucking useless.” (You’ll see what they do when they realize you’re useless.).

He spit on the floor once more, just missing me, and turned to leave. Before walking out of the door he looked at me.

“You’ll live out the rest of your life in fear. You’re a disgrace.” He growled, reaching into his pocket and throwing something on the floor. Then he walked away.

I sat on the floor trying to catch my breath and calm my nerves. A sharp pain drove through my skull when I laid my head on the wall behind me, causing me to hiss. After a few minutes I finally stood and made my way to the object on the floor. I gasped when I realized it was the card with Javier’s info on it. I felt so stupid thinking I could keep that from Pablo.

I ran to the front of the house, just in time to see Pablo in the backseat of a car with his family, all of their eyes on me. My heart cracked as I looked into the eyes of his children. I truly did care for them. They were innocent, stuck with the roles they were born into.

Pablo shook his head, disappointment clear on his features, as they drove away into the setting sun. One of his men was still lingering in his vehicle as the rest drove away. He leaned out his window and whistled for my attention.

“¡Eh, puta! If any of us see your face, you’re fucked!” He raised his gun out of his window and shot once into the sky. I flinched with the sound, and watched him drive off, cackling.

It was obvious that Pablo had been ready. He knew that I was cracking, probably knew my plans for weeks, if not months, depending on when he found that card. I had it just the night before but he could’ve gone through my things at any point. His family had been packed away into the car with their necessary belongings while he had been catching me.

I ran back to the phone and lifted it to my ear. Nothing. They had cut the lines.

“Fuck!” I shouted, throwing the phone against the wall I had been held against. I watched it shatter into pieces and rain onto the floor.

I was truly alone.

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