pale triangular face, violet eyes and narrow, slightly contorted lips
appeared beneath the black tresses…She had pretty shoulders, a shapely
neck and, around it, a black velvet choker with a star-shaped jewel
sparkling with diamonds.”
“A pale triangular face, violet eyes and narrow, slightly contorted lips appeared beneath the black tresses…She had pretty shoulders, a shapely neck and, around it, a black velvet choker with a star-shaped jewel sparkling with diamonds.”
Yennefer of Vengerberg - Cosplay Aesthetic by Darkicelady
The first time Lily Evans wore James Potter’s shirt was an accident.
Lily grabbed it from the clean laundry pile that the House Elves placed on her trunk the night before. She threw it over her head and as it slid down her face into place she realized how good the shirt smelled. She mused that when her clothes came back from the elves, they never smelled so…good.
She didn’t notice it wasn’t one of her Gryffindor shirts until the hem fell right above her knees like a very short dress. The soft cotton was well worn and soft against her bare skin, colored scarlet with a lion rearing on the front majestically. Lily pulled it off just as quickly as she’d put it on, checking the tag and seeing no name written in. When she flipped it over to view the back she was in luck.
pretty.” Tony cocked his head to the side and watched as black tresses cascaded
over his shoulder and side. He tapped at his lips, which were painted ruby red,
then traced his eyes. His eyes were large like some anime character’s and his
lashes were thick and lush. He palmed his chin and cheeks. Soft as baby skin
and twice as smooth.
“Who said you could look at
yourself yet?” Rhodey grabbed Tony by the arm and drew Tony back to the bed
where Rhodey had spent the last hour and more adding extensions to Tony’s hair
and applying makeup to Tony’s clean shaven face.
Piles of blush, eyeshadow,
lipstick and many cosmetics slid across the bedspread as Tony landed on the
mattress. Rhodey grumbled as he stood behind Tony and took a comb to Tony’s
hair. He snatched a few bobby pins off the bed and held them in his mouth as he
“I didn’t actually think you
could do it. I was prepared for a disaster, but I actually look like a girl. A
flat chested one at the moment, but a girl nonetheless.”
“I told you I have sisters and
cousins, didn’t I?”
“That just tells me everyday is a
battle for hot water and private time, not that you’re actually good
at this kind of stuff.”
Rhodey rolled his eyes. He gave
Tony’s head a particularly rough shove forward then did some braid-y-thingie
with Tony’s hair.
“I had an emergency makeup artist
on speed dial and everything,” Tony mumbled.
“And aren’t you glad you don’t
have to call them? Your adventure tonight is going to be a secret between the
two of us.” Rhodey thrust out his pinkie at Tony.
Tony grinned and hooked his
pinkie around Rhodey’s. “What are we? Five?” he razzed Rhodey. He loved the childish
act though. It soothed the part of him that was still scared Rhodey would
betray him one day. He’d known Rhodey for a few years now, and Rhodey had
always been by his side even when he was at his worst. Even so, he’d been
burned so many times, it was still hard for him to believe that Rhodey was the
best friend he’d been looking for all his life.
“So are you going to dance with
the prince?” Rhodey teased as he styled Tony’s hair.
Tony scoffed and playfully tried
to elbow Rhodey. “I only want to see what all the fuss is about.” Truthfully,
Tony understood why the Wakanda prince was such a big deal. Wakanda was a very
powerful country and had resources that everyone wanted to get their hands on.
What Tony didn’t understand was why for the first time ever, Howard had forbidden
Tony from attending the prince’s welcome party at the embassy. Usually Howard
forced Tony to attend such things. The one-eighty in attitude made Tony
curious, and now Tony wanted nothing more than to march into the embassy, waltz
up to the Prince T’Challa, and say something shocking.
“Right, you bought a one of a
kind gown just so you could stare at the prince. Sure thing, Cinderella.”
“You’re just jealous because I’ve
proven that no matter what, I’m always beautiful.”
“Watch it, I still have my makeup
brushes. I can turn you into a pumpkin if you keep that ego up.”
Tony feigned a forlorn sigh. “How
did I end up with an abusive fairy godmother?”
Rhodey twisted Tony’s hair.
Rhodey soon finished with Tony’s
hair. He then helped Tony pick out the bra size that looked the most natural
with Tony’s body. Tony was disappointed that Rhodey nixed the D size bra, but
once he saw himself laced up in his flowing crimson gown, Tony could admit that
Rhodey had been right about the cup size. D would have been too much.
“So would you date me now?” Tony
chortled. He’d linked his arm through Rhodey’s as they headed toward the
garage. Tony dangled his strappy heels from his finger–mindful of his press
“Maybe in another universe.”
Tony was a tad disappointed in
Rhodey’s answer, but he had expected it. He’d spent the early half of their
friendship flirting mercilessly with Rhodey, and while Rhodey had always
responded good-naturedly, Rhodey just wasn’t interested in anything sexual or
romantic. He was open to late night drunken cuddles, though, so Tony was
Rhodey held open the car door and
helped Tony inside. Tony was grateful that he’d picked a gown that didn’t have
a bulky skirt or else he would never be able to drive himself to the embassy.
With a hug and a few final well wishes, Rhodey shut the car door and took a
Tony drove off to the embassy. It
took him longer than he’d have preferred to get to the welcome party, but it
was worth it in the end. Everyone and their mother seemed to be attending the
party, and so Tony had managed to avoid the line by showing up late. He gave a
fake name that he’d arranged to have put on the guest then strode into the
It wasn’t the fanciest party Tony
had gone to, but considering it was a bunch of politicians and such who were
hosting the shindig, the event was nicer than their normal parties. Tony would
describe it as Sunday Brunch With Grandma. The food was plentiful and every
table had a flower arrangement. The music was performed by musicians and
classical. Everyone either drank champagne or water.
In short, it was boringly elegant
and tasteful. If it weren’t for his curiosity, Tony would have pivoted and
strolled right out of the room.
Instead, Tony snatched a flute of
champagne when a waiter wandered by with a tray full of glasses. He took a sip
then dove into the crowd, searching for the guest of honor. He had to mingle a
little bit, but for once Tony was amused by the small talk. It was obvious no
one recognized him dressed as a girl, and he found it enjoyable to every now
and then mention his name and see the reaction it got out of people.
He didn’t have many fans among
the older crowd. Those closer to his age varied in their opinions of him, but
even the most irritated of his peers acknowledged Tony’s intelligence and skill
Tony was enjoying himself so much
that as he moved to retreat from the group he was currently mingling with, he
bumped into someone who had just been trying to pass by.
“Sorry.” Tony seized the arm of
his victim without thinking, yanking the young man back into place before he
could fall to the ground. “Wasn’t looking where I was going.”
The young man paused for a
moment. His dark gaze assessed Tony, and Tony took the opportunity to check out
the cutie in return. Soft, springy curls crowned the guy’s head, and Tony’s
fingers twitched to touch the curls. A goatee that arced thinly around the lips
then covered the bottom half his chin reminded Tony of the first time he’d
kissed someone with facial hair and how rough it had been.
Tony certainly wouldn’t mind
kissing the guy in front of him to see if his kiss would be equally as rough.
“No, the trouble is all mine. I
was not paying attention either.”
“Sounds like we’re both to blame
then.” Tony smiled, then just for fun, he held out his hand like he expected
the man in front of him to kiss it. It wasn’t everyday Tony got to dress up
like a girl and attend a fancy party. He was going to take full advantage.
Dark eyes sparkled with mischief.
The young man eyed Tony’s hand then took it and pressed a kiss to the back of
it. “So it would seem. However, I am not the one who would have had to face the
wrath of the Dora Milaje.”
The Dora Milaje? Tony flipped through his memory like a rolodex until he found
what he was looking for.
The Dora Milaje were the personal
bodyguards of Prince T’Challa.
Tony glanced in the direction Prince T’Challa had come from and a woman who radiated strength and authority stood
just a few paces away. Her sight was locked on Tony, and Tony swore she could
see right through him; that she knew that underneath the dress and makeup Tony
was just a boy.
Except he wasn’t just a boy. He
was the same age as Prince T’Challa, and just like the prince he was a genius.
He may not be a prince, but he was set to inherit a company that affected the
lives of billions. He was Tony Stark, and he wasn’t going to let some
overprotective Xena wannabe scare him into submission.
“So I guess that makes you the
prince this party is for. Personally, I think it’s lame. I’ve been to Easter
parties more exciting than this. You should complain. One word from you and we
could get a rock band in here as well as some decent alcohol.”
“I’m sorry to hear that you’re
not enjoying yourself.”
Tony scoffed and tossed back the
last of his champagne. “Please, Prince Charming, don’t pretend like you give a
damn whether someone is enjoying this party or not. This is all just a show,
and everyone here is a clown.”
Prince T’Challa quirked an
eyebrow and met Tony’s gaze challenging. “Everyone?”
The prince’s inflection gave off
the real question he was asking: “Even me?”
Tony smirked. “Everyone.” Tony
thrust his champagne flute at Prince T’Challa. “Mind holding this? Thanks.” Tony
didn’t give Prince T’Challa an option, shoving the glass into Prince T’Challa’s
hands before the young man could stop him.
Tony snatched another flute off a
passing waiter’s tray and sipped from the new glass. “So Prince Charming, I
hear you’re a genius. What’s your field?”
Tony rolled his eyes. “Field of
study? Please tell me you’re a genius in the math and sciences and that you’re
not going to pull out some crap about being a literary genius or some bull shit
“You don’t like literature?”
Tony shook his head. “Literature isn’t
objective. It’s important, but I like dealing with hard facts. I don’t need nor
want to get in debate about whether King Lear was a hypocrite and got what he
deserved in the end or if he’s truly a tragic character and should be pitied. I
much rather talk about artificial intelligence, psychics, or even just space.”
Tony paused. “Star Wars and Star Trek are also an option.”
Prince T’Challa chuckled. “So are
you a Picard or a Kirk fan?”
Tony threw a hand over his fake
boobs. “You are Prince Charming.” He fanned himself. “Don’t stop
talking nerdy to me.”
“Then perhaps you’d like to hear
about Wakanda’s research into artificial intelligence?”
“Stop, I’ll be kissing you by the
end of the night.”
Prince T’Challa didn’t stop, and
Tony was entranced. He was enchanted by Prince T’Challa’s crooked smile and the
way his eyes lit up as he spoke to Tony. He was enthralled with each new piece
of information Prince T’Challa shared with him, and before long, Tony had
pulled Prince T’Challa over to a table so Tony could take notes on napkins. He
was disappointed to realize that some of the technology Prince T’Challa
mentioned using in his experiments did not currently exist in the USA. However,
after making a few inquiries, Tony was positive he could develop something
similar if not better.
He enjoyed the warm hand Prince
T’Challa rested on his knee as Tony drew schematics of the tools he intended to
craft. Happiness blossomed in his chest whenever Prince T’Challa looked at his
drawings and pointed out something he’d failed to consider and then offered a
solution or alternative.
They talked back and forth and it
wasn’t until Tony’s back ached from arching over his drawings that he realized
the party had thinned out immensely.
A glance at the clock told it was
late enough to be considered morning. With a curse, he stood up and shoved the
napkins of schematics into his bosom. “Hate to engineer and dash, but it’s
going to take forever for me to get rid of all this makeup and I need it gone
before the evil dragon guarding my castle learns that I snuck out for the
evening. You’ve been a marvelous prince though. Thanks.”
“Before you go, may I-” Tony
didn’t hear what Prince T’Challa said. The moment Prince T’Challa had stood and
made a move to reach for Tony, Tony had taken off like a rabbit after hearing a
He ran out of the embassy and to
his car, ripping the door open as fast as he could. He plopped himself into the
driver’s seat then bent to undo his strappy heels–he couldn’t drive with the
damn things on. He was about to throw them in the passenger seat when a thought
came to him. The night really had been like a fairytale, so why not go all in?
Tony opened the compartment where
he kept insurance papers as well as a few pens. As quickly as possible, he
scribbled a note on the bottom of one shoe then tossed the shoe out of the car.
He then slammed the door and
started the car. He didn’t look back to see if anyone had actually followed him
He grinned to himself. Even if
Prince T’Challa never found his shoe, Tony would be happy. He’d had fun and at
least he’d gotten some cool schematics out of the evening.
anonymous requested → a min yoongi smut where you’re friends with benefits & he comes to your house to confess in the middle of the night.
pairing : reader x min yoongi themes : smut / angst / fluff? warning! → graphic sexual content word count : 4.0k summary : through the murky window pane he spies that familiar golden glow, radiating warmth from the other side of the tenebrous street. it is you. you are awake, waiting and you always leave a light on for him.
↳ a/n: thankyou to the beautiful @sugaspen for beta reading (i love u!) as always feedback is always welcome ♥
The first time you lay eyes on Min Yoongi you are eight years old. He is twelve, with willowy limbs and pitch black tresses, a child of secrecy and rotten intentions. You watch, disquieted, from your bedroom window as he plucks every petal off the peachy pink blooms of your parents’ prized rose bush — for absolutely no reason.
The second time you catch a fleeting glimpse he is older, taller and puberty has kindly graced him with a defined jawline and an Adam’s apple to match. In the hours of twilight, he perches pensively on the ledge of his bedroom window, an embodiment of pure tranquility; until he feels the heat of your curious gaze. He draws the shades.
The third time it is raining, a shower with drops thin and weightless, the type that soak your clothes before you have a moment to breathe. The downpour is anything but lenient on his unsheltered body, bleach blonde locks dripping as his stygian eyes burn scorch marks into yours. Don’t look at me. But you do, from the exact same window from all those years ago.
You curse your penchant for good manners and saving lost souls, the moment you invite him and his sopping attire into your home. Up close he is stigma stained, hues of blue and purple decorate his cheekbone like faded war paint. Min Yoongi has destructive tendencies, your brain warns dubiously, everything he touches turns to stone.
But aren’t emeralds and rubies the most beautiful jewels in the world? How you long to be a gemstone, a clear cut diamond. To glitter, gleam and glow and captivate others with your brilliance. Right now, you are nothing more than a dirty pebble but Min Yoongi can change that.
So you let him take what has always been his, a shaky breath knocked out of your lungs the second his mouth crashes into yours. He is heavy, damp, smothering your mouth with the coppery metallic taste of his tongue. Sharp icy chills race down your back when your shoulder blades meet the wall and the tempo speeds up tenfold, overwhelming vertigo taking hold.
You swallow your juvenile uneasiness whole when his lips begin to travel over untouched areas — the curve of your jawbone, the space behind your earlobe. You’re keening, squirming in his enclave when he passes his tongue over the vulnerable skin of your neck, like some kind of ravenous and hungry stray dog. He has you pinned, marking his territory with wet handprints on the cream coloured wall and you hope to God they become indiscernible before the clock hits seven.
His designation slips off your tongue in a split second of clarity but he’s not listening, or at least that’s what you tell yourself. You intend to express your desire again, but you are pacified by those greedy lips, ones that have little concern for romantics and the sensation of both your shorts and your undergarments being yanked downwards crudely, the last remnants of your innocence sliding down your bare legs.
Were you to meet the same sorrowful fate as the pale roses of the past? Was Min Yoongi to pick you apart piece by piece, to deflower you as well? The full exposure of your lower region tied with the inevitable concept of your virtue being stolen has you sinking your teeth into your saliva slick lips, the knots of lust tightening in the depths of your stomach when he drops to one knee.
Min Yoongi is going to treat you with the courtesy commonly afforded to sovereignty, smouldering stare from below indicating his desire for you to spectate, whilst he proves chivalry is far from dead. Leg up. You do as you’re told, miss law-abiding citizen with her thigh resting on his shoulder and you’re rewarded with humid breath tickling your inner thigh, painting an invisible trail northwards to that sacred space.
He’s reminds you of a curious child, eyes strung out in wonderment, tastebuds deeply interested in the slick sweetness you’re presenting just for him. Without breaking eye contact, he closes the void and just like that, he presents you with one singular slow savouring lick, back to front. The second feels even better, deeper, the rough tip of his tongue lingering for a fraction longer against your clit and a pretty but desperate whimper leaps from your oesophagus into the thick atmosphere.
When he pulls away, the evidence of your arousal is stark, his bottom lip glistening under the dim luminesce of the hallway chandelier. Deeply focused, he stares at your soaked sex possessively for what feels like an eternity, seemingly entranced by your engorged folds. You wish he would voice his thoughts, tell you how you tasted, how much he loved having you spread out for him, but of course, that’s not in his modus operandi.
Roughly, he pushes his shoulder back into your thigh signalling the seriousness of the actions you were already awaiting. He’d sampled the entree, now it was time for the main course and you’re eager to oblige, manoeuvring your hips forward to meet his expecting mouth, swiftly coating his lips in your juices once more.
Your eyelids flutter shut as his hot tongue dips back between your slit, nuzzling deep and exploring your tight entrance properly. Tugging frantically as his locks, your fingers trip over one another, lips uttering a string of curses so lewd you would need to rinse later with soap. Such dirty comments do good to spur him onwards however, attention is now diverted to mouthing that tiny sweet spot made purely for physical contact.
And he does it with no social graces, messy and overzealous as if he has been deprived of the taste of a female for too long. It’s getting harder for you to keep still, back arching off the wall like a marionette being tugged by an imaginary string. In an act of uncharacteristic mastery, you force his head inward into your core, your centre urgently requiring more stimulation.
Some kind of lustful squeal mixed with a weak moan comes next and lucky for you, Yoongi is fluent in your sexual language; latching hard onto the bud that is so sensitive and swollen, sucking hard and obscenely loud, the sounds of him swallowing and devouring your wet arousal hungrily invading your eardrums.
It wouldn’t be long until your legs give way completely, the speed Yoongi was working you over at too much for your inexperienced and innocent body to handle. Something is building inside you, a red-hot tingly sensation you haven’t experienced before. Out of uncertainty, you tremor attempting push his head away but your bundle of nerves is trapped in between his plush lips.
You cry out, throwing your head back as he continues his relentless onslaught, your clit fully at the mercy of his tongue as it traces round and round, followed by a harsh suck every now and again. You’re seeing showers of stars in full technicolour, panting and making a poor effort to toss and turn out of his vice like grip.
Like he knows you’re teetering on the edge, he finally relinquishes your bud to your relief but grants you no intermission, stripping you bare and turning your t-shirt into a white puddle beside your feet. You’re his personal rag doll, spun so your breasts and palms press up against the cool plasterboard. Fingertips ghost down your ribs to the final destination — your hips, yanking them back so your spine curves and you’re exposed and open for him.
There’s rustling and the piercing clink of a belt buckle into the quiet and you know he’s stripping himself of the last restriction. In the time of physical separation, you’ve forgotten how to breathe until you feel his palms back on your outer thighs, sliding up to the curve of your hips. His mere touch is heavenly, exquisite and you wonder if it can get any better; it can and it’s his lips brushing, running up your backbone combined with the head of his cock brushing against your folds. He wants to coat his member generously in your arousal, slipping it back and forth like his tongue had done only minutes ago, bumping against your exposed clit deliberately.
A mewl of appreciation surfaces, your footing shifting to widen the space between your legs, a silent indication of your readiness for all of him. Trapped in your throat is an exhale and it isn’t able to reach the surface until he questions your desire.
“Do you want this?”
Surprisingly, you manage to utter out a stable and straightforward yes without adding on any explosive expletives and he complies to your wishes, the first inch of his member pushing into you with little restraint. Unconsciously, you tense up and Yoongi gets the message, easing your apprehension with a open-mouthed kiss to the crossroad where your shoulder meets the base of your neck.
He needs no guide or direction, understanding your need for alleviation and delivering with more passionate nips, showering the nape of your neck and caressing your abdomen lightly with his hands. Of your own volition, your head lolls back to rest on his shoulder, cheeks flushed a pastel shade of rose from the rush of hormones and the make-out session the sensitive skin along your neck was currently receiving.
The first moan of many pours from your self-bitten lips but is transformed into a yelp of both surprise and agony as Yoongi fills you to the hilt at last, your back arching further, muscles twitching and clamping from being stretched to their limit.
The relief of finally being sheathed inside you causes Yoongi to emit a guttural groan, grip tightening on your flesh of your hips in gratification. He commences a gentle rhythm, languid and shallow, allowing you to adjust to the sensation and feel every contour and vein of his cock.
You feel achingly full, the dull soreness fading with each stroke so you encourage him with another lustful whine, a noise that signals the abandonment of your self-restraint. He alters the speed as a result, a little faster, rocking his hips back and forth, burying himself deeper inside your velvety core.
The slow, sensual motions have you exulting, a waterfall of wanton cries spill freely from your mouth as he moves in and out, your clit continuously stimulated by the base of his shaft whilst your soft, sensitive folds relish in the repeated contact.
But it doesn’t take long for the urgency and intensity to build, Yoongi’s interest in honeyed passion replaced with blind lust and the burning impulse to let go of his inhibitions. His pumping becomes rougher, each stroke setting your nerve endings on fire, the walls of your innermost place tensing with need. It’s dizzying and overwhelming and your lover ensures to hit that divine responsive spot deep within you, blessing you with a jolt of electric pleasure that shoots up your spine.
The sounds your bodies both produce as your hips mesh together over and over leave nothing to the imagination, an erotic hymn that sounds like heaven mixed with hints of hell. With nerves ablaze, firing shot after shot of euphoric ecstasy to your brain, your moaning shoots up a few decibels to a shrill cry. You’re close to release, rapture escalating and Yoongi is too, his digits kneading more forcefully into your behind as he pushes upward and into your pleasure centre.
He’s getting sluggish, lessening the amount of effort and bringing the tempo down to prolong your act of copulation. Excruciatingly slow, he withdraws inch by inch until the head of his member is all that’s left within you and he waits, teasing you with the feeling of hollowness and departure. You mewl, pushing your hips back, desperate for your dripping heat to be filled once more and you swear you hear a hoarse chuckle before he gives in and plunging back into your waiting center.
The pair of you luxuriate in the unhurried friction until he can’t resist any longer, soothing movements morphing into the hasty and chaotic pounding of your tightness. Such a change reignites your pending orgasm, your rosebud aching and consumed with indescribable pleasure. His hands find the taper of your waist, thrusting harder and deeper than previous and you’re milliseconds away from crashing down and falling into euphoria.
You’re whimpering, thighs trembling in his grasp and with a final intense snap, your core convulses around his length, contracting as the ripples of white heat rush through your bloodstream, your pelvis shaking and spasming, the heavenly warmth leaving you groaning and gasping for air. Yoongi’s climax isn’t far behind and he lets it overtake, his manhood jerking frenziedly into your opening before he pulls out with a strangled moan, shooting a hot, thick stream of his seed onto the mounds of your rear.
It is silent besides the chorus of pants you both expel, the pair of you letting the realisation of your indelicate actions sink into your weary bones.
And thus, it continues for five long months.
As monsoon season departs and warmer weather delivers it’s signature crystal blue skies and crisp vibrant flora; Yoongi gifts you with the pleasure of no inch of your body left untouched, no space in your house unchristened and a fitting and extensive understanding of the birds and the bees, just in time for spring.
The linen curtains dance a gentle, uncomplicated waltz in the dusk breeze. The sun is fading, slipping beneath the horizon, painting the walls of your bedroom with a balmy golden glow. Wrapped up in comfort of the Egyptian cotton sheets lay you and your secret lover. The sunset softens the intensity of his jawline and blurs his creamy skin into a shade of subdued gold. Time has been brought to a standstill and the only evidence of life are the reverberations of inhaling and exhaling and the tip of your finger tracing lazy circles into his chest. The fruitless sketches you’ve drawn seem to please him, your forehead rewarded with a affectionate peck which has you smiling into the crook of his neck and humming out a sweet utterance.
“My parents are having this big dinner thing tomorrow night… it would be great if you could come.”
Unsettling your paradise, an weak grunt arrives, low and muffled as if his throat is trying to restrain the sound from being voiced. His eyelids twitch and those ebony eyelashes catch your attention, a deep contrast to the rest of the yellow hues that surround his facial features.
“Was that a yes?” you purr, words overcome by a playful spirit.
There they are, pupils so dark you can feel yourself somehow slipping and falling into the deadly darkness they present. At first, you had loved to jump into them with reckless abandon, the wickedness he exhibited so enticing to your naive nature; but they only give off feelings of vacancy and ephemerality now. As well as coldness much like his demeanour and you long hopelessly for something warmer.
“Please,” you whisper, misery present in the cracks in your voice.
“I want them to know about us, I don’t want to keep it a secret any longer.”
He clearly doesn’t like that statement and like a swarm of fire ants are crawling up his skinny limbs, he sits up on his elbows breaking apart your embrace and the calm and solace you’d shared only moments before.
“There is no us,” he huffs, annoyed, tossing the sheet off his lower half and swinging his legs off your bed.
All you can do is gape at the vertical lines of crimson you’d left on his back whilst he hastily rummages the carpet for his clothes, discarded from the act of love making you both indulged in almost every weekend. It was your shared ritual but also a damaging weakness, your feelings deepening and blossoming with each passion-fused kiss and each time he made you come apart under his touch. As months passed, your emotions refused to let your brain assume control and it had gotten to the worst possible point where Yoongi practically owned the right side of your bed and unfortunately your heart.
“What do you call this then?”
You clutch your grey sheet to your chest tightly, attempting to hide all sights of naked skin. You were, in your opinion, less intimidating when you wore nothing and revealing your love-bitten chest would only strengthen his power and hold over you.
“I don’t want just sex anymore Yoongi.”
“That’s not how it works _____.”
You had done it — crossed that fine line between casual and serious and now he would morph into the most volatile and turbulent person you knew, a striking resemblance to a volcano on the verge of erupting. The disclosure of true feelings was nonexistent in your relationship, that was a fact, and perhaps that is why you choose to confess, your heart yearning for a chance to solidify and label whatever the hell this was between the two of you.
“I love you.”
“You don’t love me,” he huffs back almost instantly, snatching his khaki jacket with considerable force off the back of your desk chair.
“You love how I make you feel about yourself, you love what you can take from me. You love the idea of me, but not me.”
Each and every word is the equivalent of him severing every delicate cord you’ve tied to anchor yourself to him. When he is done, your tattered and rejected sentiments finally match the title of your relationship; no strings attached.
“That’s not true,” you protest, flaring up in a last ditch attempt to win back his affection.
“You don’t get to decide how I feel.”
Your passionate defiance creates an irritated scowl over his mouth, upper lip twitching on one side, molten lava threatening to spill past the ivory barrier that is his teeth.
“Then it’s over, you knew when we started this what the arrangement was,” he states without warning, dipping under your bedroom window and out onto the tiled roof, his anger less harsh and unforgiving under the dimming dusk sun illuminating his face.
“I’m not coming back.”
And he doesn’t.
So you’re left to ponder the should’ve, would’ve, could’ve whilst the lustre of the Milky Way above watches over you, offering little to no sympathy. Days turn to weeks and you never find a definite explanation to why Yoongi had held you when he was afraid of warmth, of comfort, of a place to call home. How could your relationship have ever been no strings attached when you had tangled yourselves together in intricate knots, too tight to undo by with good grace?
The nineteenth time you see Min Yoongi, it is past two in the morning, and he is sitting outside your bedroom window uninvited and bathed in patches of moonlight. His attire matches how you envision him when he is absent — the personification of a gloomy, overcast day, bringer of your misery but even so, you had still left a light on for him.
The sting of cool evening air instantly bites your bare cheeks when you push your creaky window skyward, removing the clear, soundproof barrier that separates you from him. He’s motionless, inky orbs transfixed on the shimmering sea of stars that surround the moon.
“What happened to ‘I’m not coming back’?” you begin, feeling oddly brave enough to take on the darkness himself.
“I wanted to see you, is that a crime?” he deflects, refusing to be taunted or reminded of his prior aggressive comments.
It’s two sharp words spoken purely to create a reaction but Yoongi is unfazed, on account of the years spent meticulously crafting his blank, impassive facade. The glittering diamonds that paint the sky may still possess his visual attention, but that doesn’t stop him from voicing a blunt and poignant honesty.
“When something is going well for me, I like to destroy it before the other person has the chance.”
Tongue like sandpaper, you know that admission has scraped and grated his throat on the way up, his timbre has never sounded so foreign and raspy. It dawns on you that Yoongi isn’t rusty in the practice of confessing, he’s completely inept. You can’t bear the thought of him descending down the oak tree, leaving you again, so you bravely clamber out onto the roof tiles to join him — a show of devotion.
“I wasn’t trying to destroy us, I just wanted you to know how I feel,” you explain in a soft, warm tone once you’re shoulder to shoulder.
“But I know now, you weren’t ready for that.”
Your watchful eye waits for a physical response, a facial twitch, a shift of his broad shoulders, anything to know that your choice of comments haven’t caused the discussion to be cancelled. But it’s not over because Yoongi is braver, bolder than that and has come to you with a one specific purpose.
To tell the truth.
“I don’t like being… vulnerable and the way I feel about you makes me feel vulnerable…”
Suddenly, your heart is a ten tonne anchor, heavy from the weights of vagueness and ambiguity. What was that supposed to mean? Regardless, watching him wrestle with the exigencies of his own soul is painful, so you skim your fingertips along the tense biceps hidden under the woven softness of his black t-shirt.
You had always loved touching him; when you made contact you were an explorer wandering a desert with an endless landscape, always finding expanses of skin you were yet to feel, a constellation of freckles you hadn’t discovered or a faded scar turned milk-white in an obscure place. Every imperfection told a tale, the winding story of a boy who liked to play with fire just for the burn and you had a deep-seated weakness for imagining where and how he had acquired the blemishes that littered his body; filling in the gaps by yourself to the darker parts of his existence he hadn’t been so willing to share.
Breathe Yoongi, you think as you gaze at his shoulders a constant cycle of rise and fall, you can bloom, I will never pick off your petals.
“I just— I mean— fuck,” he mutters, digging his fingernails into his scalp, tufts of blonde peeking out the gaps between his thin fingers.
“I want you,” he settles for finally, releasing his lemon coloured locks and bestowing his deep, ebony optics onto yours and though the sentence is mildly cryptic, the glint in his eyes is anything but.
“I want us.”
A silent firework of pure elation detonates within the confines of your ribcage, colouring your bones a vivid shade of ruby red — the colour of love. The happy virus has spread and it helps you find the courage to initiate a kiss, the first one after twenty two grueling days apart, not that you were counting or anything and Yoongi doesn’t resist your boldness, reciprocating, wild and fierce, devouring your mouth with his. He’d always been more suited to anatomy than vocables, a master of explanation with merely pressure, lips encompassing yours in a heated tango until you’re compelled by your insecurities to break apart.
“Stay the night,” you whisper dewy-eyed and breathless against his chapped lips and he gives a solemn nod, settling a sincere kiss on your lips to seal your agreement.
And so the duo that is now fittingly known as ‘us’ scramble inside, hands clasped together to conserve warmth. Saying goodbye to the sparkling spray of stars, the luminous moon and the crisp wind that nipped at your bare skin relentlessly had never been easier; because tonight Min Yoongi was staying;
Written by Yours Truly, ask-sadisticdark. I have promised a story at 1,000 followers, and here we are! I am ever so glad that you all decided to remain with me, a blubbering and rambling mess of a Figment. Without further ado, here we begin.
WARNING: This story details a stressful situation with mild (very mild, only mentions of blood), mocking, and vulgar. If this does not appeal to you, I urge you to not complete this story. Thank you.
The night never used to effect you.
For some points in your life, you never even noticed the change of the day. The computer screen blaring its blue light right into your eyes made it hard to realize that at some point, sunlight failed to gleam its way past your window curtains. But things change.
And your fears changed with them.
Darkiplier’s return hadn’t struck you much when it first occurred. You had been excited and enthralled by the momentum of it all, but there was no true fear. But as it was said… things change. And things changed very drastically on one particular blustering, lonely night.
You remember it vividly. It was dark, the wind was crashing like tidal waves against the panels of your house, but you paid almost no mind to it. It’s desperate warning howls against cold and bitter air never seemed to register its way into your head. You were busy, far too busy, to listen. Instead, your attentions were eagerly set upon one particular youtube channel, and to one particular youtuber, who’s smile and stubble always seemed to burn a piece of you even brighter. Every time his video started, your entire body always relaxed. Every time his voice rolled from the speakers of your computer, you were already fixated.
“Hello everybody, my name is Markiplier and welcome-”
Another horrible gurgling sound of the wind smacking against the tree branches almost drowned out the sounds of Mark speaking. But you were determined to listen, you were an avid lover of the Subnautica series, after all. It started as usual, Mark had his character standing out into the empty abyss of the sea, looking towards the horizon and blabbering his thoughts about his loneliness and plans to rebuild a base somewhere deep underwater. And you loved every second of it. You loved his goofy childish fear of the creatures bellowing from beyond. You loved his ambitions and truest, deepest, desire to learn more about the secrets hidden bellow ocean waves.
That is when everything went horribly wrong.
It was about ten minutes into the video. Mark had his Seamoth floating into the endless chasms of the trenches of the deep, darkness surrounding him, eery music screeching beneath his words. There was an abrupt beeping sound that sounded much like a computer error note, and the youtube video was cut off, glitched into place in the midst of Mark’s opening mouth.
The sudden file that abruptly popped up in the center of your screen made you jerk in your seat. Leaning back after realizing how closely you had been leaning, your eyes stared upon the digital manila envelope that sat right smack in the middle of the youtube video, innocent but very, very odd. In bold black letters beneath the folder, it read
Instead of feeling fear, you scowled in annoyance. Damn bots and their malware. You quickly clicked away from the envelope, and it brought you back to the youtube screen, where you were able to begin the video again. In just mere moments, you completely forgot all about that strange, random digital file.
Mark’s humorous statements, and the surprising calm of the wind battering the window pane, caused you to begin relaxing again. When the loud bling sound arrived for the second time, only about five minutes after deleting the first file, you almost gave a gasp in surprise. The file, in all its small digital glory, popped back up onto the midst of the computer screen, sitting patiently, quietly, unassuming. But the words bellow had changed. In that same bold font, rigid and black, it read;
“I Said Read Me.”
This one caused your attention. This one, you could feel, caused for your stomach to awkwardly flutter in a mixture of nervous curiosity. This was definitely no malware, no bot had ever sent another message after being declined with such demand. Your hand on the mouse, suddenly becoming slightly slick, slowly pulled the cursor over the file, highlighting it in preparation to click. But you hesitated.
What if this absolutely fucked up your computer? Implanted a virus or some type of device to stalk you while you slept. You had heard of the stories before, those horrible nightmarish instances where someone was kidnapped by a freak viewing them from their computer screen…. But this felt… different. Somehow, this felt… safe. You had no explanation as to why, and you rarely ever trusted your judgement. But without another pause, you tapped the file to beckon it open.
The file disappeared, and into another quick moment, a blank empty page took its place, only taking up about half of the screen in a small rectangular shape. The page, in same bolded black, only read a few words.
“Mind Or Body?”
And beneath those words were two empty boxes, one with an M beside it, and the other with a B. They were waiting to be checked.
At this point, you were beyond puzzled. What did the question even mean? Was this some sort of advertisement? It couldn’t have been, advertisements were never ones to be mysterious. They immediately wanted you to know their name and they motives. This was just… bizarre.
“Mind Or Body?”
You removed your hand from the mouse, and slowly rubbed the cold and sweating fingertips of yours across your cheeks, desperately trying to understand what it was initially asking. Was it based off attraction? Perhaps that was it… intelligence or beauty, perhaps, was the underlying cause. You had to assume so, because it certainly wasn’t giving any further clues.
Your tongue clicked against the roof of your mouth, scowling in an attempted concentration as a slow breath drew from you. On top of trying to discover where this file had come from, and why, you were also trying to choose between the two options.
What did it matter, really anyway? What type of strange poll was this, and how did it affect anything?
In a fit of “I don’t care”, you wiggled your cursor across the screen before randomly choosing one of the options. You think you ended up clicking on Body, but you weren’t completely sure.
The page disappeared in a silent blink, leaving the canvas of the youtube page up to its fullest colors. But despite the eagerly awaiting adventures that were going to occur in the deep, you failed to start the video again. You merely stared, blankly, unseeing of the bold red outline of the webpage. You were too intensely in thought, and too intent on finding out what that file had exactly done to the likes of your computer.
You ran a malware check, a virus check, and a few treatment diagnostics, almost certain some type of disruption surely had made its way to the database. But, the computer seemed certain that all was well, as certain as it was that it couldn’t find the source of that file, or the history of its appearance.
Satisfied, only partially, that all was well, you shrugged off the experience and assumed that whatever poll you had just taken was going to some sort of research facility, somewhere in the world. A strange, mysterious, unknown facility, but a facility nonetheless. Your hand fell upon the mouse again, and you moved your cursor across the screen in order to reopen your page again.
You only got about half way.
The entirety of your screen froze, or at least, that’s what you could determine. No matter how aggressively you swiped your mice across your desk, around in circles, back and forth, zigzagging and cursing under your breath, the white little cursor simply remained stuck right in the center of your computer screen.
“Dammit you stupid lagging piece of trash.” Your voice growled in disdain as you lifted the mouse in your hand, beginning to twist it to check and see if anything had blocked off the sensors down bellow. It was then that the familiar, horribly familiar, bling from the computer resounded in your ears again.
Your eyes lifted back towards the computer before you, and there, in the center of the computer, directly bellow the cursor with the same cream manila envelope, was another file.
You were unable to move the cursor in order to hover over the words, the entirety of your screen had obviously completely crashed. So, in one last effort, you pressed your finger against your enter button. The file glitched into uneven shreds, ditching across the screen as a scratching noise, like fuzz and screeching nails, echoed in your ears for a moment or so, before all was quiet again. Calmly, a much larger rectangle assumed its place, but it was empty, and black, and a small play button sat in the center. It was a video. It began playing with you urging it to start.
The scene it faded into caused the depths of your chest to rise into your throat.
The dark concrete room was barren, lacking substantial light and seeming to be aged and worn. Deep cracks were in the floor and wall that connected together. Dark stains, mud or… blood… or whatever else… were randomly splattered against the surface. You could almost smell the musky scent it most certainly wafted.
A man sat directly in the center, head drooped lowly, the black raven tresses of his hair cascading over half of his face.
The chair he sat in was large, awkwardly large, metallic and rigid and surely not comfortable.
You could see that his eyes were closed, but it lacked anything that would describe that he was peaceful. His hands were stuck awkwardly behind his back, elbows protruding outward enough to make you believe his wrists were most likely bound.
“Mark…” The words barely left you,
your voice was having a difficult time being used. What in the hell was this? Why were you being shown something like this? What did it mean?
You were desperately attempting to process the horrid display, when suddenly they entirety of the scene jostled and wiggled, blurring the figure in front of you. Someone was adjusting the camera pointed in Mark’s direction.
“Mmmmm….” There was a light growling sound in the depth of an unknown figure’s throat, whoever was behind the scene. Behind the camera. Behind all of this mayhem you were looking upon. There was a few more seconds of jostling and incoherent muttering, before there was a loud click, and a sound of praise.
“There we are.” The voice was rich, flowing and gentle, almost calming if any different situation was occurring. A man, burly and tall, surprisingly pale, strode into the view of the camera.
You suddenly realized just how thirsty you were. All you ever wanted, at that moment, was a tall glass of water.
Dark turned himself around in order to burn his gaze into the camera lens, staring directly into you with a smile that arched unnaturally. His arms that lay at his sides swung out, beckoning in a gesture of prideful welcome.
“Lovelies, ladies and gentleman, one… and all. I am most pleased to find you here with me. Welcome, all of you, to my first ever, official, Darkiplier episode.” Dark clapped his hands together and hugged them close to his chest, snickering and smiling in a giddy fashion.
“It took quite a bit of effort, I must admit. Days worth of planning, aggravation, sweat and tears and blood, quite literally, in order to make this possible. I set up the scene, of course, with the skills that I wield. But the final piece, the final push to truly… get this episode rolling, was something I required from you.”
Dark stood directly in front of Mark’s body, who remained unmoving, locked in some type of trance, or fretful sleep, looking like a long passed mannequin. Dark didn’t even seem to notice Mark’s existence, his entire attentions focused to the screen, and he continued talking.
“All of you received a poll, just minutes ago. The question, as I’m sure you all can recall, was ‘Mind or Body?’ Did any of you ponder what this may entail? Hmm? Did any of you suspect any ill will when you responded? Well, whatever curiosity you have faced in these last few moments, my friends, it will finally be quenched. Your responses determined the actions that will be bestowed upon my perfect little subject here with me, today. Some of you may know him from his video channel, some of you may have no recognition of him. I simply call him Mark.”
Dark stepped to the side only slightly, and twisted his shoulders to show off the shadowed figure of poor empty Mark, hanging in his seat.
“Perhaps ‘The Little Wench Who Ruined My Existence’ would suffice as a more suitable nickname, however. Don’t you agree, Mark?”
After another pause, he turned back, and jerked his hands against the hem of his vest, straining the fabric. He continued as if he hadn’t interacted with the unconscious man at all. As he did, his smile shifted, only slightly, something laying beneath his skin that grew darker, less friendly. He seemed to be staring directly into you, and you alone.
“Some of you may believe that this is for Mark alone. But you would assume incorrectly. Don’t you see? I tried to play nicely. I tried to be the wonderful, perfect Figment they all assumed me to be. But still… you doubted. Adoration turned into comfortableness. You all became fearless of me. You sought me out because you thought I was fUnnY, OR cuTE, or soMEtHING to brINg you AMUsemenT. You all believe that I am…. am incapable….. of what I KNOW…. I can do. You all believe that I am weak, pathetic, and that I am simply some… imagination. Some… tHinG. Well… I am here to remind you, Lovelies, that I am not some wandering decision. I am a concrete REALITY. And now… well… I will prove. What I. Am capable of.”
TO BE CONTINUED?
Oops! I may have not completely fulfilled my promise. Did I fail to mention I would only be providing HALF of the story at 1,000 followers? How disappointing. It must have slipped my mind.
Do you desire part two? Perhaps I will continue at 1,500. Or perhaps not. We’ll see where the wind takes me.
Summary: You can’t tell the difference between the color of your eyes to the color of the sky; Jimin sees no difference.
Genre: Fluff, Colorblind!Reader
opalescence (n.) showing varying colors as an opal does
Underneath the dark expanse of the night sky, you have always thought that the world beyond your own was tinged a dark blue.
“That’s ridiculous,” your companion scoffs, his dark brown hues directed at you with unconcealed incredulity. “It’s obviously black. Space is black, and it always will be.”
You think of debating with him; after all, you have never seen colors the way everyone else did, so labeling anything as this or that has always been a source of confusion for you.
A lot of people have pitied you for this, you knew. You could never see the world in all its vibrancy: colors, after all, are the essence of the human experience. You would never be able to tell the way your companion’s face flushes a pretty pink as you snuggle closer to him, nor the way his rosy red lips are almost begging to be kissed.
You would think that you should feel sorrowful from not being able to experience a sensation that was almost exclusive to the human mind.
But you don’t feel sorrowful. Not at all. Not when the warmth emanating from his body made you feel so much joy that no rainbow could ever elicit from your senses; not when his sweet cologne calmed your palpitating heart and reminded you of home.
A/N: It’s so strange… I’ll be writing something super sad one second, then something super fluffy the next. Drabbles are weird. XD
11. (Arno Dorian)
It was a grueling truth, the reality that you may very well die. You looked down at your crimson stained hands, the heat of the thick liquid contrasting with your rapidly cooling body. Death was holding you in its crushing grip, dragging you down, and somehow you were still holding on. Because of him, you realized. You were holding on for Arno.
“Just a little while longer.” He rasped, his feet heavy against the stone rooftop as he shifted you uncomfortably in his arms. Every movement had you crying out, jolting the fiery pain to life. If it wasn’t for the startling fear in Arno’s eyes, you were positive you would’ve already been amongst the dead. But you couldn’t leave him. Your head lolled against his chest, eyelids heavy as you began drifting off. “No,” Arno’s shout startled you back into semi-consciousness. “I’m not losing you today, you hear me?” A hum left your parted lips as you held onto him tightly. Just a little bit longer… “Please,” he begged, the wind whipping against your face as he sprinted even faster, pushing himself to the max. “Don’t leave me like this.”
“Arno,” you choked, your vision swimming. You just needed to hold on… Just… His worried voice was drowned out by the blood rushing around your mind, your heart slowing in your chest. Maybe if you just closed your eyes…
12. (Altaïr Ibn-La’Ahad)
“Wait,” he growled, pulling you back as you jumped. You fell into his hard body, both of you hitting the ground painfully.
“What?” You seethed as quietly as you could, your eyes flickering between him and your target as you stood back on your feet, dusting yourself off.
“You can not go yet.” He explained as if it made total sense to pull you back from the man who was in perfect position for your blade.
“I need to go,” you argued, pointing down at your target. “If he moves, it will be too hard to find another place to strike. Now is the perfect opportunity.”
“Have you learned nothing?” He hissed, hand tight on your white robes. “What would you do after you had taken his life?”
“I would run there.” You pointed to the stacked boxes that stopped about halfway to the top of a nearby building. “Then I would wait in the hay cart on the other side of the building. After I can scale that building and move along the rooftops silently and efficiently.” You stated dryly, knowing that there was nothing for him to argue. Unfortunately, he was stubborn.
“And what if you get caught by them?” He gestured to two rather large guards waiting by the exit of the alley you were in. “You could not fight them off.” Ouch.
“Are you questioning my ability, Altaïr?” Your voice was laced with annoyance, his haughty tone doing nothing to quell your anger. You’d trained for the majority of your life and you were confident in your abilities.
“That is not what I meant.” He backtracked, hands held up in surrender. “I only mean that you could get injured or worse.”
“That’s part of being an Assassin.” You retorted, watching as his jaw tensed beneath the shadow of his hood.
“Just,” he paused, almost as if he didn’t think he should finish, “be careful.” Half of your mouth tilted up in a smile, a hand pulling your hood down to obscure your face.
“I always am.”
13. (Ezio Auditore)
You sighed heavily into the shining, noon sky. Rome was bustling below, the yells of merchants and buyers alike ringing throughout the heat of day. Pulling both knees to your chest, you watched as men and women prepared for the event to come. You really didn’t want to go to this ball, but your father hadn’t given you much of a choice. There was a sudden change in the atmosphere; where the sun had once shone, a shadow now cast over.
“Ezio,” you greeted stiffly, not bothering to look up at the Assassin.
“What are you doing up here?” He asked, taking a seat next to you. You sent a half smile in his direction, your hands playing with your white robes.
“I needed time to think.”
“For the ball,” Ezio nodded, his muscles tensing. “What happened to your date?” His voice was bitter, a scowl on his scarred lips. That gave you pause, your lips turning up in realization.
“You’re jealous!” You laughed, his scowl deepening at your accusation.
“I am not.” He argued. Continuing to chuckle, you stood up with your hands on your hips.
“You, Ezio Auditore, are jeal-” Your sentence was cut off with a squeak as your back hit the stone tiles roughly, wide eyes looking up to Ezio.
“I am not jealous.” His eyes were like fire, burning every bit of your body they went over. He jerked you up, dropping his mouth against yours vigorously. You moaned against the heat of him, his tongue thrusting in between your lips at the movement. Everything suddenly felt too hot, his hands roaming all over your body with determined curiosity. When he finally felt satisfied, he stood up, leaving you lying on the ground and breathing heavily. You followed his movements a moment afterwards, watching him curiously. He hadn’t moved, instead observing you as his fingers slid along his lips, almost as if just realizing what he’d done. You wanted him, needed him to repeat his actions.
“Jealous,” you breathed, laughing as you took off across the rooftop. You didn’t even have to hear his steps heavy against the stone to know he was following.
14. (Shay Cormac)
The hand on your hip wasn’t exactly uncomfortable, but it wasn’t the one you wanted. The blue eyes shining beneath the lights, crinkled up as he laughed, were not the ones you wished to stare into. The crisp accent that sounded whenever he spoke wasn’t the one you needed to hear. But it didn’t matter. Shay wasn’t there, and even if he was, he would never think of you the same way you thought of him. He was too guarded, too untrusting to allow you that close to him. A soft groan left your parted lips as you tried to tune into the conversation once again. He was talking about trading stuff, at least you thought he was. He could also be talking about his family. You hadn’t the slightest, and honestly, you couldn’t care less. You were scanning the area, your eyes attempting to adjust to the overly bright lights. They really did try too hard at these things. That was when you spotted the dark gaze, looking to you with more intensity than you’d ever seen before. You wanted to call to Shay, but you were cut off before you could start by lips upon your own. It took you by surprise, prompting you to stand absolutely frozen for a whole minute. It wasn’t right, the person you wanted more than anything not being the one moving against your lips. By the time you actually realized what was happening, the man had been thrown off of you by your leather clad savior.
“Shay,” you breathed, watching him intently. He ignored the gasps of the crowds, picking you up with a stiff arm beneath your legs and one behind your back. His movements were swift and silent, that of a trained killer. Your eyes were on his jaw, clenched with tension. Despite how angry he seemed to be, his hands were still holding you as gently as possible. “Shay,” you ground out, trying to understand what he was doing. He slammed you against the side of the estate, keeping you trapped in between his arms while his knee came up to rub in between your legs.
“You’re mine.” He growled, hands working furiously on removing your clothing. You shivered, whether from the actual cold or Shay’s expression, you weren’t entirely sure.
15. (Shay Cormac)
The clatter of your sword hitting the stone reverberated throughout the night sky, weighing down on the two of you like you were carrying the world itself. Your eyes were heavy, reality finally dawning on you. No matter what he’s done, no matter how long he’s been away, you can’t hurt him. You dropped your head, your arms laying limply by your sides.
“I can’t,” you whispered, not daring to look up to him. “I won’t,” you stated louder than before. His leather boots groaned against the cobblestone as he walked towards you, the sound of metal on metal as he re sheathed his blades. A heavy, warm hand rested on your shoulder, prompting you to look into his dark gaze. His eyes were shining with pain, hurt etched across his expression.
“I never wanted to do this.” His voice was barely audible above the distant sounds of the city, the happy cheering only furthering the dampened mood. “I was forced to.” You lifted a hand, placing it ever so softly against his heated cheeks.
“It’s okay,” you soothed, a hand raking through his dark hair as he buried his head into your chest, wrapping you in a tight embrace. “It’s okay,” you repeated again, his hot tears rolling down your chest. You closed your eyes against the wave of emotion, holding him even closer.
“He wants you dead,” he muttered against your skin, his tears still wet against your clothing.
“I know.” And you did. Haytham Kenway had every reason to want you dead. You were an Assassin who had gotten in his way more than enough times to pose a threat. Although, you looked down at the top of Shay’s head, moonlight reflecting off the black tresses, you would never pose a threat to him. You never could; Templar or not, you loved the man.
“I love you,” he said lowly, almost as if reading your thoughts.
“And I love you.” Slowly, he pulled back from your embrace, keeping his eyes locked with yours.
“Go,” he whispered, “Please.” His voice was broken, face twisted in pain. “I can’t…” He trailed off, looking to the ground shamefully. “Please don’t make me hurt you.”
“I won’t,” you promised. “But, Shay, I don’t wish to leave you.”
“I’ll find you again,” he stood a little straighter, determination lacing his tone. “I’ll find you when this is all over and I swear to you, I will make this right.” You nodded, backing away from him. “Just don’t forget me.” His voice was carried by the wind as you ran, your vision blurring with the onslaught of tears and your heart breaking within your chest.
16. (Edward Kenway)
Admittedly, you’d had way too many drinks. But hey, the suave captain sure as hell didn’t seem to be complaining. In fact, he almost seemed to be enjoying it. It’s not like you were doing anything that different than normal, you were just a little less reserved. Your touches lingered a little longer, your words purposely holding double meanings. You couldn’t help it, you were much too drunk and he was much too attractive. You took another swig of your rum, laughing at something one of the drunken crew members said.
“Hand me a little more rum, lass.” Edward whispered, his lips moving against your ear. You shivered, smiling at his wink as you picked up a tankard of rum. You placed a hand on his upper thigh, leaning across the table to hand him the drink. His eyes followed you, tongue darting out to lick his lips as he watched you hungrily.
“This what you want?” You asked, shifting more weight onto the hand on his thigh while simultaneously moving it higher. His throat bobbed as he swallowed roughly, his hand taking the drink from you and placing it on the table.
“Oh, you are just asking for it now.” His voice was husky, causing you to bite your lip while thoughts of him using that tone in other, more pleasurable, scenarios assaulted your mind. He leaned forward again, all the sounds and smells of the tavern drifting away as his breath danced around your cheek. He was speaking, telling you something, but you were too focused on the smell of salt, leather, and alcohol emanating from him. He pulled back, a smirk on his face and primal intent shining in his crystal orbs. Unfortunately, you didn’t hear a word he said. Deciding to take a chance, you squeezed his thigh and sent a wink, abandoning the table in favor of leaving the stuffy pub. You weren’t certain he followed you, at least not until you felt the gentle yet firm hand against the small of your back.
17. (Altaïr Ibn-La’Ahad)
Your scowl deepened at the look of disappointment in his eyes, your arms unconsciously crossing over your chest despite the ache of protest from your ribs.
“I was doing my job.” You stated curtly, moving your gaze from the Master Assassin. He was angry with you, even though he shouldn’t be. You’d only done what was asked of you; nothing more and nothing less.
“You almost got yourself killed,” he argued, a clamp sounding as he took a step forward. “You were meant to finish your target, not die.”
“I didn’t die.” You ground out, motioning wildly to yourself. You clenched your jaw at the pain that came with the action. “I’m still alive, see?”
“You were barely alive when you stumbled back here.” Both hands held tightly onto the sheets, your eyes diverting down. Maybe you had been a little reckless, but it wasn’t on purpose. You hadn’t meant to get yourself nearly killed. It was entirely an accident. “Did you ever think of how that would make me feel?” Your head snapped up, jaw dropped as he continued in the most irritated of tones. “Do you know what I’d do if you died? If I never saw you again?” He was getting more and more hysterical with each word, finally abandoning talking in favor of wrapping both arms around your upper half. “I thought I’d lost you.” You closed your eyes, softly raking a hand through his hair.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
18. (Altaïr Ibn-La’Ahad)
His eyes were on you like an eagle readying himself for the kill. You had no idea what you’d done to make Altaïr so angry, but it was almost scary. Although, the intensity that you were sure was meant to intimidate you, just aroused you further. He was an attractive man; anybody could see that. But it was more than just his looks that aroused you, it was the way he acted so confidently. Unfortunately, that confidence was giving you pause at the moment. He seemed so sure about something, so angry about whatever it was. So much so that it had you thinking back to every single wrong thing you’d ever done to the man. The list was quite short and none of them happened recently, but still, something was on his mind. You were snapped out of your reverie when a hand whipped out of nowhere, tugging you into a bedroom. Your back was slammed against rough stone, eyes wide as you looked to your hooded assaulter. Altaïr’s muscles were stiff, his frame trapping you against the wall.
“Altaïr,” you breathed, not sure if you should be relieved it was him or only more alert.
“(Y/N).” His voice was strange, the underlying tension bubbling to the surface.
“What are you doing?” You inquired, watching him as his gaze moved down your body slowly.
“I’m sick of watching silently as you tease me everyday.” He growled, eyes blazing.
“Wha-” He cut you off, lips rough against your own. You were frozen, lips parted and eyes still open. Taking the opportunity, he slipped his velvety tongue inside your mouth, hands tightening on your wrists. He tasted of mint and cinnamon and tentatively, you responded to his kiss causing him to drop your hands in favor of holding your face between his palms as he explored your lips with fervor. You were practically putty in his hands, following every one of his bold movements. He didn’t seem to be letting up anytime soon, his body touching every bit of your own. And, you leaned into his touches, you couldn’t be more glad.
19. (Shay Cormac)
Your combined laughs echoed around the hall as you continued walking down the wooden walkway, Shay by your side. The two of you were reminiscing of past times, something you did quite often, as you made your way to your respective bedrooms. It was a rather nice inn, one that Haytham no doubt picked out. He could be a little… overly grand at times. Oh well, you looked to the Irishman with shining eyes, you’d endure anything Haytham could throw at you so long as you got to spend time with Shay. He smiled warmly back, watching you curiously as you moved to open your door.
“No, that’s the wrong- oh, dammit.” Your eyes were wide, Shay standing directly behind you. It was like everyone was frozen, Hickey looking quite mad as he looked over the woman on top of him to you guys. Your mouth was opening and closing, nothing coming out of it as you just simply shorted out.
“What the ‘ell.” Hickey yelled, glaring at you two.
“I, uh,” Shay tugged at your arm, slamming the door shut to close off the view. “Oh my God,” you laughed, a hand over your mouth as you doubled over. Shay’s chuckle was much deeper as he pulled you down to where your room actually was. “I did not expect that.” Shay was shaking his head, eyes shining with amusement.
“You shouldn’t expect anything less than that from Hickey, lass.” He laughed, warm hand on your shoulder.
“What about from you?” You questioned boldy, a smirk tugging at your lips.
“Aye, you could expect more.” His voice was soft, his hand moving from your shoulder to your cheek gently.
“Then show me.” You challenged.
It was too hot, the sheets too uncomfortable against your skin, but you couldn’t move. Not because you were afraid of waking Connor up, but just because you genuinely couldn’t move. He had you wrapped in his two strong arms, one leg thrown over yours, and his head tucked into your neck. Not only that, but he slept like a bear.
“Connor,” you growled, trying to wiggle your way out of his hold. He held on strong, his grip tightening the more you moved. “Dammit, Connor, wake up!” You yelled, flopping around in his arms like a fish out of water. You kept yelling his name, pushing as best you could from inside his embrace, but nothing seemed to be working. “Ratohnhaké:ton,” you screamed, kicking your legs around.
“What?” He questioned, one brown eye peeking open to observe you.
“Move. Over.” You replied, pushing him back.
“Keep still,” he argued, cuddling back into you.
“Connor,” you whined, continuing to move in his embrace. “It’s hot.” This time both eyes opened, his arms holding you even tighter.
“I wish to hold you.” He whispered, a red tint staining his cheeks. That took you by surprise.
“I’m still going to be right here.” You shrugged, watching him curiously. He looked oddly distressed at the thought of having to let you go.
“I know, I just…” he muttered, trailing off when he thought it necessary. You lifted a hot palm to his warm cheeks, a small smile on your lips.
“What’s wrong, Ratohnhaké:ton?” For a second, he didn’t look as if he was going to answer, his eyes flitting down to where your bodies were touching.
“Before I met you, I thought I’d have to be alone. And,” the intensity in his gaze when he looked up was startling, “I don’t want to be alone. I don’t want to be without you.” Your heart clenched painfully, both arms coming up to wrap around his neck.
“I will never leave you.” You promised, resting your forehead against his. “So long as I walk this Earth, I will always love you, Ratohnhaké:ton.” His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, head moving up and down with his nod.
“May I please hold you?” He asked, voice light. It may be hot as hell, but you weren’t about to deny him that.
“Always,” you whispered, burying your head into his chest. You could feel his smile as he placed a kiss to the top of your head, the soft pitter-patter of his heartbeat lulling you to sleep. Before you drifted off, you heard him speak, tone barely audible.
TYPES OF KISSES:A kiss after yearning for it for far too long // 1.7k words.
“Thank you for meeting me here tonight.”
Seungcheol’s voice was quiet as he spoke, warm brown hues glancing over at you as he leaned back to rest against the grass. Underneath the glow of the moon, he still somehow looked as if he was shining, the rapper’s silhouette illuminating in the light of the moon as he stared up at the night sky. It wasn’t the first time he had taken your breath away just by simply looking at him – hell, it wasn’t even close to being the tenth time.
ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine you are living in the late 1800’s and your parents pass away due to a tragic accident. Leaving you an orphan, you are sent to a miserable orphanage. Then, a mysterious and harsh man named Loki visits the orphanage and takes you on as his ward. He brings you to his crumbling mansion in the English countryside, where you face his cruel intentions, and eventually discover that you care for him much more than you’d like to admit.
NOTES: Here is the next chapter of this continuing story. I sincerely feel so lousy that I don’t update as regularly as some other amazing writers on here, so I have begun a tag list to directly notify readers when a new chapter is available. Please don’t hesitate to message me @goddessofmischief if you wish to be on this list! As always, thank you for reading! ♥︎
I hitched up my skirts upon descending the narrow stairwell that led downstairs to the servant’s area. The clean white apron that was layered upon Elsie’s black pleated skirt momentarily caught my eyes before she rounded the corner and disappeared further down the hall. “Elsie, wait!” I called to her desperately. I noticed that she stepped inside a small storage cupboard and I followed her inside before she had the chance to close the door on me. She returned the broom back to its proper place before she turned her back to me and gazed out the window onto the hilly moors, their curvatures highlighted by the rising sun above.
A/N: hey y'all! So I currently have this fic in the works as well and thought I might as well submit the first part! This is a soulmate au (I fucking live for these), and the premise is that after you and your soulmate say “I love you” to each other, your bodies glow with an aura for a few seconds (so any times the queens have said it don’t exist in this world). The time is the present day, however I wanted to work in the jealous Adore/Trixie idea as well. she/her pronouns for in drag, he/him/they (adore) out of drag. It might be a mess but so am I so buckle up folks!
Imagine being part of the BAU and being sent to Manhattan to investigate a case.
Recap: With no soulmate, you had spent most of your life without love. And now, you had fallen in love with your supervisor, Aaron Hotchner. The team had been called to Manhattan to investigate the case and you can’t shake the feeling that there’s something you’re missing.
Ooooohhkaayyyy. Sit back and get comfortable this updated chapter is little over 3000 words.
Inukag college AU
I included what I had already posted before because of the added details and changes I put in so you should still read it all!
The woman fought with her umbrella as the wind threatened to douse her in the heavy sheets of rain. She watched the map on her phone as she spat her wild black tresses from her mouth. Her stomach demanded she stop somewhere dry to eat her snack, or better yet, find a restaurant. She continued on her journey by sheer willpower, ignoring her body’s needs. Stopping her in her tracks, she felt the object in her hand buzz. Her mother was checking in on her progress, wary of the weather conditions her daughter was traversing through on her search. Kagome shook her head as she continued to walk, her bare feet enjoying the small pools of spring rain lapping up at her ankles with every step. If it weren’t for the damn wind threatening to blow her over, she’d be skipping from puddle to puddle in joy. She wanted to keep her sandals dry and Koga had always said that the best traction is the skin on your heel. Perfect for wet weather.
Hello can u do a Loki x reader where Loki takes reader on a throne with clone lokis watching thanks
AN: I didn’t know if you meant taking in a smutty way or not, but that’s how I took it. If this isn’t what you wanted please tell me and I’ll rewrite it. Anyways Enjoy!
You walked through the corridor swiftly. According to the note you had found on your bed, it was extremely important that you went to the throne room right away. And so you did as told, gripping the front of your gown in anticipation. Loki had an exceptional skill at surprising you. Wether it be a secret picnic between the two of you or a “simple” gift of the most flashy crowned jewels, Loki always took your breath away. So when you did enter your room and found the simple note saying “Meet me in the throne room right away, I have a lovely surprise for you” You were quick to leave and he’d to the throne room. Which led you to this moment. You entered the large room looking around eagerly for your king. “Hello my queen,” you heard from behind you. With a gasp you spun around quickly to see a beautiful pair of ice blue eyes staring at you, “I’ve been waiting for you.” He said as he stalked closer to you, wrapping his arms around your waist. You immediately responded to his touch wrapping your hands around his neck, “I came as soon as I got the note.” Loki hummed as a response as he began to lean down and kiss your neck. At first his kisses were light pecks, but they soon became more sensual and rough as he ravished your neck in nips and sucks. Your hands raised to push Loki away, but they short, instead tangling within his pitch black tresses. “Loki…someone may see,” you said breathlessly, “Then let them watch.” Your eyes widened not only at his lewd comment, but the multiple versions of your lover appearing at all the doorways, “They can watch the doors and us. I’m sure it will be lovely.” Before yo could respond to the absolute insanity of the situation, Loki lifted you bridal style and carried you up the stairs to the throne. Once there he placed you down upon it. To him you looked heavenly just sitting on the large throne surrounded by gold in your undergarments. ‘Just like a queen’ he though to himself as he began to remove his clothing starting with his jacket and shirt. He looked at you expectantly with his devilish smirk, “The gown?” He asked simply. You stood right away pulling the strings that held the dress together. You let the gown fall and pool at your feet as you stepped out of it. A murmur cast around the room as each Loki fomented on your appearance, all good things of course. A bright grin appeared on Loki’s face as he finished removing his trousers and undergarments, “We think you look lovely dear. Absolutely gorgeous.” Loki leaned down and pulled you into a heated kiss, his hands wandering up and down the expanse of your back. His hands unclasped your bra skillfully and let it drop to the ground. He grasped your breasts in his hands kneading them, and causing you to mewl. Loki pulled away from you and sat himself upon the throne, reaching his arm out for you. You decline his invitation instead choosing to turn around and slowly peel off your panties. Giving all of the Loki’s surrounding you a quick show. Sly grins appeared on each of their faces as you turned around to your lover once again and sat on his lap. His erection pressed against your womanhood as you slowly ground your yourself down into him while peppering his neck in kisses. “Take me, my king,” his dick hardened at the nickname, and he grabbed your hips. He rose your hips up in line with his cock and slammed you down upon it. He let you stay atop him for a moment, relishing in the feeling of being sheathed inside you. His head lulled back as he felt your walls twitch and clamp around him, “Perfect” he whispered to himself before holding your hips and guiding you up and down on the length of his cock, slowly. “Loki, my king, please go faster,” you begged. To spite you Loki slowed his ministrations even more almost stopping you from moving altogether. You bucked your hips into his the best you could as you tried desperately to obtain some kind of pleasure. “Tell me exactly what you want, my queen,” he said as he slowly began to raise your hips. “I want you to fuck me, hard and fast,” you said even going so far as to pull his hair. Loki growled at the feeling as he raised your hips and slammed you down into him roughly. He began thrusting up into your tight, dripping cunt in time with the falling of your hips. “Call out for me. Let them all hear how much you love me fucking you,” “Loki” “Louder” “Loki” “LOUDER” “LOKI” you screamed as he thrust into you at the perfect place, hitting your g-spot dead on. “There Loki, there. Please thrust there again.” A devilish smirk appeared on his face as he angled his hips thrusting into your g-spot without fail. You were a moaning mess upon his lap, clawing and and grasping him as a means of keeping yourself grounded. Meanwhile Loki continued to use all of his force lifting your hips as fast as he could while he felt raw pleasure course through his veins, “Fuck you feel wonderful, (Y/N). You’re so tight and warm and wet. Are you close to cumming, you’re so tight.” You moaned loudly in response tugging at his hair. Loki wrapped his lips around the nub of one of your breasts causing you to gasp out in pleasure, “Loki I’m close. I’m so close.” “Call for me when you cum.” His thrusts continued when you finally released, calling his name loudly. Loki soon came after his warm seed filling you. You both sat in bliss as aftershocks of pleasure surged over the two of you. “I love you,” Loki said pulling you closer to him, still sheathed inside you, “I love you so much.” You kissed him softly burying your face in his shoulder, “I love you too.” Slowly one by one each Loki disappeared leaving both you and the real Loki in this tender moment alone. “They really enjoyed watching you cum. Can they watch agin sometime?” A small, breathless laugh spilled from your lips, “I suppose they could. We should get dressed and head to our room. I’d love to continue this somewhere a bit more private.” “As you wish my queen.”
Thank you so much for requesting! I hope it’s what you wanted, but if not please let me know. I hope you enjoyed reading!