delicate china

cxptainalicekingslexgh  asked:

*slams Time's doors open* SURPRISE, BITCH!

“Heilige scheiße, Alice…don’t DO that!” the personification yelped as the delicate china teacup in his hands slopped its thankfully only lukewarm contents down the front of his shirt. Ineffectually mopping up the mess with a lace-edged handkerchief, he nonetheless managed a rather sheepish smile at the kindergartner who’d interrupted his tea break.

“I do seem to recall telling you not to come back, dear kindergartner,” he chuckled, with no real malice in his voice.

“…And yet, curious child that you are, you have returned. I would be lying if I said it was not good to see you. How have you been?”

He extended a hand whose fingernails, painstakingly painted with houndstooth and tiny white roses, bore witness to Wilkins’ finesse with a nail art kit.

@cxptainalicekingslexgh <3

The Writing Duckling’s Masterlist

Originally posted by cherosiejosie

A China Rose: Y/N was once an employee at Prince Adams castle along with being his childhood friend but she doesn’t remember. Caught up in the curse, she ends up in Villeneuve where she stands out. But circumstances arrive and she somehow returns to the place she once called home, and a beast she once thought a friend. 

  1. CHAPTER 1: Prologue
  2. CHAPTER 2: The Provincial Life
  3. CHAPTER 3: Delicate China
  4. CHAPTER 4: The Adventure Begins
  5. CHAPTER 5: A Castle of Roses 
  6. CHAPTER 6: Once the Door Closes 
Suitors and Smells (and sensations)

Alyn Crawford - you take in a deep breath and know his skin smells of freshly ground grains, flour, the crispness of newly chopped wood. Bread baked in a giant stone oven; the ticklish sensation of sugar and powder on the tip of your nose. Kneading. Crafting. The consistent patience of rolling of dough. It is the comfort of spices swirling into gastronomic harmony, of warm soups and hearty meals, of laughter by the fire and communal spirit and the tenderness that comes with family. You take in another breath and -
There is steel and gunpowder and mud and wiremesh; the stench of sweat; of thundering onward and constant pushing to pierce front lines. Chaos. There is running and shouting and desparate need to win - or to save a life - there isn’t much difference now. You can hear roars of artillery, of everlasting marches and screaming, of souls taken apart by violence and blood (- there is just so much blood)

Leo Crawford - you take in a deep breath and know his skin smells of pages upon pages upon pages of knowledge; new and worn and yellowed and earmarked, and somewhat torn because he was reading too fast and wanted to know what happened next. His is the smell of books: leather-bound, hardbound, paperback, pages held inside a ziplock bag because he dropped it in the bath once. Encyclopedias, codals, annotated texts, forgotten tomes with hidden knowledge and secrets whispered from the gods. You take in another breath and -
A hundred bodies shouting at the same time, screaming over one another, a battle of interests and bottom-lines, of insurmountable pride and extreme prejudice. It is the crushing weight of responsibility. You hear the pounding of the gavel and calling people into order but the voice is lost in the cacophony of ideals and principles and money being exchanged by well-meaning hands and well-meaning looks and (how dare you betray your family like this)

Louis Howard - you take in a deep breath and know his skin is dozens of perfumes and fragrances, of flowers in full bloom: dandelions, orchids, and yawning hibiscus and lush bougainvilleas, of woodlands and barks, of afternoons by the lake and its stillness. His is the scent of adoration and delicacy, of holding on to dreams, tempered - but only ever so slightly - of realism and practicality. His is efficiency and managements but with the tenderest of hearts. You take in another breath and -
A musty bedroom, old and sagging wood, metal bars and grime coated windows; soot and dust - so much undisturbed dust - blanketing untouched linen, the bed, the room, the house. Cobwebs serve as curtains and each door creaks the way a child would but the crib had long been empty and the house long abandoned and forgotten and discarded and (you don’t know what being left alone feels like)

Giles Christophe - you take in a deep breath and know his skin is a coating of pastries and cinnamon and the sweetest powdered things sprinkled generously on confectionaries. It is fountains of chocolate, of stacked sugary delicacies that make you cringe in delight, and the slow dripping of honey from the tip of your tongue. It is soft cushions and even softer beds. You take in another breath and -
Melted wax stamped on proclamation and decrees, of harsh words and harsher laws, of meetings held in the middle of the night and the unshakeable feeling of being constantly watched, hairs on the back of your neck standing on the end. It is ambition and hunger and power that comes with negotiating with a knife to your throat - only you can’t see it just yet. Plots, entrapments, and hidden machinations, of secrets sealed with loyalty or fear and (you thought I would never amount to more than this)

Byron Wagner - you take in a deep breath and you smell ink and parchment, hear them being shuffled into order, given and signed and taken away, a constant flurry of things done and to be done. It is the burning candles late into the wee hours of breaking dawn, of hands guiding you and teaching you the way of things. It is cool summer nights spent dreaming upon the stars; it is musk and privilege, silk sheets and luxury. A firm voice telling you it knows better things. You take in another breath and -
The smell of almost rotting meat and flies; nature having its way with untended wounds. The stench of blood, spilled and pooling, and bodies dragged across stone slabs, of chains clasping against gasping throats, of panic and fear. It is submission, of opening yourself up entirely unto forces you cannot comprehend. You hear the gross sobbing and spilling of tears and drool, and absolute compliance to the haunting of ghosts, or else lose whatever it puny thing it is that you cling on and (I have no use for you now)

Albert Bruckhardt - you take in a deep breath and you smell fabric and cotton and tailored suits, and ever so faintly the smell of vegetables and greens, of freshly plucked apples and strawberries, and the diligence that is required to tending gardens and ensuring that all matters are in working order. It is freshly dug earth. It is grease in the cogs of an infinite clockwork, the constant hurrying about. You smell precision and detail and absolute unquestionable loyalty. You take in another breath and -
You smell horses and leather and the distinct human scent that comes when skin touches a burning blade. Whips and swords and bloody morningstars and the smell of the earth, again, except hastily dug to ease the burden hauling corpses. It is rope to your wrists and manacles around your feet. The teeth-gritting sound of sharpening swords and the roughness of hands to your throat and (I told you! I told you! I told you this isn’t so!)

Nico Meier - you take in a deep breath and you smell early mornings and the warm chamomile tea. His is the scent of fresh linen and beddings, of waking up and finding yourself warmed by the tender rays of the sun; of fresh water drawn for a bath, of lathering soap, and oils on smooth skin. It is peeking through a flutter of eyelids, of delicate china, and the way you chew when you know you have a secret. You take in another breath and -
The stink of sewers and muck and sludge and dozens of other things no longer useful co-mingled with people who have been forgotten and forsaken and bear the burden and shame of being born. It is the underbelly of the city. It is unwashed bodies huddled together to keep warm during winter, of longing and  desperation and feverish desire to live just one more day no matter what, to be something to someone or anyone or everyone and (I just wanted someone to really look at me)

Sid -  you take in a deep breath and you smell freshly squeezed lemon garnished on vodka, of old whiskey and scotch on ice. Alcohol tempered by an even head on more even shoulders. It is the smell of sunny days and running on vast and open fields. His is the smell of constant presence, of laughter and inconsequence of any action you take whatsoever. It is throwing the ball so hard and so far and yet knowing that it will come back to you because it always does. You take in another breath and -
It is the smell of chloroform and gasoline, of clandestine meetings over spiked drinks, of leaning in to whisper only the darkest of secrets. It is the binding of wrists and the gag in your mouth and the shadows at the corner of your eyes. Money constantly passing between hands because loyalty is nonexistent. It is the lightning fast jab you can’t quite see, the paranoia of perpetually holding a dagger under your pillow and (I need you to leave me alone)

Robert Branche - you take in a deep breath and you smell a hundred different paints and a hundred different solvents, and a hundred different canvases on display. His is the scent of splashing watercolor, of mixing colors for rainbows, of standing still and taking in the landscape. It is kneeling down on one knee to take each of you hand to kiss tenderly. His is the scent of restlessness and voyage, the gasps of experiencing things for the first time, of constant change and you take in another breath and -
You smell an old, heavy cape that has never seen the rays of the sun. Myrrh smeared upon two hundred seventy bones. It is the smell of rigidness, of unbendable will.  A thousand voices offering a thousand different advice, not even once considering that the ears that hear cannot bear the weight of the world. It is power thrust upon unready hands and (I did it to protect them, to protect you!)

Pick Your Study Mood

1) The Fashion/Design Student

- Perfectly done up/down hair, silk night clothes or cashmere jumper, fluffy socks, scrawled messy notes and drawings, laptop open for research, expensive pen, frothy coffee in delicate white china cup, perfect manicure, perfectly planned timetable on separate piece of paper, open for breaks.

2) The Carrie Bradshaw

- Wearing something cosy and comfortable, take out coffee or can of coke in ice, box of half eaten Chinese food at side with the chopsticks sticking out, adorned with pearl necklace, at desk with laptop, organised mess, black and white film waiting in another tab for after completion of work.

3) The Hermione Granger

- Glass of water or herbal tea, bowl at side with snacks, lots of open books, sat at a desk in the common room, neat notes with pretty handwriting, leather bound diary, hair thrown up, spearmint scented candle, enjoys ambient noises of her environment or classical music, earl grey tea, highly methodical and leaves no detail to chance. 

4) The Parisian

- Coffee fresh from the coffee shop round the corner, bakery recently collected, blazer with whatever she just went out wearing or pyjamas for comfort, messy hair and perfect makeup, perfectly manicured hands with Chanel nail polish, politics book at side for breaks, leather journal, lined paper and biro, busy and important, thinking about a guy.

Coffee Shop Kisses - Wonwoo

First kiss during a coffee shop date drabble with Wonwoo as requested by @spicadeservesbetter ! Hope you enioy and this is what you wanted ♥ (I would alsonlike to dedicate this to my fave Wonwoo stan @lil-nochu ily XD)

“You’ve been so busy lately, I thought we wouldn’t have a second date,” you confessed to your boyfriend of a month Jeon Wonwoo, holding onto his arm and huddling closer to his body as a brisk chill ran through the air. You suddenly regretted not wearing a thicker coat; it was still winter after all. He smiled softly down at you and wrapped an arm around your waist, holding you as close as he possibly could to his warm figure and sighing, watching his breath form white wisps in the winter wind.

“I know,” he murmured, regret tingeing his deep voice as he kept his gaze fixed ahead on the pavement you walked down together. “I’m sorry.”

“No don’t apologize!” you became somewhat frantic, feeling guilty for making him feel bad. “I understand. I’m just glad I can be with you now.” He smiled, eyes crinkling behind his wire glasses in the cutest way as he led you to a quaint little coffee shop situated in the corner of a pretty empty street. “Wow…” a gasp of mingled surprise and awe left your lips as you stepped into the building, the rich aroma of coffee immediately hitting your nostrils and warming all your senses. The interior was all chocolate and a creamy off white, with booths separated by glass dividers occupying most of the main area and smaller wooden tables for two people dotting around the edges by the large windows through which the morning sun shone. There weren’t many people inside and it felt warm and homely, and just being inside made you feel fuzzy and joyful. “It’s so pretty in here,” you hummed, choosing to sit opposite Wonwoo in one of the booths seeing as the sunlight was incredibly bright and would probably blind you. You already had Wonwoo for that. “I can’t believe I’ve never been before.” Wonwoo leant forward, propping his elbows on the varnished oak of the table and resting his chin on his hands, smiling gently at you as you continued to take in the aesthetic of the decor.

”I’m so glad you like it,” he replied in his husky voice, letting out a small huff of laughter as he looked around the establishment somewhat nostalgically. “I used to come here all the time in college. I remember I liked you a lot then too, I used to think to myself that if I ever worked up the courage to ask you on a date I’d bring you here.” His eyes gleamed with the reminiscence and your heart suddenly fluttered - the way he looked so adoringly at you made your cheeks flush hot. You didn’t know he liked you until he finally asked you out sometime last month, when his idol group were awarded a break after promotions. Your friends had called you oblivious, not even trying hiding their frustration but you could never understand why. Until now, as he gazed at you like you hung the stars, like you were all he ever wanted to look at; it seemed this was more than just a crush. A waitress sauntered over, lazy smile spreading over her plump lips as she saw you and Wonwoo exchanging fond looks and shy smiles.

“You guys are so cute!” she lilted, now beaming at you both as she took a small notepad and a pen from the small black apron encircling her thin waist. “Would you like anything to eat or drink?” You glanced at Wonwoo and he nodded, knowing you weren’t the best with other people, especially in situations like this.

“Just a regular coffee for me and…” he narrowed his eyes slightly at you; you’d frequented coffee shops together in the past as to study but it had been a while. “A caramel macchiato for the lady.” Attempting to hide the triumphant grin already tugging up the corners of your mouth turned out to be incredibly difficult - he remembered your favourite.

“Is that everything?” At Wonwoo’s nod she scurried back behind the polished bar and set about making your drinks.

“So how’s idol life treating you?” you questioned in a soft tone, playing with the tasselled ends of your thick scarf. He pouted slightly, trying not to blush too obviously as he cautiously moved one of the hands from his lap to lace his fingers with yours which sat atop the table.

“It’s nice, living out your dreams and all, but I barely get any time to see you which I hate.” he cocked his head to the side a little, eyes scanning every detail of your now rather pink face as if inspecting you. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to take you out.”

“I had somewhat of a clue,” you smirked, looking down at the table awkwardly before forcing yourself to look him in the eye. The deep brown orbs then looked so enamored yet amused by your timid manner, causing you to scratch the back of your neck bashfully. Breaking the awkward silence the waitress then came back with two steaming drinks and you both thanked her before turning your attention to them, hot and incredibly well made to say yours had a large heart drawn into the foam on top. You took a glimpse of the waitress who smiled proudly at herself before going back to cleaning the already shiny espresso machine. Wonwoo looked up at you, one hand supporting his jaw and the other reaching for the steel pitcher of milk which he slowly poured into the bitter beverage sat before him.

“So,” he coughed lightly, finally breaking the tension between you both as he moved onto shaking the contents of the small sugar packets into his drink. Usually he’d have it black but today he felt like the added sweetness. “Did you end up pursuing writing?” You grimaced a little, watching the thin silvery wisps of steam evaporate from the macchiato.

“Not… quite,” you mumbled thoughtfully. “I’m still trying to make it but at the moment I’m still focusing on studies,”

“I see…” his tone was distracted but his gaze was attentive which was mildly confusing, but you shrugged it off and took a small sip of your coffee, laughing at the foam that decorated your upper lip afterwards. He chuckled before reaching for his own coffee, looping two of his long fingers through the small and delicate china handle of the cup and bringing it to his lips. He blew ever so lightly on the hazelnut coloured surface as to try and cool it before taking a tentative sip, still watching you and listening to you talk. He recoiled immediately after the beverage touched his mouth, setting the cup back down on its saucer with an abruptness that startled you into silence. You frowned at him, concern etched onto your features as you raised an eyebrow inquisitively.

“Are you okay?” you asked, voice mellifluous and calm as your head tilted to the right. He gasped whilst nodding, furrowing his brows at you with a hopeless smile.

“Yeah sorry I just… wasn’t paying enough attention and burnt my tongue.” he exhaled slowly as you reached over the table and placed a finger on his chin, raising his eyes to yours. Suddenly bold you tried to fend off your smirk, him blinking with wide eyes as he waited for you to speak.

”Do you want me to kiss it better?” you whispered, watching him turn beet red with a somewhat gleeful smile despite still being shy yourself. Nevertheless he took the incentive and leaned in, careful not to upset either of the drinks as he placed one palm flat on the table and the other on your cheek and pulled you closer as to press your lips to his in a sweet and sincere first kiss. It was short yet the butterflies in your stomach lasted even when he pulled away, lips tingling and tasting slightly of coffee still as his lip curled into a bewildered grin.

”You know what? It still hurts.” he grinned with an overexaggerated shrug and laughed lightly, grazing your cheekbone with the pad of his thumb as he leaned in to kiss you again.

Hope you like! ♥

-Admin Belle

It’s just Suzy and Dan left in the office when the power goes out. It flickers once, twice, and dies. Suzy hears Dan curse from across the office and- it’s not that she’s scared of storms, or the dark, but she wanders closer because it seems like the thing to do. She follows the sound of his voice until she can make out his silhouette in the blackness, and then she clutches at his sleeve, startling him.

She laughs, apologizes, and turns on her phone’s flashlight to give them something to see by.

The storm raging outside is probably some kind of record breaker. Dan takes one look through the window, being lashed by rain, and suggests, “Let’s wait until it dies down.”

So they do. It’s the first time in a while that Suzy has spent any significant amount of time with Dan, as busy as they both are. She’d forgotten how easily he can make her laugh. They wind up on the grump couch, the only decently comfortable piece of furniture in the whole place, side by side and barely an inch apart, with the lit-up phone sitting on the coffee table and casting pale white light around the room- and they talk. Dan is a great listener, with a way of looking at you like what you’re saying is important, like he’s hanging on every word when other people would be dismissive or distracted. It’s… Comforting, to Suzy, who feels lighter and lighter as the conversation goes on, whose cheeks hurt from smiling as it grows later and later.

Keep reading

Last train home: part two | Arthur Shelby

Request: @chrystalcaper asked for part two with Arthur x Reader getting the chance to talk.

Request: @theawkwardpedestrian asked if there could be more Arthur Shelby!

Notes: I think I might need a part three for this…

He walked over and you stood, hands smoothed the creases of your skirt before you offered your name, then your hand to shake.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, Arthur.”

All Arthur could think was that you had the most incredible eyes he’d ever seen.

He just stood there half dazed as a goofy smile set to his features.

“And you, love.”

He offered his hand to shake before you eyed the crowd of men that stared at you both from the bar. Arthur followed your gaze.

“Don’t mind them, come on, come with me…”

He picked up the delicate china cup that sat on a saucer from the table you’d been sat at. You couldn’t help but smirk as you followed behind him, the cup chattered with the nervous tremble to his hand.

“Who the fucks that, Arthur?”

“Have some fucking respect and mind your own fucking business, John.”

Arthur held the door to the little room of The Garrison for you as you stepped in to sit yourself down. He placed the saucer to the table gently and sat opposite.

“I bet this is strange for you.”

“Why’s that, love?”

“You sat there, instead of here. Me awake and not drooling on you. Oh, God, I didn’t drool, did I?”


You both smiled at each other before you looked down to habitually smooth the creases in your dress. Arthur shuffled his hands beneath him.

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A China Rose

Originally posted by fragile-strenght

Summary: Y/N was once an employee at Prince Adams castle along with being his childhood friend but she doesn’t remember. Caught up in the curse, she ends up in Villeneuve where she stands out. But circumstances arrive and she somehow returns to the place she once called home, and a beast she once thought a friend.
A multi-chapter fanfiction.

Authors Note: This is my first ever fanfiction. Please tell me where I can improve (in a nice way) and I hope you enjoy. I will try and update every week. Also REQUESTS ARE OPEN! Anything to distract me from exams.

Chapter 1: Prologue
You were walking, well more realistically sprinting, up the servant’s stairwell, avoiding several maids holding trays of several different types of alcoholic beverages. You had successfully avoided at least ten maids before you went crashing into one head first, involving several orange drinks falling on you, leaving you soaking wet and your white top now spotted orange. The maid simply looked at you in disgust before deliberately pushing you into the wall whilst she quickly picked up the shattered glass. This in turn caused a pile up of at least five maids and they all looked at you with disapproving looks. You were used to them at this point. Most of the maids despised you due to your outward appearance. Mrs Potts had told you on several occasions that you were beautiful and many of the maids envied you for it (that and your supposed strange taste in fashion, but you couldn’t help it if pants were far more practical than skirts). You, had never thought of yourself as beautiful. You were just you, plain and simple and that’s how you liked it. There was also the factor that you actually enjoyed reading. Many of the maids thought it a useless skill but you loved the places a book could take you. You’d visited the great sands of Africa and the jungles of Peru but your favourite place to visit was Verona in Italy. It made you feel at home away from the real world. Back when the Prince’s mother was alive you’d sneak into the library and sit behind the curtains and get lost for several hours before your father found you. Those times don’t occur anymore. You’d been found by the Prince’s father, and the bruises stayed on you for several weeks.

You shook your head to rid yourself of the memory. The group of maids bar one had hurried down the stairs. You looked up to see that it was Plumette who remained. You breathed a sigh of relief. Not only was she the head maid but she was basically an older sister to you, just like you were to Chip. She looked at you eyebrows raised
“Would you care to explain what happened Y/N, or do I not want to know?” she said whilst gesturing to your shirt with her feather duster.
You lifted up your tool box before saying “Lord Dustin’s daughter’s clockwork doll has broken.”
She looked at you, eyes wide (she knew how difficult she could be) before giving you a small nod and rushing down the steps to return to help prepping for the ball that was to take place in two hours. Ugh, the ball. Another stupid dance where the Prince could show of how rich he was.

You were so deep into your thoughts that you hadn’t realised you were now walking along the corridor of the palace where actual lords and ladies could see you. You gripped your toolbox tighter whilst avoiding eye contact with any of the noblewomen that came past. You could hear behind closed doors several young women fussing about their looks clearly trying to impress the Prince.
“Why? He’s nothing special.” You whispered aloud, a scowl etched upon your face.
“Ahoy there sailor. What’s got you under the weather?”
You turned to see your father hurrying up behind you whilst gripping dearly onto an easel, canvas and his bag full of paints and brushes.
“Oh it’s nothing Papa,” you say with a smile, “just a broken doll of the pickiest guest.”
He winces, “Lord Dustin’s daughter?”
“Yup. It’ll be my first with her, and her reputation makes me nervous.”
He pats you on the head, “Don’t worry, you’re the best tinkerer I know, she’ll be lucky to have you repair anything of hers.”
You blush and look down at your feet before looking up at him again, a puzzled expression on your face, “Where are you off to now? I didn’t know you had a new piece to work on.”
“Well I didn’t, until two hours ago.” He lets out a deep sigh, “The Prince has commissioned a piece depicting the ball tonight.”
“Oh,” you let out almost accidentally but you can’t hide your disappointment. You were looking forward to having a few moments with your father tonight while the rest of the castle were occupied.
“Don’t worry I’ll try and be finished before dawn.” He looked down at the wrist clock you made for him only three weeks ago. He kissed you on the forehead before quickly rushing off down the hall towards the ballroom but not before he told you that he loved you.
“I love you too.” You said to a now empty corridor.  
You shook your head and once again begin to rush towards the Lady’s allocated room. When you skidded to a halt outside the large, ornate door, you took a moment to smooth out your shirt and pants (whilst desperately trying to rid them of the orange stains). You tucked a piece of your damp hair back under your headband before taking a deep breath and knocking on the door.

You had to wait several moments before a thin looking woman in her mid-twenties opened the door. She looked at you questionably, before a high pitched voice from inside the room spoke up.
“Just let them in. I’m in a rush.”
The lady in waiting opened the door to let you through and you gave her a pleasant smile which she returned subtly before rushing to help Lady Helen Dustin place her wig on her head. The wig was far too ornate for your liking with its several unnecessary jewels that were strewn everywhere. You were certain that the wig was far too tall to fit through a doorway. How she was to dance was a mystery to you.
“May I help you? I don’t remember asking for cross dresser to appear in my room. That’s more Lady Emilié’s taste.” she said whilst looking in the mirror, placing far too much rouge on her cheeks.
“Forgive me my lady, but I’m Y/N, the Royal engineer if it were, and I believe you wished for me to fix your doll.” you say, the poison, hopefully very clear.
Her mouth fell agape for a brief moment before signalling to the table at the end of the bed, without looking away from her reflection. You walked over to the table and place your tool box next to what is quite simply the most beautiful doll you have ever seen. You went to get your tweezers before a loud squeak stops you.
The Lady Helen looked at you, appalled, “What on earth do you think you are doing?”
You looked up at her confused. “Fixing your doll, my lady.”
“Not here!” she practically screamed at you, “Down where you people breed.”
You looked at her, holding her gaze before closing your tool box and picking up the China doll. “As you wish, my lady,” you mumbled before walking to the door. You turned back and looked at her once more, “Before I leave, my lady, please might you tell me what is wrong with the doll and what the desired result is to be.”
She looked at you in horror before turning back to the mirror and saying “The arm is stuck. It’s meant to move.”
You nod, curtsy and leave but not before you hear her say to her lady in waiting “I had no idea they hired such strange people in this place.” Their laughter follows you down the corridor.


Back in your workshop/bedroom you were admiring the doll. It truly was a marvel. The outside was delicate china, but the inside was a complex machine. A maze of copper cogs. It was beautiful. You had found the problem with the arm joint almost immediately, a loose screw had caused a cog to become bent, preventing it from turning. It was easily fixed and at this point, exactly half an hour before the ball was to commence, you were simply sketching the insides in detail so that you one day might be able to replicate it. You were so entangled in your work that you didn’t see the figure standing in the doorway until they coughed, loudly. You looked up abruptly to see the Prince standing there, his face covered in a ridiculous amount of make-up. You preferred him without it, if you had to choose.
You stand up and fall into an awkward curtsy.
“Your highness.” You mumbled out not looking him in the eye.
He just smirked at you before smugly saying “You have charcoal on your face right there.” He gestured to his own nose.
“And I believe you have something all over your face too.” You pointed out with delight, whilst dramatically waving a hand all over your face.
His smile dropped and immediately turned into a scowl. “You can’t speak to me like that.”
“Oh, of course. Where are my manners. You have something hideous on your face too, your highness,” you said while taking a ridiculously over the top curtsy. When you stand you look at him pleased that his eyebrows were furrowed with rage.
“And why aren’t you,” you jabbed a finger at him, “upstairs getting ready for yet another one of your balls?”
His scowl disappeared and was once again replaced by a smirk.
“Well, I was in the process of doing so,” he gestured dramatically at his attire, “with the assistance of Cogsworth, but I was ever so rudely interrupted by a certain maid complaining about a supposed Royal engineer.”
“And you came down to tell me what?” you asked, eyebrows raised, “that I was too hostile?”
“Precisely.” He practically snorted out.
“Oh dear.” You said feigning embarrassment, “I was trying so hard to hide it.”
“You know, I should fire you.” He stated, “After all, you don’t do much. But your silly father is the best artist for miles to come so I guess I’m stuck with you.”
Your blood boiled at his comment about your father. “Don’t you dare speak of my father that way!” You practically yelled at him.
He let out a rather large chuckle. “Relax Y/N, I’m joking.”
“Well, I don’t find it funny.” You let out, your tongue dripping with hostility.
“It was rather funny. You should note that you look like a tomato, you’ve gone so red.” The Prince was beside himself.
“Why don’t you go back upstairs where everyone wishes to throw themselves at you?” With that comment you went back to your desk at picked up your pad. “Your highness” you mutter.
“Honestly Y/N enough with the formalities. You know you may call me by my name. One of the few I allow.” He stood in the doorway, for once actually looking like he could be kind.
You simply glared at him and said in the most monotone voice you could muster, “I’ll call you by your name when you start acting like my friend that I knew and less like your father.”
Your comment had its desired effect. The Prince turned immediately away from you and stormed away from your workshop. Satisfied, you looked back down at your sketch pad and once again begin to draw.

It was only a few moments later that you looked up to stare out the small window above your bed. You simply stared before your eyebrows knitted together with concern. A large storm was roaring outside but that was not what concerned you. What concerned you was there was someone outside in it. You stood up and rushed into the corridor and towards the back door of the servant’s quarters. Once outside, you were hit by a large wall of rain but you continued running till you reached the figure. You helped guide them through the rain towards the castle door. After pushing against the wind for several minutes you reached the door, where you hastily bustled the figure inside. Soaking wet, you finally looked properly at the figure to see that it was a beautiful lady in a green velvet dress and with luscious golden curls. She smiled at you as you directed her towards your room. She was somehow miraculously dry, unlike yourself. You were about to let her into your room where she grabbed your arm rather harshly. She looked at you, her green eyes seemingly glowing before stating, “You must leave this castle. Tonight. Gather what you need and leave for the nearest village.”
You were confused as to why you had to leave but the longer you stared into the strange ladies eyes the more convinced you were of the idea of leaving. You nodded at her silently as she let go of your arm. She began to walk away and you went back into your room to begin packing what you would need, but you swore you saw her age rapidly as she began to climb the stairs at the end of the hall.
In your room, you packed away your tools into your toolbox. You packed clothes into your traveling bag and placed your pad, art supplies, your only three books and your trusted tools in it as well. You put on your leather gloves and cloak ready to face the rain storm. Before you left your room you took one last look around and took the clockwork doll into your hands admiring its intricacies. With that you left.


You were walking towards the castle gates, down the large carriage path in the gardens. You looked back at the castle to see a large and strange glow coming from the ballroom. Another part of the Prince’s entertainment you thought to yourself. It was not until you heard the screams did you turn around once again and stop walking. The sound was coming from the ballroom.
“Papa!” You thought out loud. You began to scold yourself. Here you were planning on running away, for a reason you couldn’t remember and you forgot to bring Papa with you. You even forgot to tell him you were leaving. You took about five steps back towards the castle when the first carriage came charging towards you. You leapt to the side just in time. Your brows furrowed in confusion when you see that all of the guest carriages were barrelling down the path. As you stood there at the side of the path desperately trying to avoid being squashed by any of the carriages, you caught a glimpse inside one to see Lady Dustin. The fear etched in her face was something to behold. She looked back at the castle, terror gripping her. Her blue eyes briefly met your E/C ones and the message they sent was clear. Run.
You thought of your Papa, how you couldn’t leave him, but every carriage was filled with noblewomen all with the same fear etched upon their faces. You were about to head back towards the castle when a bright, blinding light erupted from the ballroom windows, illuminating the entire gardens and sending an ice cold wind billowing into your face. You were knocked backwards by the strong wind, struggling to stay upwards. When the light dimmed you saw that rain storm that was occurring had now turned into a heavy snowfall. You looked around in both fear and awe. It was June. It never snows in June, at least not here. You stared up at the sky, at the flakes that were slowly settling around you. Then you heard it. An ear splitting roar. A roar of an animal in pain. That was it. What made you run. You ran as hard as you could towards the gates. You glanced back at the castle, where the roar was coming from, and saw a yellow flash. The flash seemed to linger before seemingly forming a glowing barrier that was spreading outwards from the castle. Whatever that glow was, you didn’t want to find out. You ran faster. Faster than you had ever ran before, your father a distance memory. The barrier was charging towards you as you reached the gate. You fumbled trying to pull them open. As they opened, the glow was nearly upon you. You ran through the opening and was pulling the gate shut with your left hand when the glow engulfed it up to your elbow. Your left hand went numb and you closed your eyes prepared for the worst.
It never came.
The golden glow seemed to have stopped at the castle’s perimeter and was slowly stretching upwards forming a glowing dome. You looked up in awe when you felt a sharp pain in your left arm. You stumbled backwards, tearing your eyes away from the magical dome. You forcefully removed your glove to see your hand slowly become paler and smoother. Your hand was becoming heavier and more rigid with each passing second. You looked away in horror. You grabbed your glove and ran from the castle as fast as you could, hoping that the further you got away from that cursed place, the better you’d feel. You practically sprinted through the woods putting a good distance between you at your former home.
After roughly ten minutes of running, sweating and tripping over several roots, your body was begging for a small rest. You sat down under a fairly large tree, wrapping your cloak tightly around you (despite the fact it was no longer snowing). There was still a tingling feeling in your left hand. You cautiously remove your glove once again and you had to stifle a scream. Your hand was made of china, exactly like doll you were fixing for…. for… You couldn’t remember. Why couldn’t you remember? You had just been there in…. Wait where were you?
You clutched your head, why were you forgetting things that just happened. ‘Maybe,’ you thought 'I’m just a little dizzy and tired from running so hard for so long.’
You decided to stay under the tree and try and get your breathing even. You looked around the woods to just see darkness surrounding you. Your head was beginning to throb now, along with your China hand. How long had you had that china hand again? As the throbbing became all you could feel, you felt your eye lids beginning to drop. Black spots appeared in your vision and you fought the urge to regurgitate your last meal. As you slipped into unconsciousness, you fought with every bone in your body to remember your Papa. You weren’t going to stop fighting to remember. As you slumped back against the tree, in a restless sleep, the woman you helped into the castle simply smiled. She knew you were strong. With that she disappeared back into the forest, walking back towards the nearest village where you’d arrive the next afternoon, so she could watch her story unfold.

Cursive Scars

Pairing: Draco x Reader

Requested by an anon: Hi Love! I wanna request something :) So (Y/N) has a detention with umbridge because she said something sassy in class and the detention lasts for hours and after that her hand looks really really bad and she is trying to hide it, but Draco sees it and freaks out. Youre writing is really good:)

A/N- Thank you! <3  And this is rather long…I couldn’t help it. I hate the bitch XD Just…Excuse my sass. Sometimes I just cannot reel it in. 

Gritting your teeth in attempts to keep from shrieking a tangent of profanities to no one in particular though directed at the spirit-sucking, sweetly morbid toad herself, you knock on the door.

After a few moments where you contemplate kicking the doorway to hell open, you hear the infuriating call of, “Enter.” which sends multiple shivers crawling along your spine like spiders up bark.

Stepping cautiously across the threshold, you’re bombarded with an overpowering scent of sickly sweet perfume and Floo Powder. If you’re not thoroughly mistaken, you catch the faint scent of blood mingled in with it all. Naturally, you become more paranoid than when usually in her condescending prescence and keep your hand clasped tightly around your wand.

You barely catch Professor Dumbitch as she perches on her “Throne.” You wonder rather rationally, I might add, where the putrid stack of Children’s bones are…

She blends too well with the pink smothered room and the ghastly sight makes your skin crawl. Observing the delicate plates of china placed perfectly in precision, you can’t help but want to protect the mewling kittens from the devil incarnate. Or better yet, murder the bitch in her sleep. No doubt she sleeps like a troll so it shouldn’t be deemed too difficult, the resemblence is indeed uncanny. 

“Miss (Y/L/N).” Her demeaningly childish voice resounds against the sympathised plates and into your unwilling ears. “Take a seat.” she gestures towards the ordinary seeming, though obviously lethal chair before her desk. “Must I explain the reasoning behind your time here today?” you swallow whatever spiteful cuss you were going to throw at her and “Politely” shake your head. 

“Good.” Her face contorts into one of her infamously grotesque “smiles.”

You shuffle towards the impeccable desk and cautiously sink into the seat. You expect vicious vices to entrap your helpless limbs, but find only your anxiety  increases when nothing happens. 

“You’ll be writing lines today, Miss (Y/L/N). Oh no, I’ve got a special quill for you to use.” you swear you glimpse the sadistic glint in her beetle eyes as she hands it to you.

“What is it you wish for me to write?” you ask through clenched teeth. “I must not sass a teacher?” you mutter daringly under your breath and can’t help a small smirk. 

“For that, Miss (Y/L/N), you’ll not only be spending five hours with me, but another three.” she says while making a pleased sound from the back of her throat. “On the contrary, you’ll be writing “I must not be conceited.”” 

You know full well you would never dream of acting in such a way and every inch of your body begs for justice but you restrain. You think back to Dumbitch’s face when you snapped various comments at her during her class such as, “What do you expect us to do if someone were to attack us?! Whack ‘em over the head with it?!” while shaking the goddamned book in her face or, “When Voldemort attacks, I hope whatever’s shoved so deeply up your arse is removed so you’re able to run. Merlin knows you’ll be defenceless if this is the shit you’re teaching us.” and the like. Her outraged, embarrassed and apoplectic expression is worth any punishment in your opinion.  

You send a smirk her way and lace your fingers around the ebony quill. You clasp the parchment between your fingers and begin writting, “I must not be conceited” repeatedly for hours. 

You knew what was coming next. You weren’t dumb or oblivious. You’d witnessed the heart-wrenching strings of students huddled in corners fruitlessly attempting to reign in their sobs and trying to find answers as to how they’re supposed to tell their parents why they have irrevocable words scarred into their hands. 

“That’ll be enough for today, Miss (Y/L/N). You may leave.” Umbridge says after ours of barely endurable and excruciatingly chronic agony. You shakily ease out of the chair and regain your composure enough to walk towards the door and say, “Have a lovely night, Professor. Sweet Dreams.” before slipping out. 

Stumbling down the winding steps which swim in your vision like enchanted objects. Countless tears pool in your (e/c) eyes but you blantanty refuse to let them fall. The only satisfaction Umbrdge will be receiving is ice for the swelling in her limbs once you’re done with her. 

You calm your breathing as best you can and rush to the Slytherin Common Room where you know your boyfriend Draco is waiting. He can’t discover what has happened to you…he’s part of the Inquisitorial Squad and Merlin knows what will happen to him if he confronts her.

Before you know it you’re whispering the password to the Portrait and trickling into the emerald expanses of luxurious sagacaty of the Common Room. You’re barely two steps in before you’re engulfed in a tight hold.

“Are you alright, love??” Draco asks frantically; breaking away to survey your body for injuries.

“I’m fine, I’m okay.” you mumble and attempt to laugh off his concern.

“What did she do to you?” he asks lowly. His cobalt eyes manipulating you into maintaining eye contact.

“Just some lines.” you laugh albeit lugubrious. “No biggie. Come on let’s go to bed. I’m exhausted.” you say as you meander your way up the staircase leading to the Boys’ dormitory where you can sleep with Draco. Hell, you need it more than usual tonight. 

Draco’s lean body appears next to you and he interlaces his slender fingers with your (Wand Hand) hand. You cry out in agony as you feel the morbid scar begin to reopen. “Are you okay?! Where are you hurt?!” Draco exclaims.

“N-nothing. I just..stumped my toe, Is all.” you laugh forcefully and attempt to hide your hand behind your back.

Darting his eyes towards your cradled and obscured hand, Draco says quietly, “show me.” 

The pain welling in his eyes is enough to compell you to reluctantly hold it out to him. His breathing becomes shallow as he carefully caresses your hand.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks lowly though there’s an underlying accusingness and hurt to his tone.

“I-I didn’t want you to do something stupid.” you mumble while avoiding his intense gaze.

He sighs as his arms envelop your waist. “That’s inevitable and you know it, (Y/N).” he chuckles albeit despondent.

“I promise you I’ll never let her hurt you again, I swear it by Salazar.” he mumbles sincerely into your ear.

A single tear trails down your cheek and into his shoulder. “I know.” you whisper.

Malec fic: The Break of Day

Alec awakens to the soft caress of the warm morning sunlight, a gentle breeze flickering through the curtains, and the murmurings of a city just coming to life. It’s strange; he usually wakes in the still-chilled dark, pushing his protesting body from bed to get a jump-start on the day, after a too-late night. Alec stretches his arms above his head, pulls his legs out long to the very edge of the bed but not over it like usual, with his feet dangling in the cold air. He remembers then that he’s not in his own bed. Not in his room at the Institute with scratchy sheets and cold rooms and a bed a few inches shy of accommodating his full height. He’s at Magnus’s.

A contented hum rumbles Alec’s chest, and he turns, curling on his side so his nose rests at the nape of Magnus’s neck. He breathes in. Magnus stirs. They don’t have anywhere to be right away, a miracle, really. If Alec lets them in there will be flood of thoughts about things he needs to do, missions to complete, meetings and briefings he should attend, people he needs to help—

Right now, he doesn’t need to be anywhere but in this bed, with Magnus. 

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We Have Rules For A Reason [Chapter 4]

Originally posted by jordragon

Chapter 4 of We Have Rules For A Reason

Ch1  Ch2  Ch3

Series Genre: AU, Smut, Fluff, Angst

Warnings: Adult Content

Mark laced his fingers with yours and led you into the bathroom. The sound of the running shower made the butterflies in your stomach reappear.

“Get in” he commanded.

You moved slowly and opened the glass door to his massive walk in shower. The warm water from the several different shower heads hitting you from multiple angles. It felt amazing. You closed your eyes and let the water completely cover every inch of you.

Mark stood there, watching, entranced by your exposed, wet form.

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Gotham Preference: How he kisses you.

I am so ignorant in this area…this is going to be hilarious. Here goes…

James Gordon:

Originally posted by thomas-shelby

Jim is very serious and has to be because of his career. His job will tend to make him exhausted by the end of the day, most of his kisses will therefore be quick, chaste and absentminded. He will want to curl up on the couch with you and play with your hair, sneaking kisses here and there. Soft, sweet, caring - and most importantly, genuine. Despite his preoccupied mind, you will always know how much Jim loves you, and each kiss is like him reminding you that no matter how much his career absorbs his life, you will always mean the world to him. Jim does, however, have a very playful side. When his mind is not dedicated to work, or when he feels especially alive, he will definitely chase you around the house trying to kiss you. There will be gentle lip biting and lots of giggling. He’s very strong so there won’t be much chance of an escape once he has you in his arms.

Harvey Bullock:

(Here’s a gif of Harvey kissing Jim. Hehe. He lurrrvs him.)

Harvey gets around. There had to be a reason why Fish Mooney associated herself with him - and by that, I don’t only mean through business. Despite his usual brash ways, Harvey is actually a very genuine man; his selfish mask only hides his caring character. His kisses will be gentle and loving. Every day, when he comes home from work, he will gather you in his arms and give you a long, sweet kiss - glad to see you safe and far away from the horrors that plague Gotham. When Harvey does allow himself to love, he loves well and true. He is actually one of the most loyal men you could ever find. His kisses will remind you just how much he loves you, and what he will do to make sure you are safe - which tends to be quite worrisome.

Oswald Cobblepot:

Let’s be honest, Oswald will be really awkward when it comes to kissing. Most of his kisses will be a little shaky, and his intentions will lean more towards showing others he is capable of getting what he wants, and that he can be successful in his endeavours. He will always greet you with a chaste kiss when he isn’t trying to impress others (kind of like the kisses he gives his mother). It will take him a little time to learn how to kiss properly, and how to go about maintaining a romantic relationship.

Alfred Pennyworth:

Originally posted by peteharry

Five words: whenever Master Bruce isn’t around. His kisses will range from fleeting - with a trace of panic whenever Bruce’s footsteps are approaching - to passionate. Whenever he does have the time - and privacy - to kiss you, he will try to make the most of it, for both him and you. But there will of course be instances when Bruce catches you two, no matter how hard Alfred tries to keep it secret and private.

Edward Nygma:

Originally posted by pintasfun

Despite Edward’s eccentric habits, his kisses - though awkward and shaky - will be quite sweet. He will blush more than you ever will and will end up stuttering after the kiss has ended, even if he was the one to instigate it. He will most likely not know what to do with his hands; beyond your closed eyes, he might even be flapping - flailing - his arms around, as if your kiss is going to cause him to fly. The poor man will be nervous, but that just makes his kisses sweeter - because you know just how much they affect him, and therefore how much he adores you.

Harvey Dent:

Originally posted by swan-and-her-captain

You will never know when to expect sweet and caring Harvey, or possessive and a little violent Harvey. One moment he will be kissing you like you’re the most delicate and beautiful China doll in the world, and then the next he will be kissing you with an almost frightening hunger. He will, of course, never hurt you; but the sudden switch between his two characters tends to be a bit alarming. Not that he does not ever make you feel unloved, quite the opposite, actually. But he is someone you should be careful of.


Hobbit out!

Originally posted by camrenbicondova

Chapter Fifty-six

**The London experience continues … with a little help from Bad Company and the Dark Lord.  I just love writing jealous Robert. :-)  No smut (yet), apologies in advance lol!**

The stuffiness in the room brought a sheen to her skin, and Michelle reached for the menu, discreetly fanning herself. The paper was thick and rich, the woven fibers embossed with lines of gold. She hadn’t expected a dinner so formal and knew it was only a matter of time before it fell to pieces.  She covertly canvassed the table, sizing up the eclectic group around it.  Bonzo and Cole were already at it, regaling their corner with lewd jokes and raucous laughs.  Jimmy was somewhat insulated by his bevy of maidens, but Michelle could feel his gaze on her, as it had been since they’d taken their seats. Strange.  The thought receded as a line of waiters approached, presenting each diner with a delicate china bowl filled to the brim with mussels.  They moved in concert, a fluid display.  Very well trained.  I wonder if they know it’s all lost on most of these heathens.  She glanced at her server, a coy smile lighting up his handsome green eyes.  Yep. They do.

The men vanished as quickly as they’d come, leaving everyone with their new treasure. Michelle sensed Robert’s amusement as he prodded the shellfish, exchanging a look with Bonzo.  Trouble was afoot.

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[four image photo set moodboard, each image in muted color and captioned with “pansy parkinson - harry potter series”.

picture of a black succulent, picture of a pair of louboutins, picture of an enamel pin that reads “feminist as fuck”, picture of a delicate china cup full of tea]

What Lies in Wonderland // BTS’ Jungkook

In which the Mad Hatter realizes that love might possibly be his cup of tea.

Jungkook // Jin

[A/N] The first of a new oneshot series, What Lies in Wonderland.

The Hatter was a man of many things. Hats, obviously, was one of them. He had an entire closet filled to the brim with top hats, bowlers, fedoras, and even a flowery bonnet (which, make no mistake, had been given to him as a joke by that cheeky cheshire, Jimin). Tea was another. He liked to consider himself an expert in the art of flavoured leaves and steeped drinks. Of course, it helped that he happened to run his very own tea shop in the village- a quaint and delectably sweet little cafe, the townsfolk often complimented.

His credentials didn’t stop there. Riddles. Pocket watches. Jackets with neatly hemmed coattails. In all of these and more lay his knowledge and personal interest to varying degrees. His pocket watch must be wound once every two days, precisely at nine in the morning. His black coats could never be hung out to dry, otherwise the sun would fade their colours. And oh yes, a raven was quite like a writing desk in many ways (although with the last one, he still had trouble convincing the March Hare so).

The Hatter was a man of many things, but love was not one of them.

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You’ve Never Been So Wrong - one.
  • Baekhyun x Reader
  • Fluff - Angst
  • Word Count: 2,438

Description: You move into a new studio apartment where you meet some of your…. interesting neighbors. Your quiet home life is about to turn into a chaotic one.

A/N: ok so this is the first chapter and it’s over 2k words and that just seems like a lot to me, but I have so much going on for this story like, you think it’s just gonna be some cute baek fluff. Naw son, you just wait. Also this might get smutty, I haven’t decided yet because I have a direction in my head and I don’t want to stray too far from it. I’ve edited this a million times so if it’s goofy, I’m sorry sobs.

one. // two. // three. // four. // five. // six. (in the works)

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Nothing Like Us (2 - M)

jimin/baekhyun, 6.1k, not everyone is as innocent as they seem 

part one

This man, the man who was laying his hands on your body like you were his most prized, delicate China, was a manipulator. A cheat. A liar. Any name under the sun could be pressed to him and it was a perfect fit, expect for Samaritan. Anything Baekhyun did, everything Baekhyun did, was for himself and no one else.

Originally posted by bwipsul

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let your hair down, part 4

The long-awaited! Smut, more angst than I had originally planned, and fluff, of course. Rated M for More Sex (j/k, Mature, of course). 

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

This risk that you had taken tonight in opening up to Newt, by allowing yourself to look into his eyes and let him gaze back and see you, truly you: this gamble seemed to have been lost. You were never going to be the same.

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you’re my everything [4]

jeon jungkook x reader, mafia!au

prologue / part 1 / part 2 /  part 3 / part 4

 warnings: bad language what do you expect its me

length: almost 3.7k shit sorry

a/n: it’s here! finally! thankyou to everyone who has waited for the longest time for this, and for admin peach for putting up with my crap and reminding me to get a move on, i hope i don’t disappoint any of you and i appreciate you all so much ~ blue

The nightmares didn’t come back.

The feeling of his strong arms wrapped around your shoulders was enough to stifle the bad thoughts – no, more than that. He had transitioned almost seamlessly from the source of your fear to the cure to it.

And that was definitely not a good thing.

You felt him pull away the sheets from where they were wrapped around your body, grumbling but careful not to disturb you. It was well into the early hours, but as you felt the mattress sink under his weight, you were glad to be awake to feel his warmth against your skin, his cologne a now familiar scent. You turned over to face him, finding his dark eyes ringed and tired, but still open, focused on you with an unfathomable expression. In the dimly lit room, the shadows thrown carelessly over his features made it impossible to read his face. Slowly, he raised a hand to gently stroke your hair. He used such a feather light touch, as if he thought you may break at any second.

You frowned. “What’s wrong?”

He shook his head. “This is wrong, (y/n). A girl like you shouldn’t be in bed with a guy like me.”

He made it sound as if… You banished such thoughts from your mind. “I feel safe with you, Jungkook.”

He sighed. “I know.” Then, hesitating, “I’m not a good man (y/n).”

You were tired. “So you keep telling me.”

He didn’t smile. “Because you don’t seem to get it.” He removed his hand from your hair, propping himself up and resting a cheek in the palm of his hand. “Do you know what extortion is, (y/n)? Or gambling?”

You exhaled tiredly, shaking and nodding your head at once. He didn’t stop, voice raising beyond a whisper. “Care to know where I’ve been? Where I go? Or do you not like to think about that? Do you like to pretend I’m some good guy, your personal superhero?”

You sighed. “You’re Jungkook.”

It was his turn to sigh, frowning down at you. “What I’m trying to say is, don’t tell me I didn’t warn you.” You couldn’t quite tell, but you were almost sure his eyes were dull, lacking life. “You’re a daisy, (y/n), pure, white, untainted, but every time you lie in my arms, I stain your petals a little more. You don’t want that.” His tone was almost pleading. “You should be running screaming from me, (y/n). It’s not too late to run.”

You laid a hand on his cool cheek, squinting to see his face. “I don’t care.”

“I do.”

You trailed your hand down his neck, eventually tangling your fingers in the worn fabric of his shirt. “If you won’t hold me,” You wrapped your arms and legs around his body, causing his breath to hitch, and laid your head at the hollow of his throat. “-then I’ll hold you.”

Eventually, his muscles relaxed, arms gripping your torso and head buried in your fluffy hair. Whatever he words he whispered there were lost, as you felt waves of sleep crash over you, limbs tangled up with his.

You knew it was dangerous, and so very selfish, to need him like this, yet you found that you craved how he would sometimes hold you like delicate china, sometimes clutch you as if you were oxygen and he was suffocating.

Perhaps you were going crazy, but perhaps he already was.

It was the first time you had woken in his embrace. The morning sunlight filtered into the room, gently illuminating your surroundings. You yawned sleepily, blinking slowly and feeling a weight over your body.

You had fallen asleep holding him, but Jungkook was the one clutching you, arms locked around your stomach, legs entangled with yours, and head resting on your chest. Your arms were looped around his neck, and his dark hair spilled out over your skin, a silky mess below your throat. You smiled slightly, tightening your arms around him, noticing the way he burrowed his face further into the soft skin in his sleep.

You felt his warm breath fan over your skin, and you wondered idly how such a young, vulnerable looking creature could be in his situation.

Eventually, he began to stir, sleepily opening one of his eyes and groaning. His voice was unusually husky, earning a stifled giggle. “Stop fucking staring.”

“I can’t help it. You’re cute.”

You felt his scowl against your skin, before he unlocked his arms and suddenly he was above you, hovering over you with messy hair and sleepy eyes. His hands were either side of your shoulders, as he said in a low voice, “I want to take you with me today, (y/n).”

You locked eyes with him. “Good. I like to be with you.”

He sent you a glare. “I doubt you’ll like where I take you.” He sat up, thighs locked around your hips for a minute, before sharply getting out of the bed and strolling towards the door, throwing his words to you over his shoulder. “Get ready, we’ll leave soon.” He turned back at the doorway, raising and eyebrow. “And, (y/n)?” You nodded cautiously. “I wasn’t joking. You’re not going to like this.”

With that, he was gone.

You were ready fast, stepping out of your room to find him waiting for you in the hall. Except, he wasn’t alone. Behind him was an older looking boy with faded green hair, giving you a searching glare. His body language wasn’t particularly threatening, the way he lounged against the wall, but he intimidated you. Hoping the way you inched ever closer to Jungkook was subtle, you stood so that he blocked the stranger’s view of you, meeting a familiar pair of brown eyes as you subconsciously fiddled with a loose thread on his shirt.

Jungkook half smiled distractedly, placing a hand over yours and harshly yanking the thread, before letting go and moving towards his room. “(y/n), I have to go get something real quick.” You nodded reluctantly. “Yoongi?” He turned to the green haired boy, who hummed, but didn’t tear his gaze from you. “Don’t fucking touch her.”

Once the door closed behind him, the boy he had addressed as Yoongi began strolling lazily towards you, a sneer twisting his face. “So, you fell for a bad guy, huh?”

You stiffened, backing away. “You’re wrong.”

He snorted. “Don’t bullshit me. I see how you are with him.” His face changed. “And I see how he is with you. Bastard.” He paused. “I had a pet once too, (y/n). A pretty little thing, who belonged to me.”

You flinched. “I’m not Jungkook’s pet.”

He glared back. “Whatever. I know he sleeps with you every night, I see how he tries to protect you.” His eyes softened for a minute. “Even from himself. But,” The steely glare returned, “-he can’t do that forever.” Bitterness tainted his features, fresh and unforgotten. “Because, (y/n), one day I started caring too much, got too attached, and do you know what happened to my girl?” He didn’t let you reply, a kind of desperation ghosting over his words. “I see her in the way you look at him. He thinks, just because you’re some blue-blooded princess that he can keep his little pet. Well, you know what, (y/n)? I hope you don’t end up the way she did.” He jerked his head towards the door. “And I hope he doesn’t end up like me.”

Jungkook emerged seconds later, standing protectively in front of you and glaring at Yoongi. Raising his hands before him, palms up, and smirking without any real emotion, the older boy sighed, sounding almost bored. “Just to let you know, Jeon, if I was still at the top, you’d be screwed, and she’d be dead.”

Jungkook growled. “Well it’s just as well that you’re just some dog, right, Yoongi?” He flinched, only replying once he was halfway down the corridor, with his back to you and Jungkook.

“Don’t forget, kid, she’s theirs. Not yours.”

Jungkook’s irritated heavy breathing confirmed the vague, half-taunting tone to Yoongi’s words.  “Come on.” He muttered, gripping your wrist and leading you, trailing behind him, down a myriad of corridors and keypads, until the cool morning air enveloped you, and you were outside.

Anger had stopped rolling off of him by the time you reached the car, letting go of your wrist to hold open the passenger door and leaning over you once you were inside to buckle your seatbelt.

You waited until outside of the window was just a blur, as you sped down the freeway, to ask him.

“Jungkook?” He hummed, glancing at you. “What did he mean when he said still at the top?”

Jungkook cursed softly under his breath, before sighing. “That guy. So, he’s Min Yoongi, and you know the guy we saw a while back? Namjoon?” You nodded, reluctantly. “Yeah, well that was Yoongi. Before he fucked up.” He hesitated. “He was a good leader.”

You raised your eyebrows. “He must have been scary.”

He laughed. “Terrifying.”

You frowned. “He fucked up, right? Was that because of his girlfriend?”

Jungkook eyed you disapprovingly. “Don’t curse, (y/n).”


“It doesn’t suit you.” He paused. “So he told you?”

You shrugged. “Kind of.”

“He fell in love.” Jungkook hesitated. “Only fools fall in love, at least, in our line of business.”

The silence that ensued was long, and uncomfortable, until, at last, you addressed him again.

“Jungkook?” He nodded, murmuring distractedly in reply. “What’s your full name?”

He laughed, but after hesitating, said, “Jeon Jungkook.”

You repeated it, liking the way it fell from your lips. “Jeon Jungkook, how old are you?”

He chuckled again. “You ask too many questions.” He paused. “But, I’m older than you.”

You groaned, throwing your head back in frustration. “You know everything about me, but I can’t even know how old you are?”

He was smiling – a pure smile, not a distant tug of the corner of his mouth, nor a sinful smirk. He was just smiling. “Yeah.” His smile faltered a little. “I’m not the type of person you’d want to know more about, (y/n), so there’s no point.”

You half glared at him. “Why?” He gave you an incredulous glance, and you sighed. “Even though you…” You trailed off, not wanting to put words to the unpleasant thoughts you were trying to push away, “You’re still a person.” The smile was completely gone now, his hands clenching the steering wheel, and his jaw set.

“You’re wrong.” Of course you were. A heavy silence settled over the car, without respite, stretching first an hour, and then two, then three… Until you blinked sleepily, realizing you had fallen asleep, and found an evening darkness wrapped around your surroundings, streetlamps flickering as he drove you through an unknown neighbourhood.

You turned to face Jungkook, who was glaring relentlessly at the road ahead. You seemed to startle him a little when you said his name, but he didn’t turn to look at you, as his voice came cold, detached. “We’re almost there.”

You swallowed. “Where are we going?”

He smirked. “To see some old friends.” The way the word friends rolled tauntingly from his lips, you doubted that he was feeling at all friendly. You wanted to ask him more, make him tell you what he thought he was doing, but you decided not to waste your breath. You could fire words at him like bullets, but to them he would always be bulletproof, you knew this from the way your pleads had deflected seamlessly from his stony exterior before. Why would you waste your breath trying to reason with a boy like Jeon Jungkook?

Or, perhaps, you were just scared, terrified of the answers he may provide. So, you thought it better to be blind, in the dark, as usual.

He hadn’t been lying when he said you were close. You’d barely had a chance to gaze outside the window at the rundown neighbourhood when he swerved into an alleyway, killing the breaks and reaching for something under his seat. You blinked in horror as the headlights abruptly shut off, leaving you to realize that, in the pitch darkness, you had no idea what he was reaching for. You heard his door slam without seeing him leave, and you wondered if you were supposed to stay in the car. Apparently, you were not, as you felt the cold night air rush to greet you as someone reached over you to unbuckle your seatbelt, sighing. “Just how incapable are you?”

You stiffened. “In the pitch black?”

You heard him snort softly, as he grabbed your arm. “Your eyes will adjust. But,” He began to pull you after him, the darkness edging off slightly, “We’re almost out.”

You emerged seconds later into a near-deserted street, the deadbeat town surrounding you illuminated by flickering streetlamps and half-broken signs. He loosened his grip on your arm until his hand encircled your wrist – not uncomfortably so, but his hold on you was a reminder that you were his, to not step out of line. You struggled to match his pace as he strode through what seemed to you a ghost town, until you began to hear the distant hum of people.

You were approaching what you took to be a restaurant, with a large sign bearing some foreign name lit up with red bulbs, the majority of which were working. Almost without thinking, you edged closer to him as you got nearer, until you reached the door, and he dropped your wrist to hold the door open for you. You frowned, but nodded as you entered, his hand finding the small of your back as he followed you closely. You felt heat rush to your cheeks as people, from where they were seated drinking or talking over untouched food, turned to stare at you. Something, however, in the way that Jungkook looked at them, caused them to sharply drag their eyes away, returning to whatever they were doing before. Jungkook’s fingers dug in slightly to your back as he guided you through the busy room, heavy with smoke and shouting.

You reached a table, with two men sat talking to each other in low voices, seeming deep in discussion, with eyebrows furrowed. For their ages, boys may have been a better word to use, but they looked as if they carried such weight upon their shoulders, that they couldn’t possibly be so young, a trait they shared with Jeon Jungkook, who was currently pulling out a chair for you at their table with his free hand, causing their heads to snap up and their words to abruptly stop.

“Jungkook!” They greeted, smiling in a somewhat unfriendly manner towards him as you sat down, eyeing them distrustfully. You glanced behind you at Jungkook, whose smile didn’t reach his eyes, his mouth taking on an almost sinister curve.

“It’s great to see you both, I’m so pleased we could all get together.” The three of them shared plastic smiles, but you felt the tension radiating from them, as they took their seats around the small table. Jungkook’s hand found your knee, eyes burning like a predator as he glared across the table.

One of the men leaned back in his seat, grinning lazily, but you saw his knuckles, white and strained, as they clutched the corner of the tablecloth. “So,” He drew out his words, “How is Bangtan these days?” Jungkook’s jaw clenched and his fingertips dug into your knee. “You know, how’s Yoongi?” He motioned to you, carelessly, laughing. “Looks like you didn’t learn from his mistakes, Jeon.”

The other man, who was glaring at you with his head tilted, cleared his throat. “Who is she, anyway?”

Jungkook bared his teeth in a cruel imitation of a smile. “Oh, how could I forget? Meet my girlfriend, (Y/N).” You saw their eyes widen and then narrow as they looked at you with interest. They recognised you from your name, you could tell, but you were more preoccupied by the fact that Jeon Jungkook had introduced you as his girlfriend.

His girlfriend.

He had stolen you as if you were someone’s property and he was a thief, he kept you like a pet, no, less a pet than a nuisance, he had taken your freedom and then decided that he had the right to ignore you, be irritated by you and, worst of all, make you want to be around him. What kind of sick game did he think he was playing?

You were so lost in your thoughts that you hadn’t noticed their conversation progress, hadn’t acknowledged the food arrive to lie untouched. His voice brought you back to reality, an illusion of sweetness which stung your ears. “You’re not hungry, darling?” He was the picture of concern but his brown eyes were laughing at you. You shook your head, trying not to frown at him. “So,” He continued, though not to you, “What about our deal?”

Across the table, you saw the falter in the façade of being blasé and unaffected. “That?” You heard the slight raise in pitch, noticed the note of panic creep into his eyes.

Jungkook’s own orbs were dark, and his black hair fell over his forehead as he nodded. “Yeah. That.”

The other man swallowed, and he tripped over his words. “C-come on, Jeon, that was a long time ago, a lot’s happened since then, I’m sure –”

“We don’t forget. Now,” He turned to glance at you as he reached into his waistband for something. To you, he whispered, “Close your eyes.”

You didn’t question him. But eyes squeezed shut and hands slammed over your ears couldn’t muffle the gunshots. You let him grab you by the arm and drag you along behind him, but you couldn’t bring yourself to remove your hands from your ears. It was only as you reached the doorway that you opened one eye and, despite Jungkook’s murmured warning, looked back to face the restaurant, which was unchanged, as if nothing had happened.

Except, in a pool of red, slumped over a table at the back, were two young men.

Two familiar men.

Two dead men.

You let out a scream. Sighing, Jungkook gently tugged your hair so you were facing forward, and continued leading you down that damned street, with the flickering streetlamps and the broken, seedy signs. What kind of neighbourhood was this? Where people didn’t even bat an eyelid when…

You let out another scream, stopping dead in the street and shutting your eyes again, pulling against Jungkook as he tried to lead you on. “Stop being difficult.” He grumbled. You heard him groan as tears became to accompany your screaming, and, with your eyes shut, you began batting him away, flinching at his touch, cowering from his words. “I’m sorry I had to be the one to break you, (Y/N).” You didn’t stop trying to scream the memory away, but you were listening. “But now you’re like us.” He gathered you up in his arms, ignoring your yelps and flailing, and continued walking. “We’re all broken, (Y/N).”

By the time you reached the alleyway again, your screams had subsided to whimpering, and your grip on your ears was weak. You wanted to sleep forever and forget everything that had happened. You wanted the Jungkook back that was innocent and sleepy, that kept bad dreams at bay. But, you reminded yourself for the hundredth time as he placed you gently in your seat and did up the belt, he was always like this.

It was maybe minutes, maybe hours, before you addressed him again. “Jungkook?” He nodded hesitantly. “Were they bad people?”

“We’re all bad people, (Y/N).”

“What did they do?”

He half smiled. “It’s more like what they didn’t do. They owed us. A long, long time ago we called them brothers. Then they stepped out of line, betrayed us. They didn’t want our second chances, they didn’t take us seriously. But,” He stopped at a red light, glancing over at you. “It’s no big deal.” You could see him noting the way your eyebrows drew together, deep in thought, and he sighed. “Stop trying to justify what I did, no, what I do, to yourself, (Y/N). This is the way we work. You’ll get used to it.”

You shook your head, wrapping your arms around yourself but shivering all the same. It wasn’t cold, but you noticed Jungkook switch the heating dial up, though he was supposedly staring at the road ahead with deep concentration.

“Why am I your girlfriend now?” The words came uninvited, and you cursed them, feeling your cheeks heat up as you locked eyes with the floor. He chuckled humourlessly.

“Do you know what girlfriend and boyfriend do, (Y/N)?” You ignored him, turning an even deeper shade of red. He smirked, almost lifelessly. “Come on, (Y/N), you know what kind of things girlfriends and boyfriends do, don’t you?” You nodded, reluctantly. “Of course. And are we like that? Do we do those things?” You shook your head, disliking the way his tone was adding all kinds of meanings to his words. “And have I ever forced myself onto you? Have I ever asked you for anything you didn’t want to give me?”

You knew what he was implying, and he was right, but you pouted. “Except fucking kidnapping me, no, not at all.”

He winced, and you remembered that he disliked you cursing. “Boyfriends don’t kidnap their girlfriends, smartass.” You begrudgingly nodded. “So, there’s your answer. Oh, and, (Y/N), also,” he glared at the road ahead. “Girlfriend would imply that I cared, that I had feelings towards you.” It was your turn to wince. That stung a lot more than you cared to admit. “Don’t ever confuse how things are with us.”

And yet, as the purring of the car motor lulled you to sleep, you felt his familiar leather jacket slip around your shoulders, and, in your confused state of half sleep, you wondered how it could be true that he truly didn’t care at all.

a/n: okay, it is here FINALLY it’s been like a month… i’ve had the WORST writers block with this idk why, well it wasn’t really writers block, like i wrote about ¾ of this about a month ago and then i decided i didn’t like it and then i wrote the rest today and i guess that’s why it’s so long… thankyou so much for reading this, and i’m going to make an effort to be much more active with this series and anything else you would like us to write, so if you have any suggestions for things you would like us to start doing, like reactions or anything, then make sure so send us a message about it! don’t be shy about bugging me if i’m taking a while with anything, as well, because i am the worst at procrastinating… anyway, it’s a little late, but consider this an easter gift from us! or a curse tbh what have i done with this series but be ready for part 5! i love you all, thankyou for appreciating our writing, because we sure as hell appreciate you