mens lounge

Velvet Box (Mafia AU)

Originally posted by theking-or-thekid

Summary: Hoseok is kind, charming and friendly, but there are some lies behind the blinding smile of this strip club owner. Jungkook is a mysterious, passionate musician- and don’t you know that you need to sacrifice in order to achieve your dreams… sometimes even your morals?

Genre: Ansgt, Smut, Fluff

Pairings: Reader x Jungkook, Reader x Hoseok

Word count: 5k

Trigger Warnings: Smut, swearing, strippers, criminal activity, thigh riding, oral

“You suspect that whenever he thinks like this, it means your question might have an answer he doesn’t think you’ll like.”

Part 2

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The Nectar

By: @bioniczex


Welcome to The Nectar, the best place in New-Crest, to relax and have a few drinks with some coworkers after a business meeting, or plan a wedding rehearsal dinner. Your sims will always have a great time. So sit back, relax.and enjoy.

This Lot Has

- Mens/Womens BathRooms

-  Lounge Areas

- One 1 Kitchen

- Outdoor Dining

How To Download?

Go into the gallery and search for my Origin Name: MarkDaii1993

Thanks For Downloading !! ^-^

And Don’t Forget To Share ! <3


lindseyylu17  asked:

This would totally be an AU fic but I would love to see Claire teaching a figure drawing class and Jamie being one of the students draws her.

So this is a bit of a role reversal from what you requested @lindseyylu17, but I’m enjoying it. 

“We have to what?” The entire class exclaimed in disbelief. The professor smirked and relaxed against the lab table.

“All of you heard me just fine. I expect to see the results from this class and Professor Montgomery is already expecting you starting tomorrow night. Don’t worry about supplies, Professor Montgomery says that he’ll have things ready for you each class, just remember to sign in on both of our rosters. This class starts at 8pm sharp tonight! I don’t want to hear about any of you being late!” Doctor Randall looked down at her wrist and waved her hand towards the door dismissing us.

I packed my bag with my head still reeling from what Doctor Randall required, Life Drawing, a class designed to embarrass all of the parties involved. Naked men and woman lounging for hours at a time while a gaggle of students attempted to draw their forms from various angles.

“Jesus H Roosevelt Christ!” I whisper yelled to myself as she made her way across the empty campus. “I can’t take a life drawing class I just… can’t! I can’t draw to save my life! Besides how does life drawing even fit with an anatomy class? I should be learning how to—”

“Talking to yourself again, Claire?”

“Agh!” I swung around nearly hitting my former roommate with her bag.

“Jenny!” I exclaimed clutching a hand to her heart, “you know not to sneak up on me like that!”

Jenny laughed and settled her hands on her hips, “Och aye but that’s the best time to sneak up on ye! What were you ranting to yourself about this time? Did fuddy-duddy Professor Whitman assign another frog dissection?”

Jenny’s strong Scottish accent lilting with each word and I smiled at the familiarity of if. “No, not Whitman…this time.”  

I laughed and Jenny snorted, linking her arm with mine as we made our way to the library.

“So if it wasn’t Whitman who and what did they do to deserve the horrible Beauchamp rant?”

“Doctor Randall. Not the history professor, his wife the biology professor,” I amended quickly. “Doctor Annie Randall, who isn’t even a doctor by the way! She dropped out of her residency and decided to teach Bio 425 and she’s forcing us to go to Life Drawing instead of our lab class for the next two months!”

Jenny’s eyes went wide, not only in shock but in the way I knew she was plotting something. “So ye have to take the life drawing classes this quarter?”

“Ugh! Yes. I really don’t see the point in this class. I’m in biology not art!”

“Quitcher whinging Claire and just go to the damn class. Ye never know what ye might find or should I say who.”


The art room was small, cold, poorly lit and reeked of chemical adhesives. Was this really happening? I kept asking myself. Was I really taking a life drawing class? I groaned thinking of how my time would be better spent studying or in the lab examining specimens, rather in this dank room foolishly facing a class I felt was beneath me. Why art? Why did she have to send us to an art class, what good would this do or bring to us? Artist are careless junkies that will get nowhere in life. This chosen path won’t pay their bills or get them the type of scholarships needed to further pursue a career. I couldn’t fathom their reasons for joining a group that might lead them to ruin.

“Class! Come to order now, please!” The hippie who I assumed was Professor Montgomery said with a clap of his hands.

“Please cease your conversations and begin to find your way to an easel, then position yourself so that you may see the stage unobstructed.”

The so called ‘stage’ was compiled of ratty boxes haphazardly draped with tattered striped cloths and a wicker chair that look as though the weight of a butterfly would cause the fibers to crumble.

“On the easel in front of you, you shall find a fresh pad of newsprint. You have five minutes in a medium of your choice to do a nice warm up sketch of the popcorn kernel I am passing out now.”

“What?” I mumbled to myself as everyone around me pulled out pens, charcoal, pencils and pastels, even my fellow biology classmates had found a tin of pencils and were passing them around to one another.

“Ready?” Professor Montgomery paused, looking around. He pulled a stick from behind his ear and handed it to me. “You may begin!”

With the oddly shaped pencil I paused with it’s point on the paper, not sure how to start. The lumpy, misshapen mass in my hand did not resemble popcorn in the least. The people around me were making wild gestures with their arms, beautiful curves appearing on the easels I could see. Taking a steadying breath I mimicked their motions and had the faintest of curves when the timer went off and we were told to stop.

“Perfect! Now that we’re all warmed up I would like to introduce our first two weeks model.” He swept his hands towards a side door that cracked open slightly. “This is our model’s first time sitting for a life drawing class so please, everyone give the warmest of welcomes to Mr. Alexander Malcolm!”

The model appeared from behind the door clad in a fluffy blue robe. His steps were sluggish and hesitant, I got the feeling he didn’t want to be there as much as I did. He slowly made his way towards the stage, but not climbing into position.

“Mr. Malcolm, if you please.” Professor Montgomery said gesturing towards the boxes.

Mr. Malcolm stared at the professor. From the reactions I could see of my classmates and the professor, the model was challenging him.

“Mind if I work up to disrobing?” A deep and thick Scots accent drifted my way.

“Fine!” Came the angry reply from Professor Montgomery. “But this is for tonight only! I have you for only four sittings and tonight is a shortened class due to first day bullshit! Tomorrow I expect you to be prepared from the moment the class arrives.”

Mr. Malcolm nodded tersely. He kept his head down as he approached the stage and settled himself on the wicker chair, which creaked with his weight.

“Mr. Malcolm will sit in this position for ten minutes, before adjusting to a different pose in a different direction.There will be five different poses, each lasting ten minutes tonight. Typically we do twelve fifteen minutes poses, but tonight we shall adjust! Please capture as much as possible given the circumstances. I want your drawings labeled per pose, with your name on it, and date at the end of the class. Other students use these pads so please try not to be heavy handed. You may begin!”

From my angle all I could see was the bulky collar, the top of his shoulder blades and his shoulder-length curly red hair. I tried to capture the way his shoulders fit the robe and disappeared behind the wicker chair. However, when I looked at the drawing the paper reflected back a mass of scribbles that no matter what way you looked at it, you could not tell what it was meant to be.

I huffed out a breath and tried again, this time focusing on his hair. Again the spirals on the page no more reflected the coils of Mr. Malcolm’s hair than it did the curve of his shoulder. Our time started to dwindle down on this first pose, Professor Montgomery began to adjust a small space heater to point towards the stage. I noticed the model’s shoulders tense and his arm begin to shake.

“Stop! Readjust!”

Mr. Malcolm stood and took a deep breath before untying the front of his robe. The fabric swung to his sides. He turned and began to sit on a block directly in front of me, I finally caught a glimpse of the man I was supposed to study. His muscles were well defined, smattered with freckles and curls of fair blonde and red hairs. They made a trail that lead to a patch of even thicker curls that surrounded, while flaccid, still a very impressive penis. My clinical mind took over, examining his every muscle and curve. The way the skin was stretch taught in areas, and bulged in others. I wondered what activities he must do to maintain the way he looked. Even sitting there wasn’t a roll or wrinkle of fat. His body was the perfect biology project.

“Stop! Readjust!”

I jolted from the sudden exclamation. Looking at my easel, I realized I hadn’t sketched a single line. I had to shake myself out of this. He was just a man. A very well defined, attractive man, but still just a man. Think of him as a patient and this is how you’re to figure out what’s wrong with him! Get your head on the assignment, Beauchamp!

Three more positions followed and with each one Mr. Malcolm slowly became more and more unclothed until finally the robe was laying across the floor out of his reach. My temper rose with each minute. This man was most likely being paid for this, but still he was being put on display in front of complete strangers who are meant to analyze his every feature. I could not understand why he was putting himself through this torture, he was clearly not comfortable no matter how long the class went on and I couldn’t blame him. Not only was he being exploited but the amount of females in the class started to overwhelm even me. These girls shouldn’t be allowed to look at him this way! He wasn’t theirs to oogle and treat like a piece of meat! He’s not yours either, a small voice reminded me. Yet, he felt like he was mine. I felt the need to cover him up and hide his body from sight, to protect him and comfort him….

My internal rant lead to the rapid end of class. I didn’t even hear the final instructions nor did I care I only had two of the required five drawings. I signed, dated, and numbered them before tearing the sheet off of the pad and handing it in. Mr. Malcolm had already disappeared from sight. Slowly I returned my supplies and stared at the door he had appeared from at the start of class. Tomorrow then, I thought and hitched my bag over my shoulder just as the side door squeaked open. The lights were dimmed even further than before and I could just catch the glint of his red hair as he darted out of the classroom.

“There’s the nudest!” A bellowing, familiar, laugh sounded.

“Shut it Ian, or I’ll make ye!”

“Och, come off it Jamie! Ye ken I’m just pullin yer leg! How was it? Did your cock come out to play and make the lassies faint with desire?” The sarcastic tone was cut off by a loud thump. I slipped through the door in time to see none other than Ian Murray rubbing his jaw from where Mr. Malcolm, or Jamie, had hit him. Ian merely laughed more.

“Are ye tellin me there wasn’t a single thing good to come from that class?” Ian’s tone was similar to that of his fiancee’s, sneaky and up to something.

“Nay!” Jamie roared as they made their way to the elevators. “I canna believe ye and my sister dared me and not only dared, but forced me to do this after losing a bet! There isn’t enough money in the world to make me want to come back tomorrow night! It’s definitely not worth the sixty pounds they’re paying me!”

Ian had his arm around Jamie’s shoulder as the two of them entered the elevator. As Jamie/Mr. Malcolm turned around we made eye contact, maybe the first of the night, but his eyes went wide. He was saying something to Ian but I couldn’t hear nor make it out as the doors shut and I was left alone on the abandoned art floor.

We Have Rules For a Reason [Chapter 1]

Originally posted by jordragon

Genre: Smut/AU

Summary: You are the manager of a hot new club. You meet Mark Tuan, a handsome, rich playboy who rents out the VIP lounge with his friends.

The club was packed, the guests were loving the DJ you hired and your VIP lounge was booked for the evening. You smiled, feeling a deep sense of pride as you looked out over the crowd.

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((Last imagines before I delete this blog. Don’t forget that I’ve moved these to wattpad so it will be easier to post regularly and all that jazz.))

Imagine; You wake up to find yourself trapped with two vampires and a hybrid.

You woke up to the sun shining into your room and stretched. When you reached up to stretch you realised it. You did not have a metal headboard in your room. You sat up and took in your surroundings. This is not my house, you thought to yourself with a tightening chest.

You rubbed your eyes as they adjusted to the light. What kind of thriller movie intro is this, you thought. You quickly make your way down the hall and then the stairs. Entering a living room you spot three men lounging on two couches and a the last on a single.

All eyes are on you now. Instead of taking in there different facial expressions as they exchanged looks you asked “Where am I.” In a strangely calm tone.

“Well dear it seems we’re trapped in what we call a “prison world”.“ The blonde haired man speaks.

“Also strangely you’re the only one who we don’t know-” he continues.

“How did you end up here.” One asks with an accusing look.

“I thought we agreed-” The man with a buzz cut begins.

“For all we know she-”

“Excuse me.” You slightly yell before taking a moment to gather your thoughts. “I could be here for a number of reasons just like the rest of you, but still I have no idea what’s going on and why.”

Although the room falls silent, it feels loud with everyone’s rushed thinking and looks.

“So if anyone has any ideas feel free to tell me.”

The Guardian from Afar

Member: Rap Monster // BTS

Main Plot: They have to get the money before their family can suffer.

Short Summary: A leader was supposed the most composed figure in a gang, meanwhile NamJoon had long since lost his cool.

A/N: Took me like forever to write this. Sorry, @kawaii-hedgehog, but I still hope you’ll find this as enjoyable as the previous ones xD

Words: 2.3k

/ SeokJin // YoonGi // HoSeok // NamJoon // JiMin // TaeHyung // JeongGuk /

“NamJoon, wouldn’t it be a great thing to have an invisible red tie of fate with the person you are destined to be with; to know that somewhere in this world, there is someone out there, waiting for you just as you wait for them?” her sleepy voice asked as she was hunched over, supposedly studying.

“In a romantic perspective, sure, but in reality, it would only hurt you more at the end.”  He answered curtly, shutting his book and sending her a fleeting glance. “Why? Thinking about marriage already?” it was a childish jab at her, the kind that they always played upon each-other, only this time there was silence as his reply. “Wait, seriously?” his eyes widened in shock, and his heart swelled with pain. “Aren’t you a little bit too young for that?”

She sighed disdainfully and pushed off her `Psychology on the human behaviour` books to the side. “I have one too many debts nowadays; can’t keep up with them, either. Marriage seems like the only way out of this mess, you know?”

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Memory of a Dead Boy- Thomas Shelby

Originally posted by peakypeaky

Request// Hi, I see that you’d like Peaky blinder requests !! Could I have one please where the reader is new to the town and Thomas finds her interesting please ❤️-a-court-of-stydia

Request// If you’re taking requests, I would love something for Peaky Blinders where the reader and Tommy met and fell in love in France during the war (reader as a nurse or doctor or another patient, maybe and they meet in a hospital). Each thinks the other died during the war for some reason, and when reader takes a trip to Birmingham to meet his family/see where he grew up, each is shocked to see the other alive. Cue reunion. Please and thank you!

*Whenever I tend to not know exactly where to go with an idea, I just keep writing and writing. This one took me two hours and over 2,000 word (which is my longest ever). Also update about me: my sister and I are going through all of TW together and I feel like we’re really bonding because of it. I’m trying to get her to join the tumblr fandom community secretly mwhaha! xoxox*


As you exited the train in Birmingham, you couldn’t help but once again question if this was a bad idea. What were you going to tell people when they started asking questions? Admit that you were looking for a dead man? No, it just wasn’t that simple.

You had met him years earlier, when both of you were still children and had yet to be exposed to the horrors of war. You had been a new nurse and were already questioning if you were cut out for caring to wounded soldiers, as the smell of death always lingered amongst them. You knew the smell too well lately and didn’t know if you could ignore it much longer. It had been a shock to you when death had nearly shown himself in the military hospital as a small group of dirty and bloody men were rushed into the room.

“I need nurses over here. Now!” The head nurse roared across the room. You quickly finished wrapping the wound of one of the men nearby and rushed over to the new lot of broken troops.

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Through space and Time (Part one)

There has always been four of you, however when Sam left for Stanford you went with him, leaving Dean and Katie to continue hunting. “Where will you go?” Sam asks you once the two of you are far enough away from the motel.

“London… I want to stay out of this life for as long as possible.” You reply. “I already have my passport and everything.” Sam looks a little surprised but doesn’t say anything about it.

Instead he says: “Promise me that you will look after yourself and please text me when you get there.”

“Of course Sammy.” Before the two of you go your separate ways, your older brother pulls you into a hug and kisses your forehead. As you’re walking you look over your shoulder once watching Sam’s receding form. The song Separate Ways by Journey gets stuck in your head as you head to the airport.
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When you arrive in London and text Sam, you grab a newspaper looking for some place to stay. You find somewhere that is relatively cheap- but there is a slight issue. You don’t have the money to hail a cab and you don’t know London very well so you’re hesitant to go on the tube. For you the best option is walking, despite the fact that it is starting to rain. All you have to protect you from the elements is your second-hand leather jacket. It repels water fine but it isn’t the warmest thing in the world.

By the time you get to 221b Baker street you are drenched head to toe with freezing rain water. You knock on the door, to keep your mind off the cold for a little bit you open up your locket and look at the picture within. The picture is of you and your siblings just goofing around. You look up from your family’s smiling faces when you hear someone ask if they could help you. After a quick explanation, you’re allowed inside.

The landlady introduces herself as Mrs. Hudson. “Nice to meet you Mrs. Hudson, I’m Y/N Winchester.” You answer with a kind smile. Mrs. Hudson then leads you upstairs where two men are lounging around in the front room. The shorter of the two look up from what he is doing and notices how wet your clothes are and how you’re still shivering.

“Here, take this.” He says as he hands you a blanket. “I’m John and that’s Sherlock.” John gestures to the other man sitting across from him.

“Thanks.” You answer as you drape the blanket over your shoulders. “I’m Y/N.”

“How do you feel about the violin?” Sherlock asks, not even bothering to look away from what he is doing.

“I don’t really have a preference. Why do you ask?” You answer. Sherlock gets out of his chair and stalks over to the fireplace before replying.

“I play the violin when I think.”

“Oh…” Your phone starts to ring, you fish it out of your pocket and look at the caller ID- it’s your older sister, Katie. “Hello?” You ask when you pick up.

“Hey. What in the world happened? I’m gone for three weeks and when I come back you and Sam are gone… and neither dad nor Dean will tell me what happened.” Katie says from the other line. You sigh.

“A huge fight broke out between the four of us, which resulted in Sam and I leaving. Sammy went to California…”  You trail off.

“Where did you go?”

“The other side of the world.”

“Do I even want to know how that worked out?” You rub the nape of your neck.

“It’s all sorts of complicated.” Katie lets out an exasperated sigh. She then says that Dean just came back from a supply run and that she’ll call you back. “Talk to you later then sis.”

“Later (Nickname.)” With that your sister hangs up. You sigh and set your phone down on the coffee table. You pull the blanket tighter around your shoulders trying to retain warmth without a lot of luck.

“Aren’t you going to get out of those clothes?” John asks concerned.

“I would if everything else wasn’t wet.” You reply. John grabs a cane, and gets out of the chair. He limps away leaving you in confusion. When he comes back he tosses a change of clothes at you.

“Put those on for now, the toilet is down the hall to left.”

24 hours after you move in with John and Sherlock, John warns you about Sherlock’s brother, Mycroft, and how he would offer you money to spy on Sherlock. “I suggest you say no, no matter how much he offers.” John tells you.

“Who would actually spy on someone for money?” You ask in response. “No matter how tempting it is.”

“Believe it or not, a lot of people do.”

A few hours after talking to John sure enough Mycroft takes you to a remote location and offers you a decent sum of money- enough to get you through a full year of school and then some. “I appreciate the offer, but I don’t think that I would be a very good informant. I’ve never been able to keep a secret… knowing my luck I might let something slip and then I wouldn’t have any place to stay. I can’t afford anywhere else.” You explain, stretching the truth a bit.
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“Where’d you go?” Sherlock asks when you get back to Baker Street.

“Some out of the way warehouse to talk to your brother.” You answer.

“Did he offer you money to spy on me?”

“Yes. I didn’t take it though.”

“Pity we could’ve split the fee.” You don’t respond. Instead you head to your room and grab your laptop and walk back out and sit down at the table. You open the computer and turn it on, it’s going to take a while to boot. Like everything else you own; your laptop had another owner- and that previous owner (aka Sam) forgot to mention that he used up almost all of the memory.

You groan in annoyance when you get an error message. “Computer problems?” John asks.

“Unfortunately. I don’t know what my brother did to it, nor do I know how to fix it.”

“If you really need to use a computer, I can lend you mine… all I ask is that you don’t go snooping through my files and personal documents.”

“Thank you John. Why would I go through your information?”

“I’m not sure but I was just letting you know.” You lightly laugh. The two of you chat for a little bit, getting to know each other a little better. You find out that he used to be an army doctor.

“Well that explains why you threw a dry change of clothes at me yesterday.” John chuckles in response as a man walks up the stairs. John notices him first however Sherlock is the first one to speak.

“Where?” He asks.

“Brixton, Lauriston Gardens.” The new arrival replies.

“What’s new about this one? You wouldn’t have come to get me if there wasn’t something different.”

“You know how they never leave notes?”


“This one did. Will you come?”

“Who’s on forensics?”

“It’s Anderson.” Sherlock grimaces. Apparently your new room mate has a very strong dislike for this Anderson person.

“Anderson won’t work with me.” Sherlock comments.

“Well, he won’t be your assistant.” The other man (whom you’re pretty sure is a cop) counters.

“I need an assistant.” Sherlock puts a heavy emphasis on the word need. A part of you wonders what Sherlock does for a living. On the other hand the other part of you wonders when your computer will finally decide to cooperate with you.

“Will you come?” The cop impatiently asks.

“Not in a police car. I’ll be right behind.” A look of relief speeds across the cop’s face as he mutters his thanks as he takes his leave. Sherlock then jumps with excitement. “Brilliant! Yes! Ah, four serial suicides, and now a note! Oh, it’s Christmas!” You arch an eyebrow not saying a word. Sherlock grabs his coat and his scarf. “Mrs. Hudson, I’ll be late. Might need some food.”

“I’m your landlady dear, not your house keeper.” Mrs. Hudson answers, Sherlock doesn’t seem to hear her because he’s already out the door.

“What was that about?” You inquire slightly puzzled.

“I have no idea.” John answers as he sits down in the arm chair that he has claimed as his. He leans his cane against the chair and picks up a newspaper. Mrs. Hudson tells John that she would make a cup of tea for him, she also tells him to rest his leg. “Damn my leg!” He shouts, startling you and Mrs. Hudson. “Sorry, I’m so sorry. It’s just sometimes this bloody thing…” he then hits his leg with his cane.

“I understand, dear; I’ve got a hip.” John says something about tea and Mrs. Hudson replies with: “Just this once, dear. I’m not your housekeeper.” When the ex-military doctor asks about biscuits Mrs. Hudson almost yells “Not your house keeper!”
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While Sherlock and John are gone you borrow John’s laptop and sign into your Skype account. You notice that both Sam and Katie are online. You then set up a conference video call with them. Katie answers first and a few seconds later Sam joins in. “Hey, it’s my two favorite girls.” Sam jokes. Katie giggles while you just roll your eyes.

“Whatever weirdo.” You reply.

“Look who’s talking.”

“Sammy!” Both you and Katie exclaim at the same time. Sam then throws his head back laughing and clapping his hands. A small smile creeps onto your face.

“How’s the other side of the world sis?” Katie asks.

“So far I like it.” You answer. “I found a place to stay that the rent isn’t too bad.”

“That’s good.” Sam comments.

“Yeah… got some interesting roommates though.” As the words leave your mouth you notice Sherlock coming up the stairs with a pink suitcase in hand, you look at him with a confused look on your face. “Uh, Sherlock why does it look like you went dumpster diving?”

“I was looking for this.” Your roommate answers gesturing to the suitcase in his hand.

“You went dumpster diving for a suitcase?” Sam sounds like he is choking on something. You return your attention to the screen. “You okay there Sam?”

“Water went down the wrong tube.” Your brother answers. Sherlock dramatically flops down on the couch while you’re talking to your brother and sister.

“You know that could break the couch right?” You ask Sherlock not looking away from your screen. Sherlock scoffs.

“Hey Y/N, I have to log off, Dean just got back.” Katie says.

“And I should start heading to class.” Sam adds in. Your heart drops slightly but you put on a fake smile.

“Okay, I guess I’ll talk to you later then.” You, and your siblings close out the chat. You then log out of your Skype then close the window and put John’s laptop back where you found it.
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John seems a little panicked after he finds out he just texted a murderer. Two seconds later John receive a call from a withheld number. “A few hours after his last victim, and now he receives a text that can only be from her. If somebody had just found that phone they’d ignore a text like that, but the murderer…” Sherlock says dramatically shutting the case. “Would panic.”

“Have you talked to the police?” John asks.

“Four people are dead. There isn’t time to talk to the police.”

“So why are you talking to us?” Sherlock looks a child who lost their favorite toy.

“Mrs. Hudson took my skull.”

“So we’re basically filling in for your skull?” Sherlock just shrugs as he puts on his coat he then says that you and John can watch TV or tag along with him.

“You want us to come with you?” You ask mildly surprised.

“I like company when I go out, and I think better when I talk aloud. The skull just attracts attention, so…” Sherlock trails off.

“What the hell I have nothing better to do.” You answer getting out of your chair. John seems hesitant, but he curses when you and Sherlock basically race each other down the stairs. He catches up with the two of you outside. “So where are we going exactly Sherlock?” You ask.

“Northumberland Street’s a five-minute walk from here.” Sherlock explains.

“You think that he is stupid enough to go there?” John asks.

“No – I think he’s brilliant enough. I love the brilliant ones. They’re always so desperate to get caught.” Sherlock counters.

“Do you think he messed up on purpose then?” You ask. Sherlock throws you a slightly impressed look.

“It is a possibility, but then again he might’ve made an amateur mistake.”

“You’ve lost me.” John says. “Why are the brilliant killers so eager to get caught?”

“Appreciation! Applause! At long last the spotlight. That’s the frailty of genius, John: it needs an audience.”

“The the more newspapers about these murders the more audience the killer receives. The more audience the more murders… right Sherlock?” Sherlock once again looks slightly impressed, not many people can keep up with his train of thought.

“Exactly right Y/N.” Sherlock pauses for a second. “This is his hunting ground, right here in the heart of the city. Now that we know his victims were abducted, that changes everything. Because all of his victims disappeared from busy streets, crowded places, but nobody saw them go.” He throws his hands up thinking. “Think! Who do we trust, even though we don’t know them? Who passes unnoticed wherever they go? Who hunts in the middle of a crowd?”

“Don’t know.” John states. “Who?”

“Haven’t the faintest. Hungry?”

“More like starving.” You say throwing your two cents in. Sherlock airily chuckles as he leads you and John to a small Italian place. The waiter clearly knows the consulting detective.

“Thank you Billy.” Sherlock says as he takes off his coat and sits down at a table just as the waiter removes the reserved sign. “Twenty-two Northumberland Street. Keep your eyes on it.” He advises.

“Think the killer is just going to waltz up to the door and ring the doorbell?” You ask. “I don’t think anyone besides my brother, Dean, would be that cocky.” Sherlock only shrugs as the owner walks over to the table with three menus.

“Sherlock.” He says with a smile, Sherlock shakes the owner’s hand. “Anything on the menu, whatever you want, free. On the house, for you and for your friends.”

“Thank you…” you meekly say. “Can I ask why it’s on the house?”

“This man got me off a murder charge.”
“This is Angelo.” Sherlock says, as you and John shake Angelo’s hand. “Three years ago I successfully proved to Lestrade at the time of a particularly vicious triple murder that Angelo was in a completely different part of town, house-breaking.”

“He cleared my name.”

“I cleared it a bit.” Sherlock huffs. Angelo says a few other things before taking his leave. “You may as well eat. We might have a long wait.”

You don’t order a lot, figuring that Sherlock might want to leave at any second. Sherlock stares out the window, watching. “Sherlock how come your brother calls himself your arch-enemy?” You ask breaking the silence between the three of you.

“Yours don’t?” Sherlock asks mildly surprised.


“Sounds a bit dull.”

“For you maybe. For me; well let’s just say that over the years my family has made a lot of enemies, because of that I could only trust my family.” You bitterly answer.

“What about friends?” John asks. You stand up and throw him a harsh look.

“Never. Had. One.” You coldly retort as you then leave the restaurant and head back to Baker Street.
🐝 🐝 🐝 🐝 🐝
When the cops show up, you meet Lestrade, Anderson and Donovan. You’re not the biggest fan of Anderson nor Donovan, you like Lestrade to a point.

Sherlock storms up the stares and glares at Lestrade. “What are you doing?” He demands.

“Well, I knew you’d find the case. I’m not stupid.” Lestrade retorts.

“You can’t just break into my flat.”

“And you can’t withhold evidence. And I didn’t break into your flat.”

“Well, what do you call this then?” Lestrade puts on an innocent face before answering.

“It’s a drugs bust.” When John sarcastically asks if Sherlock was a junkie, you see the hurt in Sherlock’s face telling you that he was a junkie at some point in his life. Sherlock then tells John to shut up. He then returns his attention to Lestrade.

“I’m not your sniffer dog.” He states.

“No, Anderson‘s my sniffer dog.” Sherlock looks ready to kill someone. He actually singles out Anderson.

“Anderson, what are you doing here on a drugs bust?”

“Oh, I volunteered.” Anderson answers, venom dripping from his voice.

“They all did. They’re not strictly speakingon the drugs squad, but they’re very keen.” Lestrade points out. Donovan then walks out of the kitchen holding a container of eyeballs.

“Are these human eyes?” She asks.

“Put those back!” Sherlock exclaims.

“They were in the microwave!”

“It’s an experiment.” Lestrade tells everyone to keep looking or Sherlock could actually help them. The conversation that is going on between them isn’t really friendly. “I AM CLEAN!” Sherlock practically yellls. He actually shows Lestrade his nicotine patch.

“So let’s work together. We’ve found Rachel.” Lestrade says pulling down his sleeve.

“Who is she?”

“Jennifer Wilson’s only daughter.” That seems to throw Sherlock through a loop. He starts muttering about why would the victim write her daughter’s name.

“Never mind that. We found the case.” Anderson harshly points out. According to someone, the murderer has the case, and we found it in the hands of our favourite psychopath.“

“I’m not a psychopath, Anderson. I’m a high-functioning sociopath. Do your research.” Sherlock deadpans. “You need to bring Rachel in. You need to question her. I need to question her.”

“She’s dead.”

“Excellent!!” You and John share a worried look. “How, when and why? Is there a connection? There has to be.”

“Well, I doubt it, since she’s been dead for fourteen years. Technically she was never alive. Rachel was Jennifer Wilson’s stillborn daughter, fourteen years ago.” Sherlock looks all confused and slightly disappointed. He then starts muttering again.

“Why would she think of her daughter in her last moments? Yup – sociopath; I’m seeing it now.” Anderson states. You ball your hand up into a fist he just hit a nerve.

When you were three and a half when your mom just got off the phone with your dad asking him to come and get you; your dad and your siblings were a little slow- you watched in horror as your mom got mauled to death by a hellhound. Her last words to you were- I love you and I’ll think about you always.

“She didn’t think about her daughter. She scratched her name on the floor with her fingernails. She was dying. It took effort. It would have hurt.” Sherlock points out.

“You said that the victims all took the poison themselves, that he makes them take it. Well, maybe he … I don’t know, talks to them? Maybe he used the death of her daughter somehow.” John mentions.

“Yeah, but that was ages ago. Why would she still be upset?”

“Sherlock…” You say, your voice shaking slightly. You were still shaken from Anderson’s comment. “When someone loses a person they love, it’s hard. I mean when my mom was killed it took me almost two years for me to cope, I’m still not over it.”

“Yeah… now if you were dying if you’d been murdered: in your very last few seconds what would you say?”

“Please, God, let me live.” John answers.

“I would say the same thing.” You add in.

“Oh, use your imagination!” Sherlock scolds.

“We don’t have to.” Sherlock looks at you and John and sees the pain behind your eyes… he then realises that both of you have been on death’s door step before.

“Yeah, but if you were clever, really clever… Jennifer Wilson running all those lovers: she was clever.” Sherlock says continuing his train of thought. He also starts to pace. “She’s trying to tell us something.” Mrs. Hudson walks up the stairs.

“Isn’t the doorbell working? Your taxi’s here, Sherlock.” She says.

“I didn’t order a taxi. Go away.”

“Oh, dear. They’re making such a mess. What are they looking for?”

“It’s a drugs bust, Mrs Hudson.” John answers. Poor Mrs. Hudson looks panicked.

“But they’re just for my hip. They’re herbal soothers.”

Sherlock suddenly shouts: “Shut up, everybody, shut up! Don’t move, don’t speak, don’t breathe. I’m trying to think. Anderson, face the other way. You’re putting me off.”

“What? My face is?!” Anderson asks in surprise. You hide a smile.

“Everybody quiet and still. Anderson, turn your back.” Lestrade pipes up.

“Oh for God’s sake!”

“Your back, now, please!” Anderson reluctantly turns his back and Sherlock starts talking to himself. Then there was Mrs. Hudson talking causing the consulting detective to yell at her.
🐝 🐝 🐝 🐝 🐝
Sherlock disappears somewhere. You roll your eyes. He was worse then your dad when it comes to these things. John convinces you to come with him to find Sherlock. What John doesn’t know is that you have your gun on you (apparently you hid it incredibly well that the airport x-ray machine didn’t find it.) Now unbeknownst to you John also has a gun on him. That is a little awkward when the two of you pull out your guns and shoot at the same time. Each bullet gets dangerously close to the cabbie/killer’s heart.

“When and where did you learn how to shoot?!” John asks as the two of you get out of the building, so the police wouldn’t be too suspicious.

“I’ve been using firearms for a very long time. Why do you ask?”

“Just curious.”

“Ah.” You have to laugh at Sherlock and his strange relationship with a blanket.

“Why have I got this blanket? They keep putting this blanket on me.” You overhear Sherlock tell Lestrade.

“Yeah, it’s for shock.” Lestrade answers.

“I’m not in shock.”

“Yeah, but some of the guys want to take photographs.”

“So, the shooter or shooters. No sign?”

“Cleared off before we got here.” Lestrade starts going on a little bit before he shrugs while saying: “Got nothing to go on.”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

“Okay, give me.” Sherlock lowers his voice so you can’t hear what is being said.

“Actually you know what ignore me.” Sherlock says loud enough you can hear the conversation again.

“Sorry?” Lestrade replies.

“Ignore all of that. It’s just the, er, the shock talking.” Sherlock then starts to walk over to you and John.

“Where’re you going?”

“I just need to talk about the-the rent.”

“But I’ve still got questions!”

“Oh, what now? I’m in shock! Look, I’ve got a blanket!” You start laughing at that comment.


“And I just caught you a serial killer… more or less.” When Sherlock walks over to you and John he says in a very soft voice “Nice shot.”

The three of you start talking and walking away from the crime scene, John notices Mycroft and points him out to Sherlock. That was an interesting conversation to say in the least. When you get back to 221b Baker Street you create a group chat with Sam and Katie.

‘You wouldn’t believe the day I just had.’ You send.

‘What happened (nickname)?’ Sam asks in response.

‘Please tell me that you didn’t get hurt.’ Katie adds in. You lightly chuckle to yourself.

‘I’m not hurt. However I did help Sherlock (one of my roommates) catch a serial killer… might’ve shot said serial killer though.’

'Okay start at the beginning- I want to know the whole story.’

'As do I.’ With that you then start telling your brother and sister about your day.
← ← ← ← ← ← ← ← ← ← ← ← ← ← ← ← → → → → → → → → → → → → → → → →


Thanks Katie for letting me basically turn you into a character.

Funny Story

When I was 12 and living with my father, he took us to the country club for a Hallowe’en party. The club had converted the men’s dressing rooms and lounge into a haunted ride of sorts.

My father decided to go with me and we both were terribly unimpressed. Like, the decorations were great, but I’ve always been boring in terms of being scared on Hallowe’en. I walked up to houses that kids and teens older than me would not go near because of hanging skeletons and ‘scary music’. I’m weird.

So we’re walking along, just checking it all out and one of the workers dressed as a mummy, jumps out of a darkened doorway. I did not scream. Instead, I elbowed him in the chest and grabbed him by the costume and threw him to the floor. 

And all that was heard through the combined rooms was, “WHAT THE FUCK, GIRL?!”

My father laughed his ass off and I just stared at the dude.

“Why did you do that?”

“It’s part of the ride!”

“Oh. You should be more careful next time.”

And that was it.

The story spread. The staff gave me extra candy at the dance party. Some of them gave me money as well. And for the next few months, ‘Jake’ was not allowed to forget it.

The best part of the whole thing though, was that I was dressed as Snow White.

“No Better Love” Part 4

Plot: Bucky and his wife finally talked and cleared the air. They came to the conclusion their love was stronger than any argument. This story takes place AFTER that conversation!

Words: 1,240

Warnings: Angst (a lot) and swear words (a few)

Bucky x Wife (Reader)

A/N: Well, here goes nothing. My fourth story in the series “No Better Love.” Thank you for taking the time to read it. I’m a newbie in the writing circuit, but it makes me happy. So, I’ll keep doing it. I appreciate any and all feedback. 

(The gif’s not mine. Credit to the owner)

Originally posted by stuckwithbuck

HYDRA resurfaced in Munich, Germany!!!! They’d built a massive facility in the middle of nowhere and from the looks of it a full scale incursion was impending.

Tony piloted the quinjet and Clint flew Stark Industries customized helicopter. This mission required two aircrafts and heavy artillery.

After landing and disembarking, everyone split up. Rhodey, Tony, and Vision took to the air and provided extra fire power.

Clint perched atop the roof firing exploding arrows at the determined goon squad running towards him!!

Scott shrank and disabled the communications system.

Steve cautiously entered the facility, taking down HYDRA agents in his way. He carried a gun and shield.

“Hey guys,” Steve huffed into his earpiece, “we’re taking heavy fire. Scott, status??!!!” “Communication’s disabled! Let’s get outta here!!”

Bucky stormed through the hallway carrying knives, a submachine gun, pistol and a plethora of ammunition. Once inside the computer room, he positioned himself in the doorway, providing extra cover for Nat and Wanda.;

“C’mon Romanoff,” Bucky nodded towards her. He was becoming anxious. Something was amiss.

Nat extracted HYDRA data onto a flash drive. Wanda used her powers to shield her. A circle of bright red enveloped them. “Hold on Barnes. I’m almost done. GOT IT!!” Nat unzipped the leg pocket on her suit and put it away for safe keeping.

“Good let’s get outta here,” Bucky said as he walked behind Nat and Wanda.

They were almost at the exit when a HYDRA crony lurking in the dark, lunged towards Bucky.

“Soldat, see you in hell!!!! Hail Hydra!!!” The attacker stabbed Bucky 3 times on the right side, piercing his lung! He winched and cried out in pain. “Ahhhhhhhhhh shit, I’ve been stabbed!!!”  

That caused Natasha and Wanda to stop. Wanda created a telekinetic orb and flung the assailant into the wall, killing him on impact!!

Nat screamed for Cap through their earpiece  . “Steve!!! Barnes is injured. We need assistance!!” Cap sprinted down the corridor and found Bucky bleeding, holding his right side.

Kneeling down and looking his best friend in the eyes, “s’okay. I’m gonna get you outta here. Hang in there pal!!” Steve didn’t realize the extent of Bucky’s wounds.

Sam heard what happened, made his way to the super soldiers and helped carry Bucky back to the helicopter, where Clint was already in the pilot’s seat.

Flipping a switch, Tony fired 3 missiles and just like that, the place folded like a house of cards into a giant sinkhole.


Back onboard the quinjet, Tony radioed ahead to London Bridge Hospital and a medical team awaited their arrival. “Hey guys and gals, we’re headed to London. I’ve called ahead to the hospital. Barton, give it all you’ve got. No time to waste!”


Bruce removed his glasses from atop his head and assessed Bucky’s injuries. “This is more serious than I thought!! We don’t have much time.” The doctor managed to temporarily stop the bleeding. Bucky lost a copious amount of blood. Steve was visibly shaken and tired.

Bucky laid his hand on Steve’s and tried to speak. “(Y/N)” “Sssh buddy. We’re almost at the hospital.” Tears formed in the blonde super soldier’s eyes. “(Y/N), I l-lo…t-tell’er.” At that moment, Bucky’s blue orbs fluttered and shut!! “NO DAMMIT!!! BUCKY!!! HOW MUCH FURTHER??? BUCKY, STAY WITH ME DAMMIT!!!!”


With precision, Clint landed atop the hospital’s helipad. A team of 2 doctors and a nurse carefully placed Bucky on a gurney and proceeded to work on him immediately. His skin was pale due to severe blood loss.

Doctors Janneson and Peele began working on Bucky post haste. 

“Does anyone know Mr. Barnes’ blood type??” “O positive,” Steve said while walking ahead of the doctors, holding open the hallway doors leading into an exam room.

“I need 3 pints of ‘O positive’, a double IV drip, and chest tube STAT!! Stay with me Mr. Barnes!!” The fluid movement of the staff was graceful. Everyone knew their role and did it with finesse. There was no room for error.


In the meantime, the remaining Avengers made their way to the Emergency Room waiting area, where Bruce and Sam were already standing vigil.

Tony took the liberty of having food and coffee brought in. Everyone grabbed a hot cup of liquid sunshine, sandwich and chips. It had been a long time between meals. The team looked battle worn. This mission took a lot out of them!


Sam and Steve’s clothes were blood soaked. Scott brought their ‘go’ bags from the quinjet. Both men went to the lounge and changed. Steve wanted to burn his clothes. Instead, he threw them in the waste bin.

Looking at the bloody mess, Steve became nauseous and emptied the contents of his stomach. He felt the weight of the world on his broad shoulders. It was time to call (Y/N).

Wanda, Nat, and Sam huddled together, sending positive vibes to Bucky, the rest of the team, doctors and nurses! Scott and Clint paced nervously; Rhodey excused himself and went to the chapel. Tony had a stoic look on his face. The Avengers are a family; albeit dysfunctional. When one is hurt, all are hurt!


 (Y/N)’s POV

I began the day like so many others; on the treadmill for a quick run. But there was a heavy sense of dread that couldn’t be shook. Didn’t know why, but something felt off.

I kept a steady pace on the treadmill, but my thoughts were interrupted by the phone. It was Steve’s ringtone and the only thing came to mind; Bucky’s injured.

The room began to spin and I couldn’t breathe. It felt like an eternity reaching for the phone.

“H-hello Steve? Is Bucky alright?” Tears streamed down my face as I gasped for air.

“(Y/N), please calm down and listen. Bucky’s been hurt and I don’t want to tell you anything further on the phone.”

“Steve, how bad is it?!”

Steve rubbed the back of his neck before speaking. “He was stabbed (Y/N) and it’s critical.”

“Oh my god!!! Bucky!!!”  All of a sudden, my legs felt like Jell-O. I must’ve had a panic attack. Steve frantically tried to calm me down.

“Breathe sweetie. Breathe for Bucky.” The mention of Bucky’s name calmed me down.

“We’re at London Bridge Hospital. Tony’s private jet is gassed and ready to go. A car will pick you up from the house and take you to the plane in an hour. Throw some stuff in a suitcase and be ready. Buck’s gonna need you here.”

“St-Steve? If you get a chance, tell Buck I love him.”


(Y/N quickly packed her necessary items in a suitcase and duffle bag. Afterwards, she phoned the assistant manager at the bakery, Cheryl and filled her in on what happened. (Y/N) was certain she and your staff would be able to take over the daily operations.

With the house secured, the car finally arrived. The driver, a polite older gentleman, loaded her luggage in the trunk. (Y/N) settled into the car. The ride to the airstrip was spent deep in thought about her husband. “Please hang on for me, James. I’m on the way.”


 Tagging: @plumfondler @jezzula @rhyjr2 @c-a-v-a-l-r-y @goody2shoessmut

@amrita31199 @flirtswithdanger @omalleysgirl22 @cumonbucky @sebbybooks @theimpossibleg1rl @lowkeybuckytrash @mar-gega @gaybybirth @fvckingsteverogers @erisjade @iwillbeinmynest @metalarmproblems @sgtjamesbuchananbarnes107th @a-tale-of-two-comics

@emilyevanston @buckyisthebest @ashley-jean-summers @hazohazahazbro

Originally posted by imagination

See you in April (Chapter 2)

A/N - Hey guys, I’m back back back back back again! First of all thank you so much for the lovely feedback I received for Chapter 1, and I’m ever so sorry that this has taken so long - I won’t bore you all with the details but I have a lifelong medical condition that can sometimes flare up quite badly and I was all ready to finalise this chapter and submit it then bam, emergency surgery and 3 weeks in the hospital for me! But I’m back home now and ready for you guys.

Also, whilst I was in the hospital I got a bit carried away and this chapter ended up being close to 10,000 words… so I have split it into two parts and Chapter 2.5 will be with you soon. I would find the link for Chapter 1 in case you missed it but I’m clueless on my phone, but I’m sure you can find it in my author tag! For now, Chapter 2/2.5 is taking you on a long and angst ridden journey right back to where it all began, 6 months before Trixie steps into Katya’s apartment and has “the talk.” Backstory come through!

Keep reading

Red - Calum Hood Smut

Pairing: Calum and Y/N

Word Count: 6.5k+

Rating: Smutilicious

Requested: Nah

Take a trip back with me with the 1920’s, old sport, I kind of enjoyed writing this.

Keep reading

The Fox and the Hounds Pt. 2 [D.O. Gang!AU Angst/Fluff]

Originally posted by kyvngsoo

1 || 2

Even as the hits continued to rain on your already bloodied, bruised, and weakened form, the only thing you could focus on was your memories of Kyungsoo. His eyes, his nose, the way his lips curved into a smile that could only be seen in private, and finally, how you would never get to tell him you loved him.

It had been a month since he had pulled you from the back room of a sporting goods store back to his mansion after you ran. A month in which you imagined you would be getting nothing but hell. You did flee from him, after all.

But instead, you fell in love.

After he rolled off of you, spent from fucking you into his plush mattress, you fell asleep, only to be woken by crying a few hours later. You rose from your slumber, stretching your sore muscles, and saw Kyungsoo sitting on the edge of the bed, hunched over, crying into his hands.

That was the night you realized that the man you had been married to out of business, and not choice, had feelings. The gang leader that could make men twice his size cower with a look, was crying because you had left him. After confronting him, he revealed how scared he was when you left, how broken he felt in the few hours it was that you had been gone. How he loved you.

You couldn’t tell him you felt the same way, not yet, but you did promise him you would give him another chance. You would try to love the man you used to believe your captor.

And you succeeded.

Even though Kyungsoo was off taking care of his illicit business much of the time, he would always make time for you, making you understand how important you were to him. You began returning his kisses, initiating contact, trying to show him he was getting through to you.

Then came his business trip.

Kyungsoo had to go overseas to oversee a large business merger, and he had to go for a week. Without you. He was pained at the thought, but he had to do what was necessary. So he left you with an empty mansion, save the small army of security guards he had hired since before you were married.

How foolish of him.

It hadn’t even been a full day after his departure that the gang he was supposed to be dealing with in another country ruined the stillness.

You were brooding about the loss of contact with Kyungsoo for the next week in the kitchen when you heard the shots. Jumping up from your spot at the counter, you ran to where you knew Kyungsoo stored weapons, snagging a handgun and preparing for the worst, which was very likely, judging by the sounds of all out warfare outside.

Remembering Kyungsoo’s instructions to head to the panic room should anything happen, you had only made it a few steps when your bodyguards, hand picked by your husband, entered the room you were in, shouting instructions to come with them. You had slid a step forward in their direction when shots rang out, inside instead of outside this time, and each of the bodyguards slumped to the ground.

A man walked in, holding a handgun straight out and aimed at you. So, you reacted instinctively. You raised your gun in both hands and squeezed the trigger once, twice, three times.

The man, now with three holes in his left chest, looked at you in surprise before falling to the ground next to where your bodyguards lay in varying stages of dying and dead.

You had no time to concern yourself with what you had done. You ran without direction, the sound of gunshots surrounding you and deafening you. Deafening you so much that you didn’t hear the footsteps behind you until it was too late.

A body slammed you into the wall and into a glass vase, the shards embedding themselves in your side, adding your crimson blood to the spatters of it that already stained your home like a grotesque form of modern art.

Having collapsed to the ground from the impact, you blinked up hazily at a black-masked attacker. As soon as your eyes made contact, he dropped to your level and pressed a cloth that smelled heavily of chemicals into your gasping face. In shock, you breathed in, inviting a rush of chemicals and darkness into your head.

When a headache that felt like a hammer being driven into your skull woke you, you were tied to a chair in the center of a dingy room. Several men lounged against the walls, until one noticed you had risen. He nudged the man next to him, who knelt in front of you and began to ask you a series of questions you had no answers to.

You tried to speak, to tell them that you had no idea what they were talking about, but your tongue was leaden in your dry mouth. When you did manage a slightly coherent answer, that was when they struck you first. The hits just kept coming, making your body ache more than it had from the lacerations before.

Their fists and knives painted your body mottled black, blue, and red, and there was nothing you could do but pray that Kyungsoo would make it back from his business trip and come to save you. But as your mind blacked out again and again to shelter you from the pain that had become as familiar to you as your heartbeat, you began to doubt it. He would’ve come back for you by now, right? You hadn’t been able to keep track of time, but he had to acknowledge what had happened at the mansion.

Unless he was dead.

Even now, as pain flamed through every fiber of your being as a knife was driven into your thigh, your concern went to Kyungsoo. No matter what, he had to live on. You wouldn’t be able to survive without him.

That thought scared you more than the blood that was now gushing from your thigh, coating your legs a sticky, warm red. It was the truth; you wouldn’t manage to go on without him. Why?

You loved him. And watching the flow of blood from your thigh start to weaken, you knew you would never get to tell him. This was it for you. Only four months with the man you loved, and that was it.

Goodbye, Kyungsoo. I love you, you thought, squeezing your eyes shut, waiting for your end, as a man approached with a gun this time, looking hungry for blood. Yours.

But your husband wouldn’t just leave you like that.

Dimly, through the fugue of pain clouding your mind, you heard gunfire in the space outside your room, combined with a familiar voice shouting furiously, “Where is she?!”

Your eyes snapped open, focusing on the door to your room, which was shaking as if someone was being thrown against it. The man in front of  you who originally seemed intent on ending you, now stood in front of you, gun drawn and waiting for whoever was at the door to step in.

As a last prayer to whatever deities were out there, you screamed Kyungsoo’s name. The banging on the door increased in ferocity, until it burst inwards. In front of you, the man fired twice without you getting to see who was there. Again you screamed, fearing for Kyungsoo’s life.

More shots sounded, but this time from whoever entered the room, landing in your captor’s flesh and causing him to topple so you could see your savior.

Standing like a prince of hell holding a gun in one hand and the body of a bleeding man in front of him, Kyungsoo had finally arrived to save you. Upon seeing you, the expression of murder flipped into that of the utmost concern, and he dropped the body of the man that he had been using as a shield, tucking his gun into his pants as he ran for you. Gently, he took your cheeks into his hands and pressed a soft kiss to your lips, locking eyes with yours, which were drooping by the second.

“Y/N?! Y/N, darling, you need to stay with me just a bit longer, I’m going to get you out of here and into a hospital, please, I need you,” he muttered urgently, severing your bonds and lifting your body into his arms as you slumped forward.

In his arms, you smiled. You were home at last, safe in his arms. “Kyungsoo…” you rasped, weakly locking your arms around his neck. “I…love you.”

A ghost of a smile flashed over his face, but then he was moving out to the hall, too fast for your head to keep up with. Unconscious again, your head fell against his shoulder and your arms dropped from his neck. But you were safe in your husband’s arms and you had said what you needed, even if you were injured. He wouldn’t let harm come to you.

All was well.

!!!! I can’t do fluff very well, so I did more of the sorta than the romance in your request. Why is it so many of my fics involve passing out?

-Admin A