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patrickstargang · 3 years

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Luz and the Lights (Owl House fic)

Yesterday felt like a blur to Luz, so much had happened in so little time that it didn’t even register that she fought against the ruler of the Boiling Isles. She woke up like it was any other day. It also didn’t register that Lilith was staying with them now since her first reaction to seeing her in the morning was immediate panic followed by slowly remembering her helping free Eda, taking away her curse, and so on.

After the panic subsided, Luz began the lessons she promised to Eda and Lilith. The two of them- plus King- sat on the couch with a piece of paper and a pencil in front of them. Luz quickly demonstrated the light spell, drawing the symbol on a loose piece of paper without having to think about it. Eda drew the symbol, but the circle wasn’t symmetrical and the lines were not the slightest bit straight.

Eda looked at the paper unamused. She tapped the paper with her pencil. Nothing. She tapped it two times. Still nothing. She tapped it repeatedly with a bit of rhythm to it. Still nothing.

“Am I missing something, I’m drawing it just like you showed me.” Eda kept tapping the paper both in annoyance and confusion.

“Well for one, you don’t really have a perfect circle. And these lines need to be a bit cleaner if you want it to work.”

Eda’s frown quickly vanished, noting just how observant Luz has gotten with the small details of her spells. She flipped the paper over to try again.

“Well kid, it seems like drawing a ‘perfect circle’ comes to you pretty easily”

Luz smiled and shrugged at the comment.

“I mean, I’ve done a lot of drawing in the past so I have some experience. But it might just be young, nimble hands!” Luz followed it up with a little jazz hands movement.

Eda smiled again, focusing back on drawing.

“I’ll ignore that subtle jab at my age.”

Luz then looked at Lilith’s drawing, but she was surprised to see she was still drawing. She was also surprised to see how disheveled Lilith looked. It was like she hadn’t slept at all, her hair was the most unkempt it had been in years. She was careful to make it a perfect circle, the only problem was that more than a minute had passed and she was still working on the circle.

“That's good, but you still need practice if you want to do it quickly.”

Lilith gripped the pencil with extreme intensity. She was coming to the end of the circle, her focus sharpened. But then the pencil broke under her grip. She stared at the broken remnants before she gave up, letting her face slam down to the table in defeat.

“What's the use, if I can’t even do the basic light spell how am I supposed to progress any further. I used to be the leader of the Emperor’s Coven and now I’m relegated to drawing shapes.”

“Hey, at least you're still as grouchy as you were in the Emperor’s Coven,” said Eda with a smug smirk on her face. Lilith raised her head up from the table to respond with a piercing glare, before bringing her face back down.

Luz looked down, unsure of how to help. She could handle Eda’s snarkiness, but Lilith seemed to be in somewhat of a low place. She reached out her arm and patted her shoulder.

“It’s okay, you’ll get it down soon. Just a little practice and you’ll get it down in no time.”

Lilith brought her head back and slowly composed herself again. She looked a little less defeated.

Luz finally brought her attention to King. He held the paper in front of him with a determined face.

“Alright King, show me what you got!”

He handed the paper to Luz. What was on it was a bunch of mostly incomprehensible shapes and lines that slightly resembled someone familiar. She slowly glanced at King.

“It's a self-portrait,” he said with an air of pride.

Luz looked at the paper. Then back at King. And then back at the paper.

“........I love it.”

“I knew you would,” he said as he crossed his arms and raised his nose up. Luz returned the paper back to King.

Luz looked at her new pupils as they got back to practice. It was one thing to be learning magic at Hexside, but it was another to actually be somewhat of a teacher. It was strange to think of the Boiling Isles as home, but it started to feel like that more and more. She still needed to find a way to make it back to the human world, but for now, it seemed that was going to be a while.

Then at that moment, a voice suddenly interrupted the calm atmosphere.

“HOOT HOOT

SCARY GREEN HAIRED GIRL APPROACHING”

Everyone looked at each other in confusion. Luz’s eyes narrowed as she tried to pinpoint why that description sounded familiar.

“Wait, green hair? Is he talking about Am-”

Before she could finish her sentence, Hooty squawked loudly as the door flung open. A crutch began to pop through the door as Amity entered the house. She was out of breath, looking around the place with worry in her eyes. Her eyes stopped when she finally found who she was looking for.

“Luz!”

Despite the fact that her leg was broken and that she was using crutches, she rushed right over to Luz and hugged her. This surprised Luz, both for how sudden it was and also that it was usually her that was doing the hugging.

Without realizing it, Amity dropped her crutches and had to hold on to Luz’s shoulders after she was done hugging her. Luz had never seen her like this, she's never seen her as worried as she was at the door, and also as relieved as she was right now. She also noted how tightly Amity was gripping her shoulders.

“You're okay! Well, it looks like you're okay. Are you okay? Did anything bad happen? Did you get hurt? Please tell me you didn’t get hurt?”

Then Amity stopped dead in her tracks. She just realized that she just hugged Luz out of nowhere, which she never did, and was holding on to her shoulders. Her face turned red as she quickly withdrew her hands and balanced on one unbroken foot. It seemed that she was willing to risk falling over on her broken leg than to be embarrassing in front of the girl she liked.

But it didn’t take long for her to be embarrassed again as Luz hugged her back with a hearty laugh. While it caught Amity off guard, it also brought her balance back.

“Amity, I’m fine! It’s great to see you!”

Amity laughed nervously, still trying everything she could to not be obvious. Then Luz’s eyes narrowed again.

“Wait, did you walk all the way over here on your crutches?”

Amity stiffened, just now realizing that she did just that. She was still a bit out of breath, both from the walk and from finding Luz. This sudden self-awareness reminded her to pick them up off the floor.

“Well, when I found out what was going on I contacted Willow and she said that were probably back here. My parents wouldn’t let me leave so I had to sneak out before sunrise.”

Luz nodded intently as she talked.

“So what you're saying is that you DID walk all the way over here on your crutches.”

Amity stiffened again, not sure how to change the subject.

“Yeah, I guess….. But it wasn’t bad, really! It was just a quick stroll! It was nothing, really!”

Amity suddenly read the massive grin on Luz’s face, she knew what it meant.

“You're gonna scoop me up again aren’t you?”

Then Luz scooped her up again.

Amity’s face was now awash in red. She tried to hide it the best that she could while stumbling over her words.

“No, yeah, awesome, this is fine!”

Luz was confused about why Amity was acting so nervous. Must have been from exhaustion.

Luz turned back around to the others, still smiling as if a lot didn’t just happen over the past few seconds.

“Alright, first day of Shape Spell Class is dismissed. Don’t forget to study!”

Eda nudged Lilith to get her attention.

“Let's give them some time to catch up.”

Lilith looked at Amity, lightly surprised. The last time that she saw her, she was preparing to be a part of the Emperor’s Coven. She seemed determined, focused, unwilling to let anything distract her. Now she seemed to be showing a greater deal of weakness since then, she seemed to be much more open now. To her, it was strangely comforting. She didn’t know why, but that was a question for another time.

“Your right Eda, let's give them some space.”

As they left the living room, Luz carefully sat Amity down on the couch. Amity exhaled slowly and then turned to Luz.

“Okay, tell me everything that happened.”

“Everything?”

“Everything.”

Luz held her chin in thought. It was hard to even begin as it was a somewhat long story.

“Okay, so this is basically what happened……….”

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“...........And that's basically what happened.”

Amity just froze in absolute astoundment. She raised her hand up trying to collect her thoughts.

“So let me get this straight, not only did you fight with the leader of the Emperor’s Coven, but you fought with Emperor Belos, THE Emperor Belos, and are now a wanted criminal?”

Luz nodded, smiling mostly out of nervousness. Amity covered her face with hands, exhaling louder than before.

“How can you be so calm about that?! Do you realize that you could have gotten yourself killed?!”

Luz’s nervousness subsided, but her smile stayed.

“I can handle it, don't you know I’m not a rookie anymore. I’m a real witch now!”

Luz followed up that statement with a theatrical gesture, but it didn’t seem to phase Amity. Her face was still serious. Luz awkwardly composed herself realizing it might not have been the best time to gloat.

“I’m being serious. You always do these impulsive things and get yourself into trouble, but this is unbelievable.”

“I thought you would have been more upset about me becoming a wanted criminal,” said Luz, trying to make the conversation a bit more light hearted.

“Oh no, I am mad about that too, but that's not important right now. You just recklessly put yourself in danger there and you were doing it all alone. I don’t know what I would have done if you got hurt, or worse.”

Luz could tell that Amity was being serious, more serious than usual at least. It was strange, Luz still remembered when Amity saw her as someone who would never make it as a witch but now she's always trying to help her out. Not only that but she really seemed to care about her. Just like everything that happened yesterday, Luz was amazed at how much has changed.

Luz put a hand on Amity’s shoulder, radiating a warm, reassuring smile.

“I promise I’ll be more careful from now on, okay?”

Amity’s stern look slowly faded, now she was returning the smile.

“Okay.”

“Now it's my turn to be worried, you seriously walked all the way over here on your crutches?”

Amity raised a finger about to protest but slowly dropped it knowing there wasn’t anything she could say to dispute it.

“Your leg’s still busted up, you really should be resting.”

“But I had to know you were okay!”

Luz let out a playful giggle.

“You really are getting soft on me, huh?”

“......Maybe,” said Amity softly.

“Anyways, you really shouldn’t be doing any more walking today. It's a good thing we don’t have school today.”

Just then, Luz’s eyes lit up. She had an idea.

“You could spend the day here! We could do some training and I could show you all the spells I’m teaching Eda.”

Amity thought for a moment on the idea, it was tempting. She returned to her stern face.

“I’m not sure, my parents might be wondering where I am. They might be mad if I don’t come home soon.”

Luz frowned, letting her arms fall to her sides.

“Awwwww, but we could do a slumber party and read the new Azura book.”

Now it sealed the deal for Amity.

“Actually your right, I think I should just stay here for now.”

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Amity found herself getting lost in the house at night, she didn’t visit as much as she would have wanted so the area was still somewhat new to her. It felt strange staying the night, nothing like what her home life was like. There was a much calmer atmosphere. But on the way back to Luz’s room, she saw something- or this case someone- that brought back that tense feeling.

It was Lilith. She was making her way down the hall but noticed Amity. They both felt that they should say something, but the situation was already incredibly awkward. It was especially awkward since the last time they saw each other it was on a somewhat sour note. The silent unease was broken as Lilith decided to speak first.

“So….are you still training for the Emperor’s Coven?”

Amity didn’t reply, she didn’t feel like talking about it. Lilith’s eyes shifted around nervously.

“You look...different.”

Amity forgot that she was wearing the otter pattern pajamas that Luz lent her. She scowled but it was hard to hide the embarrassment, so she decided to deflect it back.

“Well so do you..”

Now Lilith was reminded that she still looked as messy as she did in the morning. Her hair was starting to look more like it did when she was a kid.

They both stayed in silence again, unsure if they should just leave the conversation at that. But then Amity decided to speak up.

“I heard about what happened with you and Emperor Belos.”

“What are you getting at exactly?”

“How did you do it. How could you throw away your reputation just like that?”

Lilith sighed, scratching her temple.

“Look, the Emperor’s Coven isn’t all that you think it is. I’ve had to sever a lot of relationships to be a ‘good leader’ because I thought I was doing the right thing. But I wasn’t. I wasn’t keeping my position because it was good for the people, I just didn’t know what else to do. There's some terrible things happening up there and I couldn’t let Eda be sucked into it anymore. I wasn’t willing to turn a blind eye anymore.”

After a moment Lilith then chuckled lightly while pointing at her new grey pupil.

“Heh, blind eye. Get it? That was an unintentional pun there…..”

Amity’s usual stern expression turned into one of worry, both about the unethical actions going on within the Emperor’s Coven but also for Lilith’s mental state.

Lilith’s caught on that she still needed to work on her humor and awkwardly made her way down the hall. But before she settled into the night, she spoke from the other side of the wood walls.

“If you take any advice from me, then listen to this. You're better off being a good person than a great witch.”

Now Amity was left alone in the hall. She had a lot of thoughts swimming around in her head. It was only recently that she started to have doubts about being part of the Emperor’s Coven, but this made those doubts justified. It didn’t seem right anymore, now that she knew what was really going on. But more than that, she feared what her parents might think. Her parents always had ridiculously high expectations for her, so what would this mean to them. They were never really the understanding type. Would they see her as a failure?

Luz suddenly popped her head out of one of the doors. She waved her hands.

“Amity!” she said quietly.

Amity was broken out of her daze and made her way to Luz’s room. It was mostly dark except for some of the moonlight coming through the window and the flashlight on Luz’s phone. It was still hard to see some of the room.

“Why is so dark in here,” Amity said. “I thought we were going to read.”

Then Amity noticed a few loose pieces of paper and a pencil on the floor. Her face was puzzled while Luz grinned.

“We can still read, but I wanted to show you how to do those drawing spells. I thought you might like it.”

Amity was curious, Luz showed her the light spell before but she never tried sketching it out for herself. By all accounts it was a basic spell but doing it in this fashion was something new to her.

She put her crutches to the side and laid down on the floor in front of the paper. Luz flopped down and grabbed a pencil. She quickly drew the symbol and showed it to Amity.

“All you need to do is draw the shapes and then tap it.”

Amity gave a determined nod. Luz gave her the pencil as she analyzed the original drawing. She started sketching trying to follow it as closely as she could. When it was finished, she tapped the paper. But no light.

Amity turned the paper over and tried again, trying to be even more precise. She tapped the drawing. Still nothing.

She pouted while Luz tried to analyze the situation.

“Maybe you just need a new way to approach it. Here…”

Luz pulled out a new piece of paper. She took the pencil and laid the tip of the lead near the bottom. Then she suddenly took Amity’s hand and placed it on top of her own. Amity did everything she could to contain herself.

“Try feeling the movements my hands make when I draw the circles, it might be helpful.”

Luz was completely oblivious to Amity turning red again, she was more focused on getting the symbol right. Then she finally drew the last line and tapped the paper.

The paper folded into itself and became a soft, amber light floating upwards. Amity looked up, even though it was still a simple spell there was still something breathtaking about it. Luz’s smile grew as she saw how awestruck Amity was with her little trick. It only occurred to her just then that Amity was starting to see her as a real witch, not as a lesser but an equal.

Amity felt a great sense of comfort around Luz. Even after everything that had happened, even with her doubts about her own future, Luz was still someone who helped give her clarity. It took her a while, but being with Luz reminded her why she wanted to be a witch in the first place. It reminded her of what learning magic for the first time felt like.

They were both enraptured in the moment that Amity didn’t realize she was still holding onto Luz’s hand, but she didn’t seem to mind.

“Now where did I put that book…”

#the owl house #the owl house spoilers #luz #luz noceda #eda #eda clawthorne #amity #amity blight #fanfic #luz and the lights

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icyharrington · 5 years

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Is It Wrong?- Part 6 (Michael Langdon X Reader)

i am so sorry that this took so long to update!! i was going thru a period of low motivation, and had absolutely no inspiration to write. this is the second to last part of the series (not including the epilogue)!! thank you to everyone who has supported this fic throughout the past few months!!! i love each and every one of you nasty thots with my whole heart 💕

plot: michael langdon is a picture-perfect fuckboy, and, lucky for you, he’s also your stepbrother. how will you survive?

warnings: inappropriate relationships, fuckboy michael, fem!Reader, high school au, teen angst, cunnilingus, dirty talk, degradation, anal fingering, anal sex, semi-public sex, sexual intercourse, praise kink (kind of?), cum play

word count: 7.5k

tags: @alicecooper19 @ritualmichael @blackfyrez @bbyduncan @sloppy-little-witch-bitch26 @michaelsapostle @trelaney @kissydevil @langdonalien @langdonsdemon @sloppy-wrist @michael-langdon-appreciation @wroteclassicaly @langdonsinferno @ccodyfern @cocosfern @sojournmichael @starwlkers @theinevitableprophecy @americanhorrorstudies @sodanova @avesatanormalpeoplescareme @divinelangdon @maso-xchrist @space-princesssss @lxngdonscoven @ahslangdon101 @isabellaserpentiawesson @stupidocupido @bademliimagnum @nana15774 @hisgirlwonder @urlocalgothb @hexqueensupreme @gold-dragon-slayer @pr1ncessd1e @langdonsboots @langdonstrash @isoldedax @fckinsupreme @lvngdvns @telexnesis @venusxxlangdon @obsessivenostalgicbaby @noelle525 @lambofcairo @kiiteiru @coastalmason @anacerta @punkysouls @nuke-em-from-orbit @codyswhore @thingsthatoncemeantnothing @beriyeri @dcvilrising @grossgayartist @featherpool-852 @imjustasadhoe @cryptid-coalition @nu-tt @diamcndscarred @michaelsfrenchtoast

(sorry to anyone who asked to be tagged but isn’t in my tag list!! tumblr won’t let me tag certain blogs for some reason!!)

Michael’s bedroom had become, to you, a world all of its own. Whenever you were there, lying amidst the plaid-printed comforter and inhaling the distinct scent of Michael that clung to his pillowcase, you’d feel as though the outside world had, for the time being, ceased to exist altogether.

You were certain you spent more time in Michael’s room than your own nowadays; there was just something so comforting about his room, even despite the cringe-worthy posters of half-naked girls that never failed to make you roll your eyes. There was something comforting about Michael.

Most nights you’d hang out there, even when Michael scoffed at your presence, insisting that he was busy (but smiling with a knowing look in his eyes all the same). Sometimes you’d watch him play his computer games, other times you’d lie with your head on his chest and watch South Park reruns (god, was Michael immature, you’d come to realize, after witnessing him laugh at one too many dick jokes), and oftentimes you’d do nothing but have constant, urgent sex.

Urgent- recently things had seemed that way, like not a single second in one another’s company could be put to waste. As the weather grew warmer and the months passed by at a startlingly rapid pace, it became increasingly apparent that there wasn’t much time left.

Both of you had finished sending in your college applications, and soon enough, you’d both be graduating high school- a thought that filled you with dread.

You’d grown so fond of having Michael at an arm’s length at all times, being able to creep into his room whenever you felt particularly bored or or lonely or horny. What would you do once you were away at college? Thinking about living Michael-less again filled you with thousands of emotions, all pooled up in the pit of your belly, that you intended to ignore and deal with later.

This couldn’t keep on, you knew. It was inevitable that things would eventually have to end between the two of you. But when?

You found yourself lost in thought as you laid next to Michael one night; he wore only his boxers, one arm lifted so he could scroll through his phone while he idly wrapped the other around you. Lifting your head slightly, you looked at his flawless profile, a sound of vague discontent coming up from the back of your throat as you debated saying something.

He turned to you, quirking an eyebrow and setting his phone down on his chest. “What?”

“I dunno,” you said. You turned onto your side so you were pressed closer up against his warm body, splaying your palm flat on his soft tummy. He smelled good, you noticed, gratefully inhaling the boyish, woodsy scent of his deodorant as you nuzzled your nose against his skin. “I was just thinking.”

“About?” He was tracing a pattern on your back with his fingertips, something you were sure he was doing absentmindedly.

“Graduation,” you said. This, of course, wasn’t the full truth, but you weren’t about to make yourself seem unnecessarily needy by mentioning that you were also thinking about the fact that in a matter of months, you and Michael could no longer continue…whatever the hell this was.

You doubted Michael had even thought about it. In fact, you doubted he even cared. Once he got to college, he’d have a fresh slew of girls eager to jump on his dick, and he would probably forget all about you.

“I can’t fucking wait,” he said, and you frowned, lifting your head so you could meet his gaze. “The graduation parties are gonna be fucking insane. I’ll have to teach you how to play beer pong before so you don’t embarrass yourself.”

“Aren’t you, like, scared to graduate?” Aren’t you scared of losing me? is what you really wanted to ask, but of course you held your tongue.

He squinted his eyes like you’d just said the most incomprehensible thing he’d ever heard. “Fuck no. I’ve been done with high school since freshman year. Plus, college is gonna be fucking lit.”

You rolled your eyes at his usage of the word lit, heart sinking ever-so-slightly at his nonchalance. “Yeah, I’m sure it’ll be really lit, having a new set of groupies lined up at your disposal.”

His expression shifted, a cocky smirk crossing his plump lips at the obvious bitterness behind your words. Fuck. You definitely shouldn’t have said that. “Aw, is someone jealous?”

“No,” you said defensively, cheeks burning up as Michael’s lips continued to curl upwards at the corners, hooded eyes flashing mischievously.

“Don’t worry,” he said, his voice suddenly dropping several octaves, craning his neck so that he could speak into your ear. “Your pussy will always be my favorite.”

Your eyelids flickered at the unexpected vulgarity of his words, and it took everything inside you not to bite your lip. You couldn’t keep doing this with him- you had to talk about this, like mature soon-to-be adults, instead of having sex in an attempt to avoid the topic.

“But— Michael,” you said, tone pitched almost to the point of whining. “Don’t you ever think about what’s gonna happen between us once we leave for college?”

Aaand— there it was. Fuck it. If you sounded needy, so be it.

His grin faltered for a moment, an emotion that you couldn’t quite decipher crossing his face for a mere fragment of a second. Then he shifted, returning to his previous demeanor and promptly rolling on top of you. “Let’s just have fun, baby. We don’t have to think about that yet.”

His lips grazed your neck, and he began trailing kisses from your jugular over to the front of your throat, and then to your jaw. Your breath hitched, stomach dipping as you were instantly overcome with arousal- it was just that easy, apparently.

“Michael,” you breathed, squirming beneath the weight of his lean frame. “Michael, can we please talk about it?”

“What’s there to talk about?” he said coolly. He moved his head down so that he was planting kisses down the valley between your breasts, which was covered by the oversize sleep shirt you wore (which you’d “borrowed” from Michael). “We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”

He continued moving down until he was resting between your parted thighs, wasting no time before working your lace panties down your legs and discarding them off the side of the bed. He spread your legs, hoisting one up to rest over his toned shoulder as he eyed your bare, wet cunt, tongue darting out to wet his lips.

“Mine,” he mumbled, placing an open-mouthed kiss to your soft inner thigh. His.

Maybe he was right. Maybe it would be better if you didn’t think about it, didn’t take things so seriously.

Or maybe you’d simply fallen under his spell for the umpteenth time, seduced by his sweet talking and expert touch and sparkling blue eyes. This prospect seemed far more likely.

“You don’t have to worry about anything, baby. Just relax…” His soft blond waves grazed against your inner thighs and you shivered, rolling your hips forward impatiently and eliciting a low chuckle from his full, parted lips. “So needy. Does my baby sis want me to make her cum all over my tongue? Hm?”

Without thinking, you took a handful of his silky hair in one hand, pushing your pelvis up towards him until you could feel his mouth against your core. Much to your disappointment, however, he pulled back, looking up at you from between your legs with glinting eyes.

“Say it,” he said, tone velvety and seductive as his large, veined hands slid underneath your shirt to grope your tits. “Tell your big brother what you want him to do to you.”

On one hand, you wanted to smack him- could he stop with all that step-sibling talk already? God, it just made things so weird.

…But on the other hand…

“Want you to make me cum, Mikey…” You batted your eyes down at him, making sure to speak with as much syrupy sweetness as you could manage; you saw his jaw just barely clench at your words, and inwardly you smiled. “Please. Wanna feel your mouth all over me.”

“My bad girl,” he cooed, dragging his tongue up between your folds and circling the pointed edge around your clit. “So glad I was the first one to claim this perfect little cunt.”

He wrapped his lips around your clit, sucking it into his hot mouth and pressing his tongue harshly against it; you sighed, tugging at his hair as your head fell back into the pillows, his hands roughly kneading your tits until they stung.

“That feel good, baby?” he breathed, although the question was entirely unnecessary- if anyone gave good head, it was Michael Langdon, and he knew it.

He pulled one hand from underneath your shirt so he could form circles over your clit with his thumb, his tongue moving to lap at your opening before easing inside.

“Fuck, Michael,” you sighed, twisting your fist perhaps a bit too hard, because he drew his head back from your aching heat to shoot you a glare.

“Can you not rip my hair out of my head, please?” he said irritably, his mouth and chin glistening with your arousal.

“Not like you haven’t done it to me a million times,” you mumbled.

“What was that?” he asked gruffly, yanking you closer to him by your thigh, which was still draped over his shoulder. “You wanna be a bitch? ‘Cause I can treat you like a bitch if that’s what you want.”

You lifted your head to give him a pointed look through narrowed eyes. “Just shut up and eat my pussy, dumbass.”

“Not with that attitude,” he said, crawling up your body and wrapping his fingers loosely around your throat. His mouth was pressed into a thin line, pale eyes boring into yours, but you could tell he was trying his hardest not to laugh. “I thought you wanted to be a good girl?”

You smirked, suddenly having found yourself in a bratty mood. “Nah, not today.”

Apparently you were looking to get destroyed. You saw something shift in Michael’s features, licking his lips hungrily as he slowly looked you up and down.

“Okay, if that’s how you wanna play.” In an instant, he had you flipped over so you were lying flat on your stomach, your insides buzzing with anticipation over what was to come; he slowly trailed his fingertips down from the base of your neck and along the expanse of your spine, stopping when he reached the small of your back. There was a brief stall in his motions, and then a loud crack as he landed a firm slap on your ass.

“There’s something I’ve been wanting to try,” he said, taking his other hand to spread your ass cheeks before him. “Since you wanna be a bad girl tonight, I think you’ll like it.”

You wiggled nervously, bringing your arms under your chin as Michael leaned over off the side of his bed to grab something from his bedside table drawer. As much as you were apprehensive to find out what he was planning, you trusted Michael- you usually liked anything he introduced you to.

You heard shuffling behind you as Michael presumably undressed himself, immediately followed by a squirting sound— lube.

Oh fuck.

“Only good girls get it in their pussy,” Michael said, a slick-sounding noise coming from behind you as Michael pumped the lube up and down his cock. “Bad girls? They get it in the ass.”

“M-Michael-“ you started, voice trailing off when he began rubbing a cool substance against the opening of your ass, massaging the puckered skin with steady circles before dipping the tip of his finger inside. “Fuck!”

He sank his finger deeper, the lube assisting in this action; it still hurt, though, your tight, untouched hole being stretched for the first time- and he expected you to take his dick!?

As much as the idea frightened you, you couldn’t deny that there was something exciting about Michael claiming all of you, every last part.

“Just relax, baby,” he murmured, pumping his finger in and out of you until he felt you were sufficiently stretched out. He added a second finger, a low groan passing your lips as he quickened his pace, the intrusion encompassing you with a combination of pleasure and discomfort. “Fuck, you’re so tight.”

“Yeah, no shit,” you retorted, trying to catch your breath. “It’s my asshole, idiot.”

“I was trying to talk dirty,” he snapped, thrusting his fingers in you deeper and brushing against something that made you see stars.

“How about just focus on doing what you’re doing instead of talking so much,” you said, arching your back to give him better access to you. Of course he’d been right about you liking this, you thought almost bitterly- he always knew what you were going to like.

“You really wanna be a brat tonight, huh?” he said, scissoring his fingers apart inside you to stretch your narrow walls even further. You gasped, head falling to the mattress as a jolt of pain shot throughout your body. “Must not want me to go easy on you.”

You said nothing (not that you’d be able to speak if you wanted to, seeing that your breath was caught in your throat). He continued fucking you with his fingers until he could slide them in and out with ease, pulling them out and aligning the head of his cock with your entrance instead.

“Such a little slut for me,” he said, shifting his weight so he was kneeling between your legs. He lifted you up at the hips, just barely pressing his cock into your now-stretched hole. “Now all your holes are mine.”

“How do you know I didn’t let my ex fuck me in the ass?” you teased, moving your hips from side to side as he began pushing himself deeper.

A hand landed on the back of your neck, pushing you down so your face was buried in the pillow; seconds later, your ass was met with a sharp smack.

“Yeah, right. Like you’d let anyone besides me be the first,” he said, pausing for a moment before continuing. “…You wouldn’t, right?”

You stifled a laugh- you were sure there was nothing Michael feared more than finding out you’d given away your anal virginity to someone else- and a “circle jerking jock”, no less. You supposed that maybe it wasn’t the wisest choice to intentionally piss Michael off right as he was about to fuck you in the ass, but you were having too much fun to stop.

“Why wouldn’t I?” you asked, the pads of Michael’s fingers digging into your hips hard enough to bruise. “I mean, he fucked me better than you anyway.”

The last part was a blatant lie meant to rile Michael up, and you knew Michael knew it; still, he brought one hand from your hips to the back of your head, wrapping a strand of your hair around his palm and forcefully pulling it back.

“Really? He fucked you better I do?” In one sharp forward motion, he entered you almost fully, earning him a weak cry from your parted mouth. “Made you cum better than I do?”-he paused to scoff- “I bet he couldn’t even make you cum.”

Goddamn it. There was another thing Michael was right about, not that you were about to let him know that.

“He didn’t know about that spot inside you that makes you cum so hard you cry, or how to tease you until you’re all needy and desperate, begging to be filled up like the whore you are,” he continued, and you could practically hear the cocky grin on his face as he spoke, his hips still as he waited for you to adjust to the feeling of a dick being in your ass. “I’m right, aren’t I?”

You kept silent, knowing better than to challenge him again.

He laughed, your lower body trembling in arousal and agony as he gingerly slid inside the rest of the way. “Of course I’m right. So keep your mouth shut unless it’s to take my cock.”

With that, he began fucking you- hard and steady, his hips rocking back ever-so-slightly before jutting forward again, the sensation so intense that your eyes rolled back into your skull. Taking fistfuls of Michael’s sheets in each hand, you let out a raspy whine, tears darkening the pillowcase under your head with large wet spots.

“Fuck, you really are a bad girl, aren’t you?” he snickered, upon hearing your soft moans that had been muffled by his pillows.

You nodded mindlessly, pushing your hips back weakly with every thrust Michael administered, vision going blurry at the corners each time he seated himself all the way inside you. You’d never felt anything like it before- you were so full that it felt you might fall apart at any moment, completely at Michael’s mercy.

“You like that? Like it when I stretch you out?” he grunted, and you could tell that he was already close, your tight hole clenching with every burst of pain he inflicted with his cock. Leaning forward, he hooked one toned arm around your thigh so he could mercilessly rub your clit, hissing lowly as he pounded inside you fully again.

You groaned, gritting your teeth as he formed fast shapes over your sensitive bud, white spots forming in front of your eyes as he gradually increased his speed.

Fuck, it hurt, but both you and Michael knew by now that you liked pain, liked the way it matched together so perfectly with pleasure.

“You doing okay, baby?” Michael whispered as he pushed a few moist strands of hair away from your face, his sweat-covered chest pressing firmly against your back.

A gravelly “m’fine,” was all you could manage.

“Good girl,” he murmured, lips brushing the shell of your ear before he brought himself back to a standing position, fingers still working at your clit. “Taking me so well, like always.”

You found yourself smiling weakly at his praise, cheek flush against Michael’s now-tearstained pillows; your stomach dropped, Michael’s fingers still massaging your clit with precision until you were panting, abdomen tightening as you neared your climax.

It wasn’t long before you were cumming, still listening to him breathing heavily as he chased his own impending orgasm behind you. When you felt both hands return to your hips, his fingers gripping your tender skin until you whimpered, you knew he was close to the edge.

“You want your ass filled with my cum?” he said breathlessly, and you could tell it was taking everything inside him to properly get the words out. He slapped your ass, the sound crisp and loud, and you inhaled sharply. “Answer me.”

“Y-yes, Michael, I want it…” you said, half-dazed, voice so low you weren’t sure he’d even heard you. “Want your cum in my ass. Please…”

“Fuck.” Hurriedly, he impaled you until his balls slapped crudely against your ass; then, with a string of incoherent expletives, he shot his warm load deep inside you.

He stayed seated inside for a moment, placing a soft kiss to the back of your neck.

“Fuck. You’re my good girl, aren’t you, (y/n)?” He pulled out of you slowly, running his fingers through the cum that was now leaking out of your hole and down your thighs. “So fucking good for me.”

He turned your limp body over so you were on your back, falling to lie beside you. Through half-open eyes, you surveyed him, boyishly handsome with damp curls clinging to his glowing forehead, flat torso rising and falling as he laced his fingers over his chest. God fucking damn it, was he beautiful.

“I can’t believe you actually let me fuck you in the ass,” he said, spit-glossed lips curving upwards at the corners as he flashed his perfect top row of teeth.

“I can’t believe it either,” you muttered, feigning slight irritation, although truthfully, you could believe it- you’d do anything for Michael.

He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, moving to pull you up against his chest. “You’re what my friends would call a keeper.”

Outwardly, you laughed, but his words made your heart sink for a reason you couldn’t explain.

A keeper. If only he really believed that.

ii.

For a while, things kept on like this- neither of you wanted to talk about the future, and so whenever it was mentioned, you’d wind up having sex to avoid the conversation you both were avoiding.

And then, one day, you brought in the mail to find that you’d received a letter from your top college— you’d been accepted.

That night, your parents had something of a makeshift celebration- your father insisted upon going out to dinner despite your protests, which was how you found yourself in a cramped Cheesecake Factory booth, thigh pressed up against Michael’s as your father and Miriam bickered across from you. You couldn’t help but notice that the entire situation felt vaguely familiar.

“Is it just me, or have the prices here gone up?” your father said, squinting his eyes to better read the small menu lettering.

“I told you we didn’t have to come here,” you mumbled, elbows leant on the marble surface of the table.

“Don’t be silly, sweetie,” Miriam said. “We have to celebrate.”

“God, these prices are ridiculous, though. Why don’t we just leave and go to Applebee’s instead?” your father continued, loud enough that you were sure any passing waiter might be able to hear; in unison, you and Michael groaned.

“(Your dad’s name)!” said Miriam, eyes widened in disbelief as she turned back to you with a forced smile. “Don’t mind your cheapskate of a father, (y/n). You totally deserve to celebrate. You must be so excited!”

“Yep,” you said.

And you were excited- for the most part, at least. It just seemed like time had passed by so quickly: you’d been so wrapped up in all the meaningless teenage drama and angst of your senior year that it hadn’t even occurred to you how soon it would all be ending. And now you were faced with a whole new problem altogether; something that, at one point, had seemed like more of a blessing than a curse.

Your impending life without Michael.

You’d been attempting to avoid the thought, but as time went on, you found yourself becoming less and less able to tuck it away to the back of your mind. You’d be committing to college soon, as would Michael (once he heard back from one of the few colleges he’d applied to) and then that was it.

Of course there would be the breaks between semesters and during holidays; there was no question of whether you and Michael would see each other again. You probably wouldn’t have even been worried at all, had the two of you been strictly stepsiblings-with-benefits, but you were fairly certain that both you and Michael knew that wasn’t exactly the case here.

Maybe you were being delusional for thinking so. Anyone with common sense knew that Michael Langdon was a fuckboy, an asshole who knew how to charm girls into sucking his dick and nothing more. To think that there was anything deeper beyond your relationship (if you could even call it that) was probably foolish. And yet…

Sigh.

God, he had you whipped. It was nauseating, really. Only a few months ago, you’d been desperate for the school year to end so you’d never (or, at least, almost never) have to see Michael’s stupidly beautiful face again. Now, the mere thought of no longer being around him, no longer hearing his smart-ass comments and borderline-objectifying remarks made you feel queasy.

Of course the one boy you’d ever been hung up on like this had to be your fuckboy stepbrother, of all people. It was just your luck to wind up in a situation as convoluted and ridiculous as this one.

“What kinds of things are you thinking of doing in college?” asked Miriam, obviously aiming to fulfill her supportive stepparent quota for the evening. “Are you planning to join a sorority?”

Michael snorted. “You really think (y/n) would be able to get into a sorority?”

You scowled, making sure your arm was completely hidden underneath the table before pinching Michael’s thigh. “If I wanted to join a sorority- which I don’t, by the way- I would definitely be able to get in. So shut up.”

“Right. Keep telling yourself that,” he said, smirking in that stupid, insufferable way that made you want to punch him right in his perfect face. Asshole.

Miriam shook her head in a way that said oh, these darned kids as your father continued to ignore everyone, still immersed in the contents of his menu. “Be nice, Michael.”

“What are you gonna do once you get to college, huh, (y/n)?” said Michael through a thin-lipped smile. You recognized that look- it was the face he made whenever he was intentionally trying to upset you. Of fucking course he’d choose today, of all days, to be an asshole. “I’m sure all the douchey frat guys will be allll over you. If you actually go to parties, that is.”

“You’re gonna be a douchey frat guy, Michael. So I really wouldn’t be talking if I were you.” You crossed your arms defensively over your chest, leaning back to rest your back against the padded booth.

“You really think I’d join a frat?” Michael asked, wrinkling his nose. “I’m not sticking a pinecone up my ass for anyone, especially not a bunch of circle jerkers.”

“Huh? What about pinecones?” your father said suddenly, putting down his menu to more directly focus on the conversation going on across from him.

You rubbed your temples, letting out a slow, exasperated exhale.

“(Y/n) was just telling me how excited she is to meet all the frat boys at college,” said Michael, flashing you a shit-eating grin.

“I was not!”

Just then, the waitress came over- a woman in her mid-sixties with bleach blond hair (you certainly wouldn’t admit this, but you were almost grateful to find that the waitress wasn’t a cute, younger girl, just so you wouldn’t be forced to watch Michael flirting with someone else in front of you).

As everyone ordered their food, you reached out and wrapped your fingers around Michael’s wrist, pulling his hand over to your bare thigh and squeezing it; he peered over at you, cocking an eyebrow inquisitively- usually he was the one pursuing you in public, so you didn’t doubt that this had caught him off guard.

You gave Michael a pout, widening your eyes faux-innocently as you traced your fingers along the veins in his hands.

To your disappointment, Michael shooed you away, hardly looking at you as he brought his attention back to the waitress. Huh. Definitely not typical Michael behavior. Once the waitress had headed off, you decided to take to a different approach: delicately, you placed your hand on Michael’s crotch, mouth watering as you grasped the large bulge that protruded from the front of his jeans.

At this, his body stiffened, but still he ignored your advances, pushing your hand off his lap and shooting you an indecipherable look from the corner of his eye.

God, what the hell was his problem tonight?

Just one more try, you thought, returning your hand to where it’d been seconds before and palming the outline of his cock. His breath hitched, hands flying to wrap around the edge of the table as you ran your thumb up and down his clothed length.

“I gotta take a piss,” Michael muttered, removing your hand from his lap as he abruptly stood up.

“Michael!” scolded Miriam, but he was already gone.

“I have to go to the bathroom too, actually,” you said suddenly, not bothering to worry about how suspicious it might look that you were following Michael. If your parents had gone this long without noticing anything weird between you and Michael, you doubted they ever would.

You weaved your way through the tables, heading to the dimly lit hallway that led to the bathroom; you could see Michael about to open the door to the men’s bathroom, walking so slowly he was practically sauntering. His shoulders were slumped, hands deep in the pockets of his skinny jeans, and for a second you wondered why the hell he looked so goddamn sad.

“Why were you acting like a little bitch back there?” you called after him, leaning one shoulder against the wall.

He stopped in his tracks, sighing deeply as he turned around to look at you. The playful expression you were so used to seeing on his face was nowhere to be found, and in all honesty, his seriousness unsettled you. “(Y/n)… we are literally out in public.”

“Not like that’s ever made a difference to you before.”

“Well, now that we’re adults, I think we should stop doing stupid shit like that.” He was talking out of his ass, clearly- you could tell there was something else he wanted to say.

“What, are you mad at me or something?” Oh god. Stop acting like a needy girlfriend, (y/n), you thought to yourself. Stop it right the fuck now.

“Why would I be mad at you?” His back was resting against the door to the bathroom now, obviously no longer worried about having to take a piss, as he’d claimed. You admired him for a second- the way his short-sleeved button-up hugged the barely bulging muscles in his arms, the way he had perhaps one too many top buttons undone. Fuck, he looked good. But then again, when didn’t he? “What would even make you think that?”

“‘Cause you were being an asshole at the table, talking about frat guys and shit.” You swallowed, bouncing anxiously on the balls of your feet as you considered what to say next. There was more, the words lingering on the back of your tongue, but you didn’t know how to go about phrasing them. “And honestly, Michael? It seems like you aren’t even happy for me.”

He raised his eyebrows, plump pink lips curving upwards at one corner. “What did you want me to do? Eat your fucking ass?”

Well, yeah, that’d be nice…you thought idly, before mentally kicking yourself for being so goddamn thirsty all the time.

“No, but you know this is a big deal to me, and you haven’t even said congratulations,” you said.

“Okay, then, congrats,” he said, his tone suddenly turning ice cold. “I’m sure you’ll have lots of fun three hours away with all your new frat boy friends.”

And, with that, he turned on his heel and went into the bathroom, letting the door slam shut and rattle noisily in its hinges behind him.

Oh.

So that’s why he’s upset. Your lips twitched, and then you were smiling, big and stupid.

You knew the situation shouldn’t have made you happy- in fact, happiness was the last emotion you’d ever expect to feel after one of Michael’s little bitch fits- but there was something so satisfying about knowing that Michael was worried about you meeting other guys, knowing that he didn’t want you three hours away from him, knowing that maybe he felt the same way about you that you did about him.

Or maybe you were putting too much thought into things, like always. Whatever— you’d take what you could get.

iii.

Michael had made it a point, after your confrontation, to avoid you. By now you were used to him doing things like this; you’d come to realize that these cold-shoulder periods were simply his way of recuperating his emotions.

Over the course of the next few weeks, Michael was accepted into his own top choice (god, was he lucky that he had the entire high schools’ staff wrapped around his finger, because lord knew he hadn’t exerted a single bit of effort to get good grades)- a school that was far closer to home than the one you’d committed to. You’d both ordered your cap and gown, and then, in what seemed like a blink of an eye, graduation day finally rolled around.

You could hardly believe that the day had come. You could still remember your very first day of high school, years before when you were still naive and innocent- things had been so simple back then.

Now, as you stood before the mirror in the girl’s bathroom, dressed in your deep blue graduation gown with the matching cap tucked under your arm, you could hardly wrap your head around how much your life had changed, how much you’d changed.

In about a half an hour, the entire senior class was due to meet outside at the football field, where hundreds of cheap fold-out chairs had been set up in front of the podium your principal would be standing behind. You were dreading the ceremony, groaning internally when you thought of the unforgiving June heat, and the fact that you’d have to walk up there, a sweaty mess, to retrieve your diploma in front of everyone.

Once it was over, though, you’d be free. And god, what a frightening thought that was.

You didn’t have much of an idea of what your future held, but you supposed you’d figure that out later. Popping the top back onto your tube of lipstick and tossing it into your purse, you examined yourself thoughtfully before positioning the cap on your head and fiddling with the tassel so it fell just right.

You imagined Michael doing the same thing in the boy’s bathroom, spending far too much time adjusting his hair in the mirror, making poses at himself and practicing the way he’d smile when it was his turn to get his diploma. The thought was so silly, so endearing, that it made your heart hurt a little.

Michael won’t ignore you forever, you told yourself. He just needs to sort things out with himself.

You left the bathroom, pulling your bag over your shoulder and walking down the hall towards the front entrance of the school. People had already begun clearing out, and although you could hear laughter echoing throughout the hallways, there weren’t many fellow seniors in sight.

The pale yellow hallways looked dismal (or more dismal than usual, at least), stripped of their colorful posters for the summer. You dragged your fingertips along a freshly-bare wall as you strolled leisurely, hoping to waste as much time as possible before you were obligated to go outside.

As you walked past an empty classroom, you heard shuffling coming from an adjacent hallway; in an instant, you were pressed up against the door, a large hand clamped tightly over your mouth. It took a split second for you to process the all-too-familiar scent of Michael, your heart rate immediately slowing once you figured out what was going on.

“Michael, what the hell are you doing?” you demanded, once you’d utilized an obscene amount of strength to tear his hand away from your mouth.

He was half-smiling, working a wad of pink-tinted cinnamon gum in his mouth, pale eyes shimmering with fondness as he looked down at you. You were lost in his gaze for all of a few seconds, his chest pinning you back against the door, when you remembered that you were both in public, and not just in public- in school.

“Michael, are you fucking cra-“

Your words were promptly cut off as Michael pulled you back, opening the classroom door with one hand while he used the other to hold onto your wrist. Then he tugged you inside, checking halfheartedly over his shoulder to make sure that nobody had seen.

“I’ve been thinking a lot, and I think I finally figured things out,” he said, pushing you back onto the teacher’s desk and wedging himself between your parted thighs, taking a moment to hike up your graduation gown so your legs were exposed. “Any second that I’m not fucking you is a second wasted.”

He didn’t give you the chance to respond (or mock him for his corniness), pressing his lips fervently to yours with such intensity that you fell back onto the desk, your graduation cap falling off and toppling to the ground. Instinctively, you kissed him back, fingernails pressing into his back (which bore the same deep blue fabric as you) as you attempted to match the urgency of his kiss.

This was a bad idea. No, this was an awful idea. So why, oh why, didn’t you want to stop?

“We can’t do this here,” you said breathlessly, during one interval when Michael had broken away to catch his breath, a strand of saliva stretching between your faces.

“Sure we can,” he said, reaching up the short floral dress you wore under your gown and fumbling with your underwear. “We just have to be quick.”

“W-what if someone walks in?” you pressed, allowing Michael to work your panties down your legs and discard them on a desk. He shrugged, bunching up the fabric of his own gown so he could unbutton his jeans and retrieve his cock from its confines.

“Who cares? It’s not like we can get suspended,” he said, stunning you, as usual, with his nonchalance. He took his shaft in one hand, already semi-erect, rubbing his leaking head against your inner thigh. You wanted so desperately to argue, to push him away, but fuck— this hold Michael had on you had to be supernatural, because all you could bring yourself to do was pull him closer.

“Michael, we’re stepsiblings. People are gonna lose their fucking minds if they find out—”

“—So then they won’t find out.” He ran his cock through your slick folds, evoking a soft mewl from the back of your throat. “Like I said, we just have to be quick.”

You pressed your lips shut, squeaking quietly when he penetrated you in one slow thrust.

“Fuck,” he groaned, clutching your upper thighs with a bruising hold, balls slapping noisily against your skin as he bottomed out inside you. “Such a bad girl for me.”

“M-Michael…” you whined, rolling your hips in melodic time with Michael’s, his pelvis gradually slamming against yours harder and harder until he’d adopted an almost ruthless pace to fuck you with. He peppered your jawline and throat with kisses as he continued to fuck into you, your legs raising to wrap around his torso, broken moans leaving you as the blunt edge of the desk dug into your lower back.

“You’ll do anything for your big brother, won’t you?” he growled against your throat, cock brushing against something spongey and sensitive inside you and sending your lower body into convulsions. “Spreading your legs and letting me split your little cunt whenever I feel like it…”

Your pussy clenched at these words, cheeks burning in shame at the truth behind them—it was almost embarrassing how perpetually willing you were to let him have his way with you. He hissed, inserting one hand between your warm bodies to work at your clit, the other extending up to your face so he could clasp his hand over your mouth.

“Such a fucking slut for me,” he said between sharp inhales, and you could taste the salt of sweat on his palm; his eyes were droopy with lust, pupils dilated so that the baby blue was almost entirely eclipsed— he was so beautiful, and you couldn’t help but admire him as he pumped into you. “You’re fucking dripping. I bet you wanna get caught.”

Realistically, you did not want to get caught, but the idea was still an interesting one, to say the least. You sank your fingernails deeper into Michael’s shoulders, hard enough that you’d probably leave half-moon shaped imprints in his skin, even through the tough material of his graduation gown.

“What would everyone think of you, hm? Knowing that you’re a little slut who loves being split on her stepbrother’s big cock?” he was speaking into your ear so low that he was barely whispering, chills erupting down your spine at the sheer lewdness of his words.

“I’ll bet all the guys would be lining up to get a taste of your slutty cunt if they knew how much of a whore you are,” he continued, impaling you with such aggression that your eyes rolled back into your skull. “Too bad that this pussy belongs to me.”

You couldn’t do much more than whimper, your teeth pressing against the inside of your mouth from the force of Michael’s hand against it.

From out in the hallway came a series of voices, and Michael stopped his thrusting, his cock still deep inside you. Your pussy twitched- your body’s natural attempt to resume the friction that had ceased and left you aching for more; both of you waited with bated breath for the group outside to pass the classroom, chests heaving in soundless unison.

“Fuck,” Michael grunted once the voices faded away, relocating his hand from your mouth to the desk, bracing himself with his palm flat against the faux-wooden surface as he returned to fucking you.

“Michael, please…” you moaned, rocking your hips underneath him impatiently. The prospect of being caught in such a compromising position was beginning to scare you, and as much as you never wanted to stop feeling the immense pleasure that only Michael could provide, you thought it’d be best to wrap things up for now.

“Shhhh.” He thumbed at your swollen bud roughly, your muscles tensing as you felt your orgasm start to build up in the pit of your belly. “Be a good girl for me and keep that pretty mouth shut.”

You did as you were told, closing your mouth and letting your head fall back as he slid in and out of your heat, making harsh contact with your cervix every time.

“Such a good girl,” he praised, cinnamon-scented breath hot on your neck as he nestled his face in your shoulder, biting down on the smooth skin beside your jugular. “Taking my cock so well.”

His thrusts grew sloppier with each passing second, and you tightened your legs around Michael’s waist, not wanting there to be even an inch of space between your bodies.

“Oh god…” you sighed, despite Michael’s demands, but at this point he was too far gone to scold you.

The sensation of Michael stretching you out, paired with his fingers against your most sensitive point, was far too much for you to bear- it didn’t take much more for the coil inside you to snap, sending you into an intense orgasm that had you seeing brilliantly colored fireworks amidst the boring gray-beige walls.

“Shit,” Michael grunted, your cunt squeezing around his length as he fucked you for all he was worth. You ground your hips up against him, crying out as he drove his cock so deep inside you that you swore you could feel it in your stomach.

A low, almost animalistic noise came from the depths of Michael’s throat as he came, his hot load filling you up and warming your insides. You laid there motionless, watching from underneath half-closed lids as he slowly pulled out and tucked himself back into his jeans. Your cheeks were flushed, hair matted to your damp forehead, lips swollen and glossy with spit; the cherry on top to complete your debauched look, though, was the thick cum dribbling down your inner thigh.

Michael’s eyes fell down to where his essence was spilling from you, a self-satisfied smirk crossing his lips as he reached forward and drew his fingertips through it.

“Open up,” he ordered, and you complied, granting him access to your mouth as he pressed his cum-coated fingers against your flattened tongue.

You wrapped your lips around him and sucked, eyes fluttering at his slightly bitter taste. Once he was sufficiently cleaned off, he withdrew his hand from your mouth with a loud, wet pop.

“That’s a good girl.”

You got up off the desk, recovering your purse from the ground where it had been abandoned before slipping your underwear back on underneath your dress. You probably would’ve preferred having some extra time to clean up, especially since Michael had came inside you, but that was out of the question for now.

You could only imagine Michael’s internal smugness at the thought that you’d be graduating high school with his cum leaking out of you.

“Fuck, we gotta go,” Michael said, checking his cell phone. “We have like five minutes.”

“Shit!”

You slung your purse over your shoulder and hurried out into the hallway, ignoring the dull pain between your legs from how hard Michael had fucked you. Michael followed hot on your heels, and together you made your way through the vacant halls of your soon-to-be former high school, not bothering once to look back.

#michael langdon #michael langdon x reader #michael langdon fanfic #american horror story #cody fern #ahs apocalypse #apocalypse #michael langdon smut #ahs smut #mine #michael langdon x you #ahs season 8 #duncan shepherd

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yergink · 4 years

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all my thinking about colress has manifested into a fic.

Crossposted to Ao3

---

A megalomaniac and a scientist discuss evil plans over coffee and cheesecake. It goes about as well as you'd expect.

How Doctor Achroma joins Team Plasma.

--- In a rooftop cafe in Castelia City, Doctor Achroma waits patiently for his coffee to arrive. He sits alone at a window side table, his chin resting in a delicate hand as he watches the movement of the crowded city streets below.

Achroma is an accomplished young pokemon researcher, who has rapidly gained fame in the recent months, and who is known well by the general public for his papers discussing the nature of a pokemon’s strength. His name is often passed around university circles, and his work in recent years has only caused him to have an even greater public presence.

This is how the waiter at the cafe recognizes him, setting down his ordered cup of dark espresso with a shaky hand. Achroma gives him a smile, and the waiter works up the nerve to ask in stumbling words if the doctor would look over some of his notes for him.

“An up and coming researcher, are you?” Achroma asks.

“Yes, sir,” the waiter replies, holding the platter he’d delivered the coffee on tight against his chest. “And your work has just been such an inspiration.”

As he draws the cup closer, Achroma responds amusedly, “So I’m told.”

He goes silent for a moment, turning back to the window and gazing at the skyline. The waiter’s knuckles clench tighter around the platter, gut churning in a mix of anxiety and anticipation. Then, Achroma laughs. It’s abrupt enough to startle the young server.

“You know, the person I’m meeting with was supposed to be here ten minutes ago,” the doctor drawls, producing a red pen from a pocket and setting it down next to his cup. “I think I have some time to kill. Do you have your work with you?”

Almost dazedly, the waiter nods, hurrying to the back room to fetch his notes.

The bell above the cafe entrance chimes. It is the third time it has done so since he has arrived, and Achroma does not look up.

He can hear one of the wait staff flustering over the new customer, who grumbles rather loudly, “I’m meeting someone here. You don’t have to seat me.”

“Sir, please--”

“Out of my way.”

A short yelp bursts from the attendant as the cafe’s new arrival shoulders past her. Achroma can just see it over the top of the notebook he’s holding. He sighs, knowing what’s next.

Ghetsis slides into the seat opposite Achroma, immediately clattering his cane against the table and hissing, “I believe I requested we meet somewhere more discreet.”

Indeed he had. But Achroma had figured that allowing Ghetsis to choose the location of their meeting would give him a little too much control of the situation. Plus, he was bound to pick somewhere creepy, and no matter what anyone said, Achroma prided himself in having standards.

In response, he simply hums, eyeing Ghetsis over. “Well, to be fair, I didn’t realize you’d be coming looking like that .”

Ghetsis’ outfit is what Achroma would not-so-lovingly refer to as a ‘Manic Cult Leader Uniform,’ complete with high collared cloak and elaborately decorated cane. It seemed almost as if he wanted to be clocked as a former Team Plasma leader. Not that regular clothes would have done much to hide his identity anyway, with a face like the one he had.

Achroma gestures to his own attire: a sleek black turtleneck and gray slacks. “It could have been discreet. If you’d taken a bit more thought.”

Instead of trying to refute Achroma’s smug comment, Ghetsis just scoffs. “It’s fine. Can we get to business now?”

Achroma taps his pen to his chin, looking down the page before him. “We can. Just as soon as I finish looking at this.”

“Excuse me?”

The sound of the pen scratching is Achroma’s only reply. Ghetsis slams a hand onto the table, and the force of the blow causes the doctor’s coffee to spill from its cup and for his pen to slash a jagged line across the paper.

“This is important business, Doctor,” he sneers.

Silently, Achroma puts down the notebook and reaches for a napkin, mopping up the spill. “I had to wait nearly twenty minutes for you to arrive,” he informs Ghetsis, his tone frigid. “So you’re going to have to wait a little while for me.”

Ignoring how his statement leaves Ghetsis fuming, Achroma resumes his reading. In the end, it only takes him a minute more or so. A ridiculously short wait time for Ghetsis to get so fussy about.

When he’s finished, Achroma caps his pen and sets it down, waving the server over once more. Nervously, the young man approaches the table.

“What did you think?” He asks, clearly anxious about the doctor’s response.

Achroma hands it back to him, and says, “It’s a solid start, but you need to step out of the hypothetical and put some of your theories to the test. Other than that, I can see that you certainly have a lot of passion for your research, and I'm sure you'll be able to find success."

Practically beaming, the young man stammers, “Thank you sir!” He marvels at the page for a moment, as though he’s been handed some sort of prize rather than his own notes.

It’s only then that he seems to notice Achroma’s companion. He turns to Ghetsis, pencil ready, and asks, “And, um. Can I get you something?”

“You have cheesecake?”

“Yes, sir.”

“That, then. And make sure it’s cold.”

The waiter nods, jotting it down before scurrying off, leaving the two men alone. Achroma sips his coffee.

“I didn’t take you for a cheesecake type. Always thought you were more into danishes,” he comments.

“It’s been years, Doctor. You think my tastes have all stayed the same?”

“I suppose not,” Achroma muses.

A brief bout of silence descends upon them, broken when the waiter arrives once more with the cheesecake. When he sets it down, Achroma can see it is chilled enough that the top is coated in a sheen of ice crystals. Ghetsis does not thank him for it, and the waiter takes his leave.

“Can we get to it now?” Ghetsis asks with poorly concealed impatience, picking up his fork and cutting into the slice.

Achroma has never seen anything more ridiculous than the overwhelming figure of Team Plasma’s former leader delicately eating a slice of cheesecake. He smiles in amusement and pretends it’s agreement instead. “Of course. With pleasure.”

Ghetsis swallows a bite of cheesecake before speaking. Achroma’s eyes follow down his throat.

“Now, I’ve gotten together nearly fifty of the old members. A great number were taken in by police, but I believe that we can begin recruitment again. With a little rebranding, it won’t be difficult. Of course, there is nothing that can be done about our runaway sages, but I believe…”

Slowly, Achroma’s eyes begin to glaze over as he listens to Ghetsis spew statistics about membership and plans and incomprehensible ideology. He realizes, quite suddenly, that he honestly couldn’t care less about the activities of a failed cult, and there were plenty of other things he’d rather be thinking about.

For example, as he watches Ghetsis speak, he finds his gaze trailing down at the half-eaten cheesecake, where the ice coating has begun to melt, moistening the surface. He thinks about a recent event he’d heard about, where an ice type trainer had developed hypothermia from prolonged proximity to his pokemon. He figures that you could craft an effective freezer from just the use of a few ice types, and then realizes that the idea probably wouldn’t fly with most manufacturers.

He glances outside, where the light of the midday sun reflects off the tops of skyscrapers, coloring them white. A flock of pidove fly by, chattering and cooing. One of them nearly grazes the window. Achroma thinks about how the top recorded speed of a pidove in flight is 92.5 miles per hour and wonders if there was a way he could increase it.

“Are you even listening?” Ghetsis asks suddenly, pulling Achroma out of his thoughts.

Not in the slightest, he thinks but doesn’t say. Ghetsis is glaring at him now, his one good eye narrowed and suspicious. Achroma takes his time answering, allowing himself a sip of coffee before cracking a reassuring smile. “Of course, my friend. And you’ve brought up several fantastic ideas,” he says and nods, as though he has any clue what nonsense the man in front of him has been rambling about. While his response is somewhat thin, it seems to do enough to convince Ghetsis, who calms and settles back down with a grunt. It appeared he’d gotten so worked up at the possibility that Achroma hadn’t been paying attention that he’d actually risen from his seat.

“Good. You always were a bit of an airhead, so I just had to make sure,” the villain grumbles.

Achroma doesn’t even waste his time thinking of a comeback to that one. Although, he does find Ghetsis’ needlessly emotional reaction amusing. He wonders idly how in the world Ghetsis came so close to becoming the most powerful person in Unova when he clearly had no capacity for complex thought.

In fact, he doesn’t know much about Team Plasma’s first attempted takeover at all. He’d been traveling in Sinnoh at the time, and now that an entire two years had passed since the event, it seemed like most of Unova were hesitant to speak on the subject.

Before he can spend too much time following that train of thought, Ghetsis says, “And I assume you’ve thought over my proposal?”

Ah, there it was. Finally. The reason Achroma had agreed to this meeting at all.

“I have,” he starts, carefully. “And I can’t express how intrigued I am by it. I mean--” he lowers his voice, leaning over the table. “Capturing Kyurem? Using it? As a weapon? You know me too well, old friend.”

“I figured you would be interested. Yes, that is the plan. And you’re the only person I know who I believe would be able to do it.”

Achroma hums. “Yes, I believe so too. It’s not something any self-respecting scientist would want any part in.”

“It’s very lucky then, that you have no self respect.”

Achroma laughs. “Well, no respect for the ethics of science, at least.”

He pretends to think for a moment, as if he didn’t already know exactly what he was going to say.

“And, as Head Scientist, I assume I would have full reign to do whatever I want with Kyurem? As well as the other captured pokemon?”

Ghetsis chuckles. It’s a dark, scathing sound. “Oh, yes. About that. I don’t want you to be Head Scientist, my friend.”

“No?”

“No.” A malicious grin crosses Ghetsis’ face. “I want you, Doctor Achroma, to lead Neo Team Plasma.”

Out of everything else, that’s what startles him. His eyes widen, and Ghetsis looks incredibly self-satisfied at having caught him off guard.

“Leader of Team Plasma, huh,” he considers the sound of it.

“It would suit you,” Ghetsis offers. “You’d have free reign of the entire operation. No limits as to what experiments you can conduct. As long as, of course, you also work to forward the overall goal of the team…”

“So you would, what, lead behind the scenes, then? Make me a figurehead?”

“Not quite. No figurehead this time. I’m not repeating my failures.”

Achroma doesn’t know what he means, but he decides it doesn’t matter. This opportunity was a good one. It would certainly suit his needs. Of course, he understood what Ghetsis was doing. Always ready to throw the blame onto someone else. But Achroma was smart. He wouldn’t let himself be so easily duped.

He’d take the bait and use Team Plasma, and by extension Ghetsis, for as long as he so desired. And then, once he’d tired of his playthings, he would see to it that the team was destroyed, and Ghetsis put away.

It would be easy.

He smiles warmly, extending a hand. “Alright then, old friend,” he says. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

#pokemon #colress #colress fic #achroma #pokemon black and white #pokemon black and white 2 #pokemon fic #fan fiction #my writing #marine blogs #reblogs appreciated !

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scriptaed · 6 years

Text

Ink Nemesis | 01

Genre: Angst/Fluff || paparazzi!au; fake dating!au;

Pairing: Reader x Yoongi

Length: 9.0k

Synopsis: As an aspiring writer drowning under the public’s radar, a click of the pen is all you need to accept your supervisor’s offer to co-write an article for the SS - Secrets Spilled, a regular section of your company’s weekly tabloid; but fabricated stories and invasive details aren’t all that you write when you discover Min Yoongi’s dirty little secret.

Writing has always been one of your greatest nemeses. A half-filled ink pen and a quarter scribbled paper have gradually become ingrained into the mundane life you bear as an unsuccessful journalist. An inevitable crash is only to be expected of from partaking in a love-hate relationship with the supposed passion of your life.

Inspiration comes to you like starting a fire with two simple albeit seemingly useless sticks; only after hours and hours of rubbing and thrashing and grinding, a spark is ignited in your mind and the words come flowing hours-on-end akin to the first sparks of flames prospering in the bonfire set ablaze. Most times, however, kindling fires only result in bruised and blistered palms, for your efforts prove to be futile when all you manage to run into is yet another wall.

But you chose this life, and as much of an eye-opener to the cruel reality of adulthood when all your youthful passion has been exchanged for a life of barely making ends meet, you can’t imagine a future without your arch-enemy; because somewhere along your naive adolescent years, you had willingly dedicated yourself to the wonders of literature. An aspiring writer, novelist, reporter, a journalist who documents both reality and fantasy into the eternity of ink and paper, that’s who you strive to be.

Second to the treacherous world of modern journalism falls the art of self-denial. Only in times like this, when you’re sinking in the back of your reclining, swiveling black office chair and drowning in the piles of work you know would go unnoticed by the universe and staring up into the dozens of varying shades of gray room are you forced to come to terms with the harsh truth.

Papers filing and flipping, pens scribbling all-too-roughly against innocent victims that is A4 size white sheets, printers huffing and puffing back to life, squeaky silver cabinets drawn open, whispers of the latest gossip hissing straight from the break room in the back, and the oh-so-dreadful tick of the clock’s hand hammer along to an incomprehensible symphony at the loss of a conductor until it all erupts in your throbbing head and you’re forced to storm outside in hopes for some actual peaceful silence.

Today seems to be yet another one of those uneventful days, but whether for the good or bad, the fateful offer that is soon to turn your world upside-down will be one you wish you hadn’t stumbled upon in times to come.

“Oh, Y/N!”

The first thing you see the second you step foot onto the balcony of the twenty seventh floor is the sight of your advisor, five years your senior, whirling around to face you. Never mind the shadow casted upon the entirety of the already grim looking balcony of the looming skyscraper of your company’s building behind you, because plastered all over her once fallen expression is the brightest grin you’ve seen her wear in a while.

“At least someone looks happy today,” you muse, burying your hands in the pockets of your black longline blazer and joining her by the ledge side. “So, what’s up, Solji?”

“Oh, nothing,” she cheekily smiles; the glint of sunlight lands perfectly on her fiery orange locks, as if to further reinforce the contradictory message conveyed in the raise of her cheeks.

You roll your eyes and snort, “you can’t tell me ‘oh, it’s nothing’ with a grin like that. Come on, I want to hear some good news around here for once.” With one good nudge of your elbow, your supervisor breaks into an overjoyed cackle. “What’s the real reason behind that goofy smile of yours—”

“—I’m going on a honeymoon!”

“You’re what?” you narrow your eyes at her in disbelief, ignoring her as she jumps in place and giddily claps her hand. “Why a honeymoon?”

“Well, we only have enough saved up for a honeymoon so far. I don’t think a wedding is even plausible at this point,” she pauses and puts a finger to her chin, “actually, maybe that’ll change in a month or so considering how well SS has been doing.”

You snort, “no, I meant why a honeymoon before even getting married. Your boyfriend hasn’t even proposed…” In the midst of your sentence, she raises her jazz hands and the gleaming ring wrapped around her finger is all she needs to strike you silent. “...no. way.”

“Yes way,” she coos and wiggles her brows.

“Oh my goodness!” you scream and she joins along as the both of you jump in a circle. Grabbing her hand in both of yours, you can barely contain the excitement coursing through your veins, “congratulations! I’m so so happy for you!”

“Really?” she exclaims and halts you from further prancing when she holds your hands and keeps you planted to the ground. “Enough to cover me and the SS for a day?!”

“Psh, yeah, anything for my supervisor— wait what?” you deadpan. “D-did I hear you right? Me? Write for your little project so called Spilled Secrets? Nuh-uh. I did not get a degree to write for some silly teenage targeted tabloid.”

“Hey! Don't call my baby that! It's not ‘little,’ it's a regular feature in our company's weekly magazine!” Solji huffs and crosses her arms with a pout. “Why not, Y/N? You can really get your name out there you know. It's a great opportunity! Haven't you been begging the company for that since forever?”

“Yeah, but I don't want to succeed through what is essentially and quite blatantly intruding on someone's privacy!” you shake your head and turn away from Solji’s desperate pleas surfing in her puppy-like eyes. “They might be celebrities, but they're still people. And plus, I don't want to use my writing for that. I want to be recognized for my penmanship, not my ability to scrape up any juicy info on the hottest boy group in town.”

“Oh, c’mon, you make it sound like it's so bad—” she stops mid-sentence when you glare at her out of irony “—okay, I know it's a terrible and dehumanizing thing to do, but look where it's gotten me. I have piles of work and offers lined up for me, and yes, while they all are related to some gossip write-up in one way shape or form, at least my writing is being published and actually being read by millions around the world.”

The tapping of your finger against your left arm only adds to your fuel as you sigh, “but Solji, don't you want to write something more than these… these modern, nearly incoherent lingo of paragraphs I—no, us journalists— can't even call articles? I mean, don't you at least think your writing is worth more than that?”

Solji blinks at you in silence and deep thought about how to approach you, her advisee. Finally, she sighs and begins twiddling her thumb with her elbows resting on the ledge of the balcony, “look, Y/N, I know what you’re talking about, how you’re feeling, and the situation you’re in as a novice in this industry. You’re struggling, you’re young and you’ve been dreaming of something more than this…” her brows knit as she points to the office where you had just exited, “being trapped in a corner and writing for something invisible to not only the company but also the world? That’s not the world you dreamed about, and I know because I’ve been there before, Y/N.”

“If you’re here to lecture me about your road to success because you’re five years older and five years wiser, then I think I can skip out this millionth time,” you frown and take a few steps back towards the dungeon of your cubicle, but before you can do so, Solji grabs your hands to stop you from further movement.

“Y/N, I’m telling you this because out of all of my advisees, I care about you the most and I want you to succeed!” she clears her throat when you just blink blankly at her, and you can see the desperation to get her message through your stubborn mind stirring in every motion of her body language. “I know it’s a bad thing to do, Y/N. I don’t want to dress up as a paparazzi and stick these cameras in front of celebrities’ faces, but you know I had to. Starting this entire project, SS,” she shakes her head and hunches her shoulders, “it was my last resort to finally break it into this industry. I was a young adult. I didn’t have the fiance I have now. I was crazy about the new boy group BTS, and I saw everyone else starting these tabloids on celebrities and making good money, so I thought it was perfectly okay.”

“You’re right,” you emphasize and furrow your brows. “It does make good money and you’re more well known now than you ever were without it, so why are you still relying on SS?”

“Because I have to, Y/N!” she articulates, shutting her eyes and breathing out her frustration as she squeezes warmth into your freezing hands. “I didn’t expect SS to blow up like it did, and now the company wants me to continue expanding the project so they can reap more revenue. They don’t care about their writers, Y/N, they care about money. So in times like this, the harsh reality of adulthood compels you to take things into your own matter. And as terrible as the SS is morally, it’s also been a blessing in disguise for my career.”

You don’t notice it until a cold breeze envelops you in the wrath of the winter, but your body is shivering, your feet has stopped tapping impatiently on the concrete floor, and your mind has halted for a brief moment to consider her persuasion. You completely understand her point of view and why she had to do the things she did just to be able to pay her rent and continue working in an industry which ignored her talents, but you don’t want to utilize your writing for the immoral ethics surrounding the entire foundation of the project. The boys deserve better and so do you.

After ten dreadful minutes of deafening silence, Solji pulls you by your hand and tilts her head to the side to get a better view of your contemplating eyes glued to the ground, “if not to get your name out there in the writing industry, then at least do it for me. You can use a pen name if you really want.”

“I don’t know…”

Solji sighs after seeing your hesitation, “I don’t want to hurt you when I say this, Y/N, but, well, how are things going on your side right now?”

If you were being honest with yourself, you know you’re at an all-time low. The amount of views on the short stories your company only allows you to publish deep in the vast, elaborate website of theirs is barely enough to meet your monthly requirements, not to mention how disheartening and damaging it is to your motivation to even continue writing, so there isn’t much you can argue against your supervisor on this topic. Sheepishly, you turn your head to the side and lower your eyes in shame.

“I don’t get it,” you shake your head and cinch your brows, “why don’t you just request a day off from your boss?”

Your supervisor takes a deep breath and exhales in one loud huff, turning around to look out into the distance, “he hasn’t allowed me to take a day off except for holidays ever since SS took off, and he definitely won’t agree today now that BTS is holding the grand premiere to their documentary tonight...”

The look in her eyes as she searches for a meaning behind all that she’s given up, her morals behind invading others’ privacy, her sleep made evident in her eye bags, and now maybe even the love of her life strikes all too familiar with you.

After all the times Solji has pulled through to help you, can you really turn a blind eye to her now? She’s just asking for this one day off, this one request from her advisee, which she isn’t even required to ask when can order, but the world seems to deny her of the one time in five years since she’s prioritized herself over others. Plus, she’s right; you can use a pseudonym if you really think this is morally incorrect and want to make a name out of yourself based solely on your talents.

“...okay, just this once, right?” you barely manage to mutter.

“Huh?” her ears perk and her head turns to reveal her widened eyes stuck in disbelief.

You take a deep breath and sigh, crossing your arms and raising your voice, “I said fine. I’ll do this for you.”

“Really?!” she shrieks and ecstatically brings you into a bear hug before pulling back to grin at you from cheek to cheek. “I knew I could always count on my best advisee!”

“But it’s a one time thing!” you warn her with raised brows.

“Of course, of course. I wouldn’t want to drag you into this corrupted side of the industry anyways,” she smiles, but her words tug at your heartstrings, for the reality of the world and the gap in naivety between the youth and the experienced is made all too apparent underneath a simple sentence. Solji digs into the pockets of her cardigan to grab her keys and starts mumbling about the hectic schedule she has in plans for you, “okay, so the premiere starts at around 7 tonight. Make sure you arrive an hour early before the other swarm of reporters arrive. I’ll just hand you my DSLR and a few pictures of the boys from my car.”

“Pictures of the boys?” you question.

“Well, if you’re going to do this job for me, you have to at least know who you’re taking pictures of, right?” she laughs and strides back towards the office. You watch each one of her steps drown you in deeper waters of trouble you just know you had signed up for before she slides open the glass door and calls out over her shoulder, “oh, also, remember to update my blog along with writing up an article for the SS! I’ll text you the username and password.”

You nod your head and give her an ‘okay’ signal with your right hand—a circle shaped by your thumb and forefinger and three raised remainder of your fingers.

She laughs at your reluctance, “have you decided to undergo a pseudonym?”

“Yeah,” you nod without further thought.

She arches her brow, prompting you to elaborate, “and may I know who this new persona might be, Ms. Y/L/N?”

The whistle of the winter wind brushing your hair across your cheeks and blinding you for a momentary second as you spot your supervisor’s bright orange ponytail swaying along with nature like she does with society.

“Ink Nemesis,” you utter before speaking up, “I’ll be going under the name of Ink Nemesis.”

Solji frowns and tilts her head to the side, “hm, I don’t think I’ve heard a pen name with such dark undertones like that, especially not in tabloids… but, fair enough. Stay right there, I’ll be back with all the things you’ll be needing tonight!”

“Okay,” you nod and give her small wave for a momentary parting.

She takes one step into the building but ends up turning around to assure you once more considering how worried of a mother-like figure she has always been to you. She smiles and puts a hand to her hip.

“Welcome aboard, Ink Nemesis.”

RISE TO FAME GRAND PREMIERE

Those are the first words you see plastered in large font cursive across the extravagant three story venue. Cream colored Roman columns lined the marble floored halls along with the railings of wide, more than spacious stairs with a red carpet rolled out to direct incoming spectators into the venue coming straight out of a fairy tale. Stepping out of your car, it’s impossible to stop yourself from staring at the lit up billboard towering above those below and hoisted high up in the sky to hang from the railings of the third floor balconies.

It didn’t occur to you until now just how popular the boys of Bangtan had gotten, and you know part of that reason is thanks to Solji’s project. As immoral as the SS can be, it was one of the first tabloids dedicated to the boys when they weren’t as popular as they are now. Similar to a symbiotic relationship between two specimens striving to survive in the harsh world of business, both the SS and the boys had prospered with the help of the other. And even though you don’t condone the actions of the SS and had never participated in the building of the Bangtan Boys’ success, you can’t help but exude of pride for both Solji and the boys.

The only thing that manages to retract you from your reverie is the sour, acidic sensation coming from your overfilled bladder. Maybe you shouldn’t have drank as much water as you did out of nerves; nonetheless, all that is said and done cannot be reversed, so you trudge your way forward into the venue. Solji had informed you the venue would be closed even minutes prior to the opening of the premiere and the caution sign taped across the grand entrance only proved her years of experience; but you didn’t care if they banned you, it’s not like you’d ever be coming back anyways, so never minding the rules, you duck underneath the tape and slip past the towering sleek black doors.

Dozens of stairs present themselves to you as you roam across the peach marble tiles lining the floor reflecting the light of crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, and the longer and deeper you delve into the maze of the venue, the more you find yourself lost like a child without their parents. The pain of holding the calls of nature only pushes you farther into the building, but the few passersby whom you presume to be the security guards only worsens your situation as you’re forced to hide behind a human-sized pot of indoor Christmas trees.

After a few seconds of waiting and peeking to check if the coast is clear, you stumble out from under the corner of the stairs and continue trudging on in search for a restroom. You don’t think things could go any worse than this, but a dreadful minute passes before the eerie silence gets to you and shivers run down your spine when you sense a cold presence following you from behind. You can’t hear their footsteps—they’re as soft and nimble as ever—but you know you aren’t going crazy; it’s as if there’s something connecting the two of you that fate compels you to trust the gut instinct in you to quicken your pace—

“—hey,” a cold, small hand firmly grips onto your shoulder and you nearly have a heart attack. Raspy, deep, sharp-edged, and unamused, the voice most certainly belongs to a man. Being caught red-handed is already enough to cause you to faint, but being caught by someone as intimidating as him? You think you’re hallucinating when he continues to speak sternly. “You’re not supposed to be in here right now.”

“...I know,” you can barely manage to squeak.

His hand drops from your shoulder and he lets out a soft sigh, “are you lost?”

You gulp and attempt to speak, but for some reason the pounding sensation against your constricted chest prevents you from doing so.

The man clears his throat after a few seconds of silence, “look, I’m not supposed to be helping you right now and my manager is probably looking for me, but I couldn’t turn a blind eye on someone wandering around like a lost Holly.”

Holly? Your brows scrunch in confusion, but you figure it must have been this man’s girlfriend or relative. Hesitantly turning around, you peer up at the figure behind you. Surprisingly, you don’t have to crane your neck too far because the rather average heighted man appears to be of similar age to you. Swift blond hair, soft lips and fair-skinned, slim dark eyes, silver and black tuxedo draped over his relatively petite figure, and a hard, serious expression years beyond his age, you’re struck in silent awe at the mystical figure standing before you.

“What?” the man quirks a brow at your ogling eyes.

“Oh, uh… nothing,” you stammer before mumbling to yourself, “I just thought you really look like a celebrity.”

The man presses his lips into a down-turned curve, softening his cheeks and sharp chin as he shrugs with his hands raised on either side and his eyes shut in agreement; it’s as if he’s heard your remark all too many times. “So how can I help you?”

“O-Oh,” you stutter and clear your throat before straightening your craned posture, “I didn’t mean to trespass…”

“...Min,” he flatly clarifies, “Min Yoongi.”

Something about his name strikes you as familiar, but you can’t quite put a finger on it.

“Right, Mr. Min. I was just looking for a restroom.”

“Ah… the women’s restroom I presume?” he asks and you nod. Scratching the back of his head, he purses his soft, thin lips, and you can’t help but struggle deciding whether this man is someone you should be intimidated of. “I think the upper two floors are still being cleaned at the moment, you probably don’t want to go up there if you want to stay out of trouble.”

“Oh…” you say in loss for hope. “Is there one on this floor?”

“Mm,” he lowly hums for a split second, eyes on the ground and in thought. “I’m not sure where the ladies’ washroom is on this floor…”

“Oh, that’s totally fine,” you quickly blurt and his slightly widened eyes dart up to look at you. “It’s my fault for not knowing.”

He blinks blankly at you for a few seconds, and you wonder if he even understood what you just said. “No, it’s okay,” he finally answers. “This venue is big. The boys would’ve gotten lost too if I hadn’t downloaded a map. Here, let me check—”

“—no! It’s okay!” you exclaim, stopping his hands from checking his phone after pulling it out; it’s completely irrelevant to you, but you can’t help but notice how warm his hands are contrary to his entire mien. “I’m sorry for bothering you, Mr. Min. You’ve been more than enough help. Thanks for not reporting me. I’ll just find it myself.”

“...are you sure?” he says without further movement; it’s as if he doesn’t bother to waste an ounce of energy on unnecessary motions.

“Yes, I’m absolutely sure,” you give him two thumbs up, and without wasting another second, you stride off into the other direction.

“Hey!” Yoongi calls out to you in the midst of laughs, and your ears perk at the pleasantly surprising warmth radiating from his childlike yet bass-resounding chuckle—the first time you’ve heard him laugh or even flash a hint of emotion. Looking over your shoulder, you find him walking towards you with a gummy smile on the softened features of his expression, “where do you think you’re going? You’re walking right into the men’s restroom.”

“What, huh?” you utter with raised brows. Surely enough, the second you turn around, you find yourself a foot away from entering the men’s washroom with a blue circular plaque with the white stick figure of a man plastered over it.

“You know what? I’ll just bring you to the VIP restroom,” Yoongi remarks, his voice settling down from his laugh into newfound determination as he grabs your wrist and pulls you before you can protest.

The pressing need in your overfilled ducts prevent you from pulling away, for you silently follow behind him as he pulls you along; there’s nothing so special about this very moment, and maybe it’s the extravagance and lavishness of the interior venue, but there’s something so entrancing about this interaction that all you can see is the black tunnel forming around the back of this seemingly intimidating albeit strikingly warm stranger. His shoulders are surprisingly broader than you had imagined, and his blond locks definitely appear softer than they had when you first saw them.

“Uh…” the mysterious man utters and snaps you out of your trance. He releases your hand and hooks his right hand around the nape of his neck, “I don’t have the keys to the women’s washroom, so you’re going to have to use the men’s.”

“What—”

“—but don’t worry,” he quickly adds, holding his hands up before him. “I made sure no one’s in there, and I’ll even stand outside to stop anyone from entering.”

Every hiss of his s’s sends tingles down to your growing need. It’s impossible. You can’t hold it in anymore. Nodding your head, you hastily barge into the unlocked restroom and shut it locked and closed behind you. Then you rush to the toilet, pull down your pants, and plop yourself down—until suddenly, a chilling fear crashes over you.

The silence is overbearingly loud.

There’s no way he won’t be able to hear you as you, a woman he’s only just met, executes what every man presumed women are incapable of.

“Are you done?” Yoongi calls out to you from outside.

“Um…” you say weakly, voice trembling and heart pounding.

To spare your dignity or not? It’s not like you’re even interested in this guy, nor are you ever going to cross paths with him again, so why are you being so hesitant?

“What’s wrong?” you can hear the concern in his voice. “Are you okay?”

“I’m… I’m fine,” you stammer and clear your throat. “Can you just—just sing!”

“Sing?” he emphasizes. “Why? You do know I only rap, right?”

“Just do it!” you shut your eyes and place your cold hands over your burning cheeks in a futile attempt to cool your embarrassment down.

He chuckles in disbelief, “you’re… you’re joking right? Just pee! I’m not going to listen and it’s not like I even care—”

“—just please sing!”

“Okay, okay, you asked for it…” he mumbles.

You’re not sure whether you should be thankful for his agreement, because the next thing you know, your ears are piercing and your entire body is wincing from the pitchy sounds coming out from his screaming; you can’t even tell if he’s going off pitch on purpose or not, because he sounds like he’s trying even while resembling the yells of a child.

“Min Yoongi is a good, good boy,” he chants to the tune of a nursery rhyme, “the rest of them are bad, bad boys.”

This man standing outside of the restroom door truly is the epitome of the duality of mankind, but at least you got to get the job done without further self-embarrassment and more so second-hand.

“I’m done—”

—you stop mid-sentence the second you step out of the restroom and find him swinging his bent arms and speed walking up and down the halls like a grandpa on his morning jog. Clearly, he's enjoying his own concert all too much. And as odd of a dance move you presume he's attempting, you can't help but find this side of him strangely as cute as a button.

“I’m done,” you raise your voice, “you can stop now.”

Yoongi turns around to find you, arms plopping back to his side, back straightening, and lips returning to its grim origins, and his entire cool mien returns within the blink of an eye. “Oh, I see,” he mumbles, scratching the back of his neck as he lowers his head.

You snort and pat his arm before walking back the way you two had came from, “well, thanks so much for all the help, Mr. Min. I hope you enjoy the show!”

Yoongi nods in silence, glancing up from the ground to give you a small wave…

...but it isn’t until you exit the venue that you realize the irony of your remark.

Yoongi is a part of the show.

How did you not recognize him? How did it not click to you that someone as strikingly handsome as him couldn’t be anything but a celebrity? You could’ve snapped a picture or two, maybe get an exclusive interview, or even snap a few picture of the VIP restroom if you must. It had to have been your bladder distracting you. It has to be. No one as dumb as you gets that close to a boy of BTS and not scream out of thrill; but maybe that’s the exact and only reason he decided to help you in the first place.

A loud sigh of frustration leaves your lips as you seat yourself on the marble bench outside of the venue and under a tree. The winter proves to be a nature deserving of respect as the heat of your breath comes out in visible puffs and your body shivers despite the abundance of scarves and layers wrapped around you.

A few whispers of chattering piques your attention when you look off to your left to find an empty street where you expected incoming news reporters before looking off to your right and craning your neck to find two figures standing in the balcony above you.

No way.

Your jaw drops when your eyes land on the all so familiar figure of Min Yoongi… with a less familiar girl in front of him. With the back of her red skin-tight dress against the balcony, you’re forced to crawl your way over to the tree to get a better view. Channeling your inner Solji, something tells you this is a sight you can’t miss—not unless you want to be scolded for months on end by your supervisor. Luckily, you had already grabbed your DSLR from your car and hung it around your neck; grabbing it into your quivering hands, you look through the lenses to zoom in and snap a few pictures.

There’s no doubt about it. Nothing gnaws at your conscience more than invading someone’s privacy, especially not someone who had just gone out of their way to help you. Nevertheless, the incident which plays out before you manages to capture more than the attention of your camera.

Yoongi appears to be arguing with the woman. A displacement frown written all over his face and a body language failing to reciprocate hers, as if to signal the other he could care less what she says, the familiar man scoffs and turns his head away. With her arms out on either side, the girl appears to be begging him or attempting to persuade him of something, until the next thing you know, her hands grab ahold of either side of his cheeks to bring him into a kiss. A few seconds pass before the stone cold look on his face melts and the affections are no longer one-sided.

Quickly snapping a picture or two, your mind goes blank, your camera falls and sways back against your stomach, your mouth gapes wide open, and you immediately turn away from the intimate moment. You don’t know why you were feeling this way, a slight stab of your chest after seeing a man you can’t help but find strangely charming kissing another woman, but you do know none of this should be your business in the first place.

You and Yoongi are merely acquaintances—in fact, he’s a celebrity and you’re a paparazzi spying on his whereabouts. Who are you to wish you were in that woman’s shoes?

Hastily checking the pictures you had managed to take in the spur of the moment, the blurriness of over half the images render a sigh from you and your novice-like photos. Truly, Solji must be an expert at this. You’re not meant for this type of work. Nonetheless, at least there are two pictures as clear as crystal. One of Yoongi and the woman in the midst of the intimate moment—which never fails to bring a gut wrenching and twisting sensation of your conscience—and one zoomed in on the woman’s face. Releasing your camera and rubbing your throbbing temples, you skimper your way back to the parking lot only to pace back and in an attempt to get your mind off the situation.

Ultimately, this line of work proves to be out of your reach when you decide not to release these two specific photos; you don’t know why you feel this sense of loyalty to this man, but you just can’t betray someone who had helped you out.

“Hey! Are you here for some inside scoops, as well? Did you manage to get any photos?”

A squeaky albeit oddly soothing voice captures your attention when you whirl around to find a girl skipping to you.

“Uh,” you furrow your brows and recall your decision, “no.”

“No way,” she muses. “The worry written all over your face tells me otherwise.”

Damn it, she’s clever. Everything about her screams at you that she’s quick to catch on; blunt bangs, long, sleek black hair tied into a half ponytail, and voice friendly yet witty in its on way. Don’t worry, two can play at that game.

“Well, yeah, that’s the problem…” you mumble and rub your left elbow. “I only managed to get this random picture of a girl on the balcony.”

Lifting your camera, you only show her the zoomed in picture of the woman where Yoongi remains out of sight. Maybe you can get some information out of her.

Surely enough, the girl cocks her head and purses her lips, “oh? She looks like the daughter of my company’s CEO!”

Why would Yoongi, a member of the BTS, be hanging out with the daughter of a CEO? Not to mention being in a relationship with her? Coincidence or not, you decide to keep the second photo a secret.

“Really?” you clear your throat. “Oh, I mean, of course. I knew that.”

The girl simply laughs and holds her hand out for you to shake, which the instinctive business woman in you obliged to take. “Yeah, that picture isn’t going to do you any good. Dozens of big companies are out here looking for partnership with the boys. Think about it this way, if even I’m here right now, then I wouldn’t be surprised to find her here,” she flashes a smile at you. “Anyways, I haven’t seen you around before. What’s your name?”

“Y/N. And your’s?”

“Xiao Lin. Xiao as in small, and Lin as in forest. You can just call me Lin, though,” she grins once again to reveal the crescent shape of her eyes, and you can’t help but stare at her in awe; as her name has it, she truly is as strikingly beautiful as the forest. “I work for the Star’s magazine. I haven’t seen many people around my age like you, so I hope we can get along! Let’s exchange numbers!”

She talks way too fast for you to catch up, so you simply nod. After getting your number and sending you a quick text, she waves you goodbye—claiming she has some important business to get to—before skipping off in the opposite direction. Within the next minute of blur, you’re left alone in the parking lot once again.

This industry really moves all too fast for you to catch up.

Figuring there’s nothing left for you to—as Lin likes to say—’scoop,’ you decide to scout out the area by ducking under all the caution tapes lining the sides of the venue. While other reporters would be staring at you with wary eyes as you trespassed and trampled on all the laws you’re probably breaking, you venture farther into the closed venue without further thought; maybe you really are a paparazzi to be feared.

Turning the corner is like turning to the sight fate had planned for you all along, because the first thing—or rather, person—you land your eyes on takes your breath away.

You shouldn’t even be surprised at this point to find Yoongi walking with the other six members of his group towards the back entrance of the venue. Bright cool light from inside the venue floods onto the boys and the ground, and it clicks to you that this would be a jaw-dropping picture to take. Figuring you had already spared Yoongi of his last potentially scandal inducing photo, this would be enough to make up for it. You can’t go home empty handed, after all.

Lifting the camera and squinting your eyes through the viewfinder, the camera shakes in your unsteady hands as your limited field of sight rocks side to side like the waves of an ocean at night. After a few seconds of hesitation, you finally muster enough courage to press down on the shutter button.

The boys immediately stop in the midst of their footsteps.

They look your way.

Your heart panics as it hammers against your chest without mercy.

Your stomach drops.

The dozens of shutter sounds you had forgotten to turn off had resonated throughout the silence of the cricket-chirping filled night and captured the attention of your victims.

You hear Yoongi sigh and you can see him storming your way in the viewfinder, despite the protests of the boys, and you’re too scared to remove the camera from covering your face like a mask. What would he say when he found out what you were doing? Would he be disappointed? Why do you even care in the first place?

“Sorry, but no cameras are allowed here,” he sternly says, gritting his teeth and burying his hands in his pockets. After a few seconds of silence, Yoongi scoffs. “I said no cameras are allowed.”

Slowly removing the camera from your face and immediately ducking your head, you mumble, “oh, sorry… I, uh, didn’t mean to—”

“—look,” he clicks his tongue and shuffles in place, shifting his weight from one leg to another and turning his head to the other direction. You don’t know what’s gotten into him, but everything from his posure to his diction scares you. He’s more intimidating than he ever was when you first met him. “I don’t have the time nor am I in the mood for this, so can you please just delete the picture now.”

“Um…”

If you showed him the list of pictures you had taken, then there really is no way to patch little of what relations you have with him when he sees the pictures of him and the woman from before; and it’s not like you really care that much if he thinks badly of you, it’s more so that even you want to spare yourself the pang of guilt for invading someone’s privacy in the first place.

“Yoongi,” someone says, walking up to place a hand on his shoulder. You peek up through the strands of the strands of hair untucked from behind your ear to find whom you believe to be Namjoon nodding at the swarm of incoming reporters off in the distance. “It won't be good if they think we’re giving her special treatment.”

Yoongi groans and turns to find you taken aback by his sudden move, the both of you staring into each other’s widening eyes in sudden recognition. “You…? What? Why?”

“I—”

“—just come with us for now,” he sighs, grabbing your hand and pulling you as you jolt forward at the sudden change of pace.

Yoongi and the boys escort—or more accurately, drag—you to the backstage of their venue. Aside from filled clothing racks and vanity mirrors, the chic black carpeted room is relatively emptier than you expected. The six boys begin filing in one by one whereas Yoongi immediately plops to one of the black leather couches seated in the center. Hands fumbling with your camera, your timid eyes alternate between the unamused stoic glare on Yoongi’s face and the boys’ helpless shrugs and shifty eyes. The silence is all too deafening until you realize this is probably your cue to take a seat for further interrogation; and so, reluctantly, you trudge onwards into the dangers of Yoongi’s cold, threatening gaze which follows you as you make your way to the matching black leather couch right across from him.

“So,” he finally breaks the silence, sitting forward and folding his hands in his lap. In any situation other than this, you would've found the cold color of his blood drained gaze and the popping veins of his slender albeit rough looking hands rather enticing, but tonight it only brought goosebumps to you all the more. “Explain yourself.”

The piercing stare of his startles you as you shift in your seat uncomfortably. Averting your line of sight away from him and to the carpet, you hook one hand over your left elbow and attempt to control your hitched breathing. You had forgotten how silent he could be, especially in times of strife, for the tick of the clock is all that you hear as he patiently waits for an answer.

You know you're in the wrong, but why do you of all times have to be the unlucky one who's caught? It's not like you even wanted to come here in the first place. Just reevaluating your life choices and regrets brings heat to your cheeks as you grit your teeth and lower your head in shame. How're you supposed to explain yourself? What does he even want to hear? You broke the rules and snapped a few pictures of him; plain and simple. Simply bumping into him an hour prior doesn't make you two buddies, so what does he mean by explaining yourself?

The boys standing in the back of the room glance at each other like deers caught in the headlight before suddenly announcing, “we actually forgot to check our mics for tonight's show, so uh, we'll be back guys!”

No, no, please don't leave me alone with him, you chant in your head and attempt to convey through desperate eyes. Unfortunately for you, each one of the boys avoid both you and Yoongi’s gaze as they hastily shuffle out of the room.

Boom; the door slams closed and the silence ensues. It's just the two of you; you and Yoongi, and there's nothing stopping him from scolding you about things you already know you're ashamed of—

“—hey, I'm sorry if I'm being too harsh on you,” Yoongi’s apology snaps you out of your nightmare. He shakes his folded hands as if to reiterate his message before looking straight at your widened eyes, “the boys and I have been dealing with shitty paparazzis or news reporters or whatever they call themselves lately.”

“Oh no,” you quickly interject and shake your head. “I should be the one apologizing right now.”

Yoongi quirks a brow at the sudden confession you had been so reluctant to give just a few seconds ago and softly chortles, “yeah, but I was especially harsh to you out there. I'm sorry. I didn't know it was you.”

What does being you have to do with anything? Just because you two happen to have some sort of what you can barely call a connection? You wish he would stop proving you wrong like this, treating you more kindly than his cold front lets off to be, because it only makes you feel all the more guilty.

“It's… okay,” you meekly say, sheepishly averting your eyes to the ground. Why is he the one apologizing? You're the one trying to make a profit out of his basic human rights. “I'm… sorry… for taking those pictures when I shouldn't have.”

Yoongi chuckles, shifting in his seat before leaning in once again. You haven't noticed until now how attentive of a man he is. “I sure hope you were actually looking for a restroom and not taking advantage of me earlier—”

“—oh no!” you blurt out and profusely shake your head. You don't know why you're trying to clear any misconceptions he has of you when there's no chances of you two meeting again. “I really… actually needed a restroom. So… thank you… for that.”

He only shakes his head, as though to tell you it isn’t a big deal.

“So…” his intent gaze never budget from your timid ones. “You're a paparazzi? Or are you a paparazzi in training? Because from what I see, you're quite inexperienced.”

“Oh, I'm…” your voice trails off as you ponder over just how much you can reveal. There's no harm in telling him the truth, is there? At least not when you've already been caught red-handed. “I'm not usually in this… line of work…? Someone gave me this camera and asked me to step in for them…” Yoongi slowly nods with the quirk of a brow and frowning lips as you continue to fumble around with the camera hanging from your neck. “Yeah, I'm not really a fan—I mean, you boys are great and all—but you don't have to worry about me taking advantage of you guys.”

He nods, and you can't help but notice how the downturn of his pressed lips soften the usual edges of his jawline. “And what company do you work for?”

“Um…” you drawl before quickly blurting, “Stars Magazine.”

Sorry Lin.

“Figures,” he shrugs. “They always go to extreme lengths to write their disgusting ‘articles' on.”

“...what kind of extreme lengths?”

He takes a few seconds to answer, “things like hiding in our closets.”

“Oh, that's absolutely terrible,” you frown, scrunching your nose. As sly as paparazzi can be, you can't exactly imagine Lin carrying out things like that. You look up to find Yoongi nodding his head with raised, knitted brows, as if to point out the irony in you demeaning the company you supposedly work for. Shaking your head and raising your hands, you immediately retort, “but they're just my boss! I don't agree with the things they do to you guys at all.”

Yoongi presses his lips into a thin line and nods, finally reclining his back against the couch only to cross one leg over the other and fold his hands over his knees once again. “If this isn't the line of work you're usually in, then what do you usually do?”

“I'm a journalist,” you explain, “and an aspiring writer; I write short stories on the side at times… though they're not exactly doing well.”

He quirks a brow, “oh? So is this your last attempt to appease your employers?”

Ouch. He's rather curt with his words, but in a way, it's the harsh truth.

Nibbling your bottom lip, you break eye contact to stare at the ground in loss of dignity. “...yeah. Hard for you to relate to, huh?”

“Actually, no,” he slightly cocks his head and cinches his brows with a half-smile half-frown. “I see you really aren't a fan. The boys and I actually came from the very bottom of this industry. Our agency wasn't well known at all, so we didn't get the head start most groups get under their agencies.”

“That must’ve been tough…”

He nods, eyes lowering to the ground as he reminisces. “Yeah, it was hard to get by, we could barely survive off of the money we were making; in fact, sometimes I even wanted to quit,” he chuckles and shakes his head before looking straight at you, nearly causing you to flinch. The voice filled with sincerity and the message of sympathy that comes from the depth of his heart resonates in this one gaze of his, and for a short minute, you feel like you’re swimming in the warmth of the ocean in the middle of winter that is his eyes. “But I’m glad I didn’t. People recognize talent. Music transcends all corruption in this industry. Unfortunately, the world you’re living in right now once was the only world I ever knew, but you’ll get through it. I promise. Your talent will be recognized.”

His words—no, it’s his voice that tugs at your heartstrings right this moment. How could someone so successful, talented, and acknowledged understand you to such a level? Anyone at his level of fame would lose all traces of humility; so who is this person sitting right before you? Him giving up his words, his time, and his own dignity to reach out to a person like you? A mere stranger? There isn’t a single person you’ve met in this industry like him. For once in several years, you actually feel like you’re not alone.

The wonders of his words strikes you to the point of silence, lost in a reverie, until he clears his throat after checking the watch on his right wrist. Standing up and offering you a helping hand, he presses his lips into a small smile, “the show is about to start soon, so unfortunately I have to get the both of us going.”

Walking down the halls, Yoongi escorts you out of the back exit of the venue and into the ice cold wrath of the winter. Other than the clicking of your heels and his dress shoes, the silence of the night shared between the two of you is oddly soothing. You want to say something to fill the silence, but at the same time you don’t in fear of breaking this precious mystical moment.

After walking you down to the end of the hall near the parking lot, Yoongi stops in the midst of his tracks and retracts his hands from his pockets. You raise a brow at him and he just chuckles, “I don’t think we’re ever going to meet again, but I’d still like to know your name and I don’t think I ever got it.”

“Me?” you emphasize and he just nods. Is a celebrity asking for your name? “Y/L/N. Ms. Y/L/N.”

“No,” he deadpans. “Your first name, and if we do ever meet again, quit calling me Mr. Min.”

You try to suppress your smile by biting your bottom lip, “I’m Y/N.”

“Well, Y/N,” he grabs your hand dangling by your side and firmly shakes it in midair, “I guess this is farewell. Also, you can keep the picture.”

“What? Why?” you protest. “I’ll even delete it in front of you if you want!”

He shakes his head, “it’s not a big deal. I only lashed out at you because I was in a bad mood. If a simple picture like that can help save one career—your career—then I’m more than happy to risk mine.”

Ah. Did your heart just skip or did you just forget to breathe?

“Oh…” you mumble, smiling at the ground, “okay then—”

“—Min Yoongi!”

“Mr. Min!”

“Look over here!”

Out of the blue, you hear yells roaring down from the ends of the street as the both of you dart your attention to the swarm of people dressed in black running towards the venue. Some carried bright white lights that flashed and blinked as their partners continuously snapped photos of the two of you as they sprinted their way over, forcing the both of you to raise your hands above your heads and cast shadows upon your squinting eyes.

“Fucking hell, of all times,” you hear Yoongi curse under his breath.

The next thing you know, microphones are being shoved into your face, people invading your personal bubble, crowds surrounding you from all sides and encircling the both of you as they continue to scream incoherent questions phrased like orders at you.

Are you, the supposed paparazzi, being ambushed by other paparazzi?

The flash of the lights and yells of their voices spanning from all ages and genders begin to blur and you think you’re about to pass out until Yoongi places his hand on your left arm to push you protectively behind him.

Ah, even at times like this, you can’t help but gaze at Yoongi in awe. He would’ve been a fine man to chase if he weren’t a celebrity. Too bad you’re just a struggling, broken journalist while he’s the entire world’s dominating heartthrob.

“We just saw you two at the front of the venue half an hour ago!” one woman says.

“Is this an under the desk deal?” another man questions.

“Are you working with another company under the public’s radar? Is your success thanks to these deals made behind our backs?!” a woman shrieks, pushing a microphone into Yoongi’s unamused face.

“Or are you giving her exclusive interviews? And why her?”

“Is she a fan? Are you taking advantage of your fans? Sleeping and discarding them as you like?”

In sudden distraught, Yoongi groans and speaks through gritted teeth so softly that the entire crowd hushes to silence aside from the shutter sounds of their DSLRs. “The boys and I aren’t working with any other agencies except BigHit. We’re making our way up the industry fair and square based on our efforts, talents, and fans who have recognized us for those alone. We would never take advantage of them.”

“Then who is she?” they quickly retort. “And why is she leaving with you alone from the back?”

Peering up to glance at Yoongi, you find him squinting at the man who had asked the question. On the plaque of his microphone writes “BIGHIT ENTERTAINMENT” in large letters. He groans loudly and curses under his breath something about “so this is what you want Bang PD,” before raising his voice, “her?”

Even at a time like this, you can’t help but sigh in disappointment for being unable to help him in times of strife. Moments like these make you realize how distant your world remains from him. Lost in your trance, you come to acknowledge how unworthy you are, especially when you recall the woman on the balcony he must have been in a relationship with.

“I’m sorry for dragging you into this, Y/N,” he turns around to mumble something quietly to you before grabbing your hand in his, pulling you forward by his side, raising your entangled hands where everyone could see and declares, “she’s my girlfriend.”

The entire universe didn't know it then, but those three words had opened the gates to your grand entree as you take the world and media by storm.

The first ink of your story has only just been blotted.

#yoongi x you #yoongi x reader #yoongi scenarios #bts x reader #bangtan bookclub #ot7network #suga x you #suga x reader #yoongi angst #yoongi fluff #bts imagines #suga angst #suga fluff #bts x you #bts fanfic #yoongi fanfic #suga fanfic #taechubs

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rarespine · 5 years

Text

What Lurks Below

I’m going to die. Plain and simple, the end of the road is pretty near for me. I’m floating around in space, alone inside the small scavenger ship that has been my home for what feels like an eternity now. I have no idea what time it is, or even what day it is… But honestly, does that really matter? It’s all the same out here in the empty black void, and the concept of time is now lost on me. At some point, I was heading back to Earth after an intensely bad asteroid mining run… but now getting home is just a pipe dream.

So here I am, propped up in the pilots chair with nothing but a pen, an old instruction manual to write on, and a story to tell. I’ve got limited ship power to spare, so the ship’s systems have all been powered down save for life support and basic dimmed lighting – and they won’t last much longer by my estimation. So I better get this thing done. If someone out there happens to be reading this over my dead body… Give me a proper send off, please?

Now, being a one man crew wasn’t initially the plan, but being a one man operation does mean 100% of the profits, right? I’m such an idiot. Plus, do you want to know what the real kicker is? I’m losing my mind. I’m going insane. I’m actually going bat-shit crazy with what I’ve seen and heard!

It all started happening during an otherwise routine mining expedition. I had been feeling a bit more tired and lethargic than usual, but I put that down to needing time to acclimate back to space – Life out here is a lot different than back at my apartment in Neo Melbourne (The Australian Empire represent!... how I miss it). I had discovered a small asteroid field in the region between Jupiter and Saturn, way beyond the usual hotspots in the asteroid belt on the other side of good ol’ Jupe. It wasn’t a United Galaxy Federation sanctioned zone, but what they didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them.

The trip wasn’t much of a problem for my (admittedly tiny) ship’s FTL drive, but there was always the concern about space pirates. A risk I was willing to take for a big score of course… and boy did I find one. After combing through the field for a little while, I found a small group with several small objects and one massive asteroid. Like, I’m talking unusually huge here for what is normally seen inside sanctioned mining zones.

There was a shimmer about it too, an almost neon reflective glow to it as you moved around it. The rock almost seemed to be stuck in place, as though it was unmoving and held still by an invisible hand. I was honestly a bit unsettled at first, but that quickly gave way to excitement. Big score! One big thought came to mind; could this potentially be some kind of exotic material that nobody has seen before, or at the very least an extremely rare mineral? I had to collect some of this and take it back home, make a big score, and then sneak back to my little secluded spot for more!

Now, I know my ship is far too small to be making any kind of safe operation on such a large and potentially unstable rock, but I could not pass up this seemingly once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. I went in very slowly and carefully towards the asteroid, and when my landing gear made contact with the side of it, the ship shuddered violently as if the asteroid was trying to shake it off. I honestly thought she was going to tear in half! All told that lasted only several seconds and then everything instantly calmed down. Nerves pretty rattled, I decided to get on with it. This turned out to be another stupid move.

I prepared the ship’s drilling instruments to do their thing, and after a bit of messing about with control panels and whatnot, got the job started. As soon as the drills hit the rock there was an immense sound; a painfully strong echo that shook the ship and pained the ears. I’ll never forget the sound – it was as though a thousand orca whales cried… no, screamed out in unison. It was a horrific sound.

Next thing I knew, I woke up floating around the ship. I had blacked out and the gravity module in the ship was knocked offline. I don’t know exactly how long I was out for, but I was still on the rock and the ship was subtly shaking – no, more like vibrating. My ears were still ringing like mad, and upon closer inspection with my fingers, had bled due to ruptured eardrums. However long I had blacked out for, it was enough time for the blood to clot and dry.

I gathered myself as best I could and made plans to get off this thing. Whatever was wrong with this asteroid, I wanted nothing to do with it. After trying to retract the drilling instruments (they wouldn’t retract and snapped off… of course!), I decided to just get the hell out of here. As the ship’s landing gear released its suction pads and took off, I rolled the ship facing where I had landed to see the damage. Sure enough, my drills were still down there – snapped off and stuck in the surface. But that wasn’t the thing that caught my attention the most. Long cracks spread out from the impact point the drills had made, and these went further up the surface then I could see from my viewpoint. These long cracks originating from such a small and insignificant hole left behind by the drills. It made no sense!

I decided not to give it much more thought and to just get the heck out of there. It was then that I noticed it wasn’t my ship that was slightly vibrating – it was the asteroid. Since logic had gone out the window the moment I saw this thing, I didn’t want to think about it any longer.

Initially I full throttled the ship out of there, but once I got far enough away to feel a bit safer, slowed her right down to do a diagnostics check. She was in a bad way, but still workable. My Faster-Than-Light warp drive was still functioning, which meant getting home shouldn’t be a problem. What was an issue, however, was that the systems power was draining far quicker than it had any right to be. Not being a trained engineer, I had no idea where to even start with it. But a few simple math problems later, I realised I’d have enough to FTL out of here and to get at least within orbit of Earth before the ship went into forced emergency power mode. After finally reaching a safe enough FTL spot, I spun it up and prepared to jump.

Vital Systems functional? Check. Gravity back on? Not vital but far more comfortable. So check. FTL drive stable? Check. Ship hull integrity at a safe level? Check!

With all these sorted out, I strapped in and pressed the engage button. I completed my jump and landed some way off the designated jump zones behind the Moon. Calculations were either off or the FTL malfunctioned. Worse still, I felt awful. Now, usually FTL travel is unpleasant and a bit nauseating at the best of times. It’s normal and all part of the experience. But this time, it was a totally different sensation.

Something was very, very wrong with me. My vision became really blurred, so much so that I couldn’t make out anything around me. I felt around my seat buckles and freed myself, moving out of the chair. As soon as I stood up, I fell to the ground instantly and heard the painful orca-like screaming once again. This time I didn’t just black out, no… This time I was somewhere else entirely.

Near instantaneously I was somewhere else, standing inside of a run-down and seemingly abandoned home. The room was near completely dark except for a corner of the room bathed in red light from the window opposite. I could see the paint peeling off the walls, holes the size of fists throughout and a mess of furniture such as a cradle strewn over the rotting floorboards. At this point I was one-hundred-percent sure I had lost my mind. I was probably dead in actuality. Yep, this must have been hell.

I glanced out the window and was met with the most surreal sight I’ve ever witnessed in my life. Blood red skies lined with pitch black and grey clouds, above what can only be described as utter chaos. Wherever this was, it was now unrecognisable. This could have been any of the planets that had matured human colonies and countries on them. It was then that I started hearing strange chanting. Subtle and muted at first, but quickly becoming louder and louder until I couldn’t even hear myself think. My hands instinctively cupped tightly over my ears as I made my way into other areas of the home. The sounds appeared to be coming from a room down a small flight of stairs – leading into the basement.

I wanted to run and to hide for my own safety and sanity. But yet something was drawing me towards the basement. A strange sound that appeared to underline the ongoing chanting, yet not at all in rhythm with it, and almost as if it was talking to me through its strange, incomprehensible whispers. A mix of whispering and guttural sounds all mixed into one blood chilling theme. Yet somehow it soothed me, removing all fear and feelings and placing my whole being into a numb and trance-like state. My legs began moving against my will, heading towards the basement door. One step, two steps, all the way down. The chants got louder and louder while the whispers continued to numb, and in my tranced state I slowly and calmly placed my hand upon the door handle and turned it.

The view from inside the basement became clear. Seven human figures adorned in black robes circled around a makeshift altar. It was as if these people had watched far too many old world movies, for they hit all the tropes. The stone altar was long in width; almost a bed, and covered in intricate markings and rune-like symbols. Even in the dim of the candle-lit room, these markings glowed with a bright orange-red, almost fire-like appearance.

Only one of the hooded figures stopped chanting and turned to face me when I opened the door. They pulled back their hood to reveal an older human woman with short brown hair. She stared at me for just a moment before her wrinkled mouth curled into a wicked smile. She motioned to the altar and right on command my body obeyed the order, slowly walking towards it.

I felt nothing. No fear, no sense of danger. I was trapped in a world of numbness. The strange whispers kept me dull and sedated. I reached the altar and turned to look at the old woman. She reached out and placed the palm of her left hand against my forehead, but only for a moment before motioning to lie down on the altar.

Unable to resist, and incapable of logical reasoning, I immediately did as was asked of me. Lying down and staring up at the wooden framed ceiling. Feeling absolutely no sense of dread or fear, while the hooded figures gathered closer, held me down and tied my arms and legs to hooks in the floorboards. That was, of course, until the whispers stopped. In an instant I regained my senses, head darting from side to side, the recollection of what I’ve done coming to me and forcing me to realise what a terrible mistake I had just made. I tried to yell and scream but no sound escaped. I tried moving my arms and legs in an attempt to break free, but they were bound far too tightly – there was no escape.

The robed people’s chanting grew louder and more intense. The old woman adorned her hood once again and reached inside of her robe, pulling out a large sharp knife. The blade wasn’t your ordinary murdering instrument – the metal was etched with more of the fire-like runes all across the blade, as though a madman had scrawled and scribbled all over it.

The blade was positioned above the centre of my chest, two hands firmly gripped upon the handle. I stared at the tip of the knife with the cold realisation this was it for me. The knife rose slightly and then plunged down with force. As the intense pain hit me, my eyes rolled into the back of my head and I saw things; I heard things. Things I couldn’t believe or completely comprehend. I saw a planet in utter chaos. An earthquake the likes never before seen on any civilised planet, tearing up the surface and spewing molten lava from the incredible depths below. Ash and dust blot out any hint of a sun in the sky, and threw the entire planet into instant turmoil.

The whispers returned but this time I understood nearly every single word of it. It heralded the delivery of an unholy being from below, a creature born from that planets core, incubating like a developing chick ever since time existed for that planet. Growing stronger and maturing for a day and time that it would be released to wreak havoc upon anything that lived above. How did the people here get it all so wrong? How did they not know of this and discover this sooner?

The whispers spoke of each and every planet developing and housing such monstrosities. Every single creature that lived and survived above existed solely to unwittingly feed and nurture the hell beasts below.

Then… I saw it. For a split second I had visions witnessing the arrival of this demon. In that split second I saw a creature as tall as a skyscraper. Wings like a bat, but a body with thick stone-like hide. A head that looked like an experiment between a spider and a crocodile had gone horribly, horribly wrong. Twelve eyes that were as black as the void itself adorned its freakishly big and scaly head. Then it all faded to black.

Next thing I knew I was back on the ship. I had been on the ground, lying in a pool of my own vomit and saliva, staring blankly into nothingness until I regained awareness once again. My whole body ached as though an enormous weight had been upon me the entire time. My head spun; the things I saw and witnessed still swirling in my memory. I wanted it all to have been a horrible dream, but I couldn’t explain then, how I was able to feel that knife plunging into my chest, and the intense heat of the beast arriving from the depths below.

I managed to scramble to my feet and noticed that my auto-pilot had taken control. The metal blast doors on the windows had been released, obscuring any view from outside. The control panel blared with Danger warnings, warning about intense heat and radiation. It must have gone even further off course and gotten closer to some strange anomaly. I moved to override the blast door protocols for a peek outside the ship, and once one section was pulled up I was met with the worst sight of my life so far...

I saw a planet glowing deep crimson with billowing grey clouds. The heat through the ship windows was incredibly intense so I quickly released the blast windows once more. This can’t be happening, this can’t be happening, this can’t be happening…

I pulled up the FTL screen and punched in Earth’s co-ordinates, and was met with two of the worst possible error screens. Engine failure and destination already reached. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. The realisation hit me that there was no recourse left for me. The once sacred green and blue planet was now red, grey and black.

So that’s my story. I honestly doubt anybody will be coming anywhere near this planet to even reach my ship, and that’s provided I don’t end up burning in “Earth’s” atmosphere in the first place. But whatever happened to me on this journey; whatever it was I saw in my visions… It happened. Which must mean that no planet is actually safe… Oh god… You have to warn the Federation!

-The End…?-

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