#another chapter

[nothing8ever8lasts8fourever]

DATES Pt.8

Kwon Ji-yong x f!reader

Your eyes widened in shock and you sat up in panic.

Then it hits you.

Hangover.

You barely made it to the bathroom and threw up.

You heard groan from the bedroom, sign that Jiyong is awake, or waking up.

When you finally finished your thing, you stand up and looked into the mirror.

The sight was terrible. Your hair messy, your mascara smudged into your eyebags, your lipstick on your chin and the last bits of now cakey foundation.

Damn.

“It could’ve been worse”

You mumbled under your breath and at least cleaned your messy face with water and some random make up remover, that was on sink.

At Jiyong’s bathroom you weren’t even surprised about it.

When you finally looked more like a human, you made a messy bun and walked back to bathroom.

“Ah finally”

Said Taeyang who was currently holding two glasses of water.

“What…uh…you stayed over night?”

You asked confusedly while fighting headache, and he chuckled and shook head.

“No, i went home like a normal person, but before it, me and Daesung had to literally shower Jiyong and change your clothes, because you threw up over my whole car when i was driving you home after the sushi”

He said amused, and your eyes widened. Suddenly the pain in your head wasn’t the biggest problem.

“What?”

“You heard me. It was hard to clean it, trust me. And that’s the reason Jiyong had to shower, you made mess mostly on him. But don’t worry he didn’t seem to mind it…”

He grinned and set the glasses on nightstand. You were speechless. Embarrassed.

“So you showered him and gave me clothes to change?”

You asked hoping for positive answer.

“Well…it wasn’t that smooth…i was still about drop you at your place but you were complaining and teaming up with Jiyong, telling me you want to stay at his place. I was responsible, and said no and you kinda started stripping as a threat…”

He said still with the amused grin and you were red like tomato now. You wished to stop existing now. You hoped you heard him wrong or that he will say he was joking but you knew he is serious.

“Wanna hear the rest of the story?”

He asked and you groaned, you had enough of embarrassment already but you want to know everything. You nodded and he continued.

“Daesung tried to stop your but you threw your shirt out of car window, and when i stopped the car and opened the door to go for it, you literally started screaming….at night…we were in silent neighborhood. I had enough so i got back into the car and slammed the door and drove you here. You were satisfied and when we got you two here, Jiyong got sick too so Daesung took care of him and i took you here to bedroom and helped you get changed from the tight stupid skirt. Next time you will want to show off to Jiyong, i beg you, wear something easy to take off.”

He said and you were fighting the urge to run away from this building and move out of country.

Then Jiyong who is still laying on the bed, looking like is dying, groaned again.

“I think i am gonna be sick”

He whined and Taeyang got into “parent mood” again.

“Don’t you dare throw up into the bed. I am not gonna clean it after you-Y/N hand him a bowl or whatever”

He commanded and before you could react, Daesung handed him bowl from kitchen.

“You…”

You said confused but couldn’t even finish the sentence because Jiyong got sick and Taeyang started “supporting” him.

“Yeah…into the bowl…”

He said with slight disgust in eyes and Daesung literally clapped his hands.

“Wow, you aimed it good, man…unlike yesterday”

He scoffed and leaned against the doorway. You walked past his out of the room and groaned as the bright light hit your sensitive eyes.

“Can you ask him where do he have painkillers?”

You asked Daesung and he took is at another opportunity to entertain himself with Jiyong’s hard morning.

“Hey, hyung, your “jagiya” is asking where you hiding painkillers”

He smirked and Jiyong immediately looked at him and couched.

“Excuse me?”

You asked and Jiyong pained scoffed.

“What? He called you that yesterday when you were falling asleep”

Daesung informed and Jiyong shook head so fast that you almost started questioning if he really have the hangover.

“I didn’t-no I didn’t-“

“Save it, man. You both were mess. You just don’t remember it…”

Taeyang tried to calm him down but Daesung was just warming up.

“And maybe you forget even that you two sweethearts were cuddling before you finally fell asleep”

“No we didn’t”

You scoffed. You wished he was joking. You really wished he did….

“Really? Because i have photos…i documented a big part of the night. My personal favorite is video where Jiyong thought that Taeyang was you and kissed him-”

His passionate talk was interrupted by Jiyong who gagged again as he imagined it and Taeyang fake-disappointed sighed.

“That was mean, Ji”

He said and patted his back.

Poor you. The painkillers were forgotten now and you didn’t ask again because who knows what else could you find out about yesterday’s night.

————————————————————————

Taeyang and Daesung left you finally alone when they agreed you can take care of yourself without their help around noon.

When your hangover got better you even had energy to go to balcony.

You had cold water in your hand and Jiyong was sipping coffee.

“Isn’t the life just beautiful without them?”

He asked sarcastically while lighting a cigarette and you scoffed and looked down at the streets under you.

“For second i wanted to defend them but i hate that they remember more than we do…”

You admitted and he hummed as sign that he agree.

“Well…i don’t remember much, and it probably could’ve ended better but…i still enjoyed it and i am glad i had the chance to celebrate my birthday with you…”

He looked like he have more to say but paused for minute and took hit from the cigarette probably for courage and then nudged you with his elbow and smiled.

“What would you say if i asked you out…like real third date? No Daesung. No Taeyang. No club…real date”

He asked quietly, almost holding breath while waiting for your answer.

You felt the beautifully weird feeling in your stomach and looked at him. You noticed that he is fidgeting with his ring…is he nervous?

It’s kinda funny. At first date he was so confident and now he look self-conscious.

You looked down and back at him.

“Real third date?”

“Yeah…real third date”

He said and you smiled.

“Okay…but fourth date will be in my lead.”

That made him laugh.

He covered his mouth with the hand that he is holding the cigarette in, and looked at the the city.

When the last happy sound escaped his mouth he nodded and turned to you.

“Fourth date is yours, you have my word”

I am sorry that this chapter took so long. Honestly i was demotivated, but i am still trying to write because i love this story and i don’t want you to wait too long. Thank you for reading, byee <33

[skatejoy]

View this post on Instagram

It’s happening!! Look how happy she looks. This team has serious potential to create waves in the ice dancing world. I was a big fan of Hawayek/Baker and their story felt unfinished, so I’m happy for Jean-Luc to have another opportunity. Please skate for Canada!!

[beecass]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Chapters: 3/? Fandom: The Long Walk (Movie 2025), The Long Walk - Richard Bachman Rating: Explicit Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Ray Garraty/Peter McVries Characters: Ray Garraty, Peter McVries, Hank Olson, Art Baker, Stebbins (The Long Walk), Collie Parker, Harkness (The Long Walk), Jan (The Long Walk), Priscilla (The Long Walk), Gary Barkovitch Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Childhood Friends, Childhood Friends, Childhood Friends to Lovers, Fluff and Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Denial of Feelings, Internalized Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Unrequited Love, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Eventual Happy Ending, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, Eventual Smut, Growing Up Together, Break Up Talk, but they are not even together yet, eventual, Alternate Universe - College/University Summary:

When Pete's parents die in a car crash when he is only eight and he moves in to live with his uncle, he feels tired, sad and alone. But when he sees this strawberry blond hair freckled boy smile and wave at him from across the street, something sparks in him and maybe he had already made a new friend.

 ----

Or in which Pete and Ray meet as kids and grow up together, and maybe, just maybe, they fall in love with each other a little too much.

[millennial-queer]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

IM BACK BITCHES

*said with only love and joy and gratitude for everyone’s patience as I try to find motivation to write again*

…With a little kinktober twist 🌶️

@youngroyals-events

[of-tatooine]

DULCE PERICULUM. | CHAPTER VI - CLEAR

supremest wisdom, and primeval love.

(John Wick x Reader, Santino d'Antonio x Reader)

full work

This was the place.

It must have been. It existed in your memories, the forgotten crumbs of moments laying bare right in front of you.

Through the tinted windows of the backseat in the armored vehicle, an extension of Camorra’s constant protection over you - your eyes staggered momentarily on the grand 18th century wooden doors, encrusted in the brick and stone that stretched for floors upwards.

Hidden in plain sight. Evil, crime and all that was unholy, being led by the seemingly normal, historic building. Did the ordinary pedestrians, many who walked near or across the stronghold every single hour, have the slightest idea of what was transpiring inside? The extent of detail flowing through plans to spill yet more blood or to transport even more drugs? The bourbon and whiskey consumed by men after an operation that paid well?

Would they change their morning commute had they known?

With the amount of corruption running rampant in the city that never slept - people would always go out of their way to blissfully ignore.

It was not much different back in il Bel Paese, and you would be damned to be a hypocrite as a pin of the underworld yourself. Camorra’s limbs extending all over the crevices, stones and doors adorning the narrow streets of Napoli - yet, people still drank on the streets, chanting the songs of their victorious football team, melodies leaving their way into hurled curses on some nights. Almost every restaurant in the town owed something to a Camorra boss somewhere, with money flowing into eventually the lifestyle that you led, but did not ask for. Yet - people still frequented the establishments, ordering the finest the fair city had to offer.

And, to think, this was only where it began.

It often hurt to think just how vast and interconnected this web was, jumping from city to city, port to port. Just how many souls were involved. The notion of Camorra almost seemingly incorporated into real life itself - becoming one with the city, with the population, with the beliefs and the traditions.

It was embedded in the pavement stones of Roma, in the bronze of the angels that protected the holy land. Gleaming in the intricate cuts of pink and green marble adorning il Duomo, ever withstanding centuries. Etched onto the mosaics in their lazy trail across cliffs, into the deep, turquoise eternity.

A sentient presence among all corners of the country, blurring the lines of morality wherever it touched in the outside world.

Until it bled the people dry.

Until men were beaten to a pulp in the dimly-lit back alleys on a cold winter night, limping to get home till morning come - because the count had not been right. Until bullets started whizzing in the air upon a missing kilogram. Until an innocent died at a road ambush in the countryside.

For you, it had not taken years to grow accustomed to the ruthless truth of the source of your estate, the grandeur. Of your place in the world.

It was all you knew, your only version of reality, from the moment you gained consciousness.

Was it rightful? Earned? All you had to do was to be born into it, into the right family with the right connections. At least that was what the Camorra told you, when they took you under their wing.

Sometimes, in this life, there are choices.

Sometimes, they have already been made for you.

Everyone in the underworld was tied to each other by an invisible thread, that would get pulled on or snipped off sooner or later.

Tarasov had been no different. It was the same, when it came to members of the mob, they were all the same - except they were Russians.

Direct, straight to the point. In times, even more ruthless than what your clan could become. A little too reckless at times, yet devout to tradition. To the century-old ways of living and letting die.

Like every crime lord you had the luxury of being in their vicinity in this lifetime - they always got what they wanted, one day or another, late or early.

As the car stalled in the empty space, the chauffeur respectfully waiting - you would take out your phone, nimble fingers typing a quick sono qui to the one who waited for you back at home.

I have made it.

He had briefly mentioned plans to take a couple of days to travel to Piacenza, to his father’s estate, where he resided with the looming sickness, far out in the countryside with an army of doctors and guards. Time had not been on his side, and would never be at his age. As much as Santino wished health on his father - decay was the one thing he could not change, even with all the power and funds he had. It could not be stopped.

Time.

It either healed you, or it broke you down.

“Grazie, amore,” came his fast text momentarily, making your lips curl upwards in a moment of courage.

“Buona fortuna.”

Packing up your tote and thanking your driver, the suited guard on the passenger seat exited quickly to help you down the backseat of the tall SUV. Clicking heels across the concrete took you to the doors, guards giving you a quick once over and opening the gates to the dark, moody entrance covered in the deepest mahogany paneling.

The door closed right behind you in a fleeting moment.

“Welcome to New York,” your escort that appeared out of the shadows would speak in a heavy Russian accent, earning a nod from you. “Viggo had been waiting for you.”

“Thank you,” you responded, walking through dimly lit halls leading up to an elevator. The seemingly short ride up would take you to the top floor, exiting out in a grand foyer with windows overlooking the silhouette of the city, filling in the moody room with slivers of natural light behind crimson velvet curtains. The distant crackling sound of a fireplace echoing in the tall ceilings. Finest examples of taxonomy glared at you from the walnut-paneled walls, doors opening up to you as a known voice welcomed you in. The guard staying right outside, clicking the door shut - sealing you in for the job.

You had been here before, but not like this. Everything felt so familiar, yet so alien. The passing months and years seemed to long, yet it was closer than you recalled. The days had flown by, memories fresh yet forgotten, human beings being lost in the cacophony of everyday life.

The dreams, however, did not cease to remind you from time to time.

Dreams that took place in this very room, a fleeting moment in time, etched onto unknown corners.

Where you had met him.

“It’s always a pleasure to have you in our fine city,”  the older Tarasov spoke in the deep accent, slowly getting up from his vast mahogany desk, polished shoes tapping against the hardwood as he took your outstretched hand to press a fleeting kiss on your knuckles in greeting.

“Thank you for having me,” you offered with a respectful smile as you unbuttoned the coat with a single hand, gesturing the armchairs sprawled across the burning fireplace, the center of his office. “May I?”

“Please. Coffee?” he asked, as he walked to his perfectly stocked personal bar that was places as yet another center of attention, dark walnut and black marble blending in seamlessly, contrasting the bright bottles and glasses.

“Or better yet, as is tradition - some vodka?”

“Grazie,” you would politely declined, even though you knew the jetlag would get the worst of you by the evening as you took your coat off with habitual ease, draping it across the armrest and sat with your legs crossed, waiting on the mob boss to join you for the long-awaited chat.

Business. That was what you were there for. The atmosphere was eerie, in the early lights of the quiet and calm morning, with Viggo pouring a small drink for himself as the glasses clinked. It was always unsettling and intimidating to get into the conversation - after all, with men this powerful, all bets could be off the table. Unpredictability came with the occupation most of the time.

Your eyes would trail to the tall windows, lazily letting in sunlight - now partially covered in thick, velvet curtains. Unobstructed views that many could only wish for.

That had been where he stood as you had stormed in the room, one of the times where the anger had manifested externally.

With his hands in his pockets, deep in thought, his hair slicked back in what you would discover to be his signature style. His dark stare catching you by surprise from the first time your eyes met, it did not matter if it had been a millisecond.

The first time you saw the man behind the rumors, in flesh, in this very room, mere years ago - the details of the snapshot of a moment carved in stone.

There had been no curtains back then.

A man of fine taste, Viggo tended to change things up every once in a while. The furniture had changed, no expense spared - yet the comfort was there. As comfortable as you could get with a mob boss who had districts under his thumb, that was. Your body straightened itself as Viggo took a seat in front of you, setting his crystal glass on the nearby drink table. He had donned a thick gray suit to combat the icy New York cold that morning, complete with a red shirt and burgundy tie tucked into his three piece.

His presence could be felt, just as much as his style and décor choices, as he spoke, albeit his voice was of a leisurely nature.

“Before business, let us be friends,” he offered with a slight smile. “Tell me, how’s life been on your side of the world?”

“As you know - business as usual,” you would start, as old-fashioned as you could be sometimes, taking out a small notebook from your purse. “Trying to help a friend out.”

“Ah, yes, of course,” he nodded, taking a sip of the drink. “I gathered you are here to ask something of me. Must be very important if it had you travel all the way over here.” Tarasov leaned back, sitting comfortably with the glass resting in his hand.

By that point, you had understood the sarcasm slightly laced in his voice, yet you had a feeling it was not targeted at you necessarily - but for what you stood for.

He believed your efforts were futile, a hint of a smirk stretching his lips.

He believed it could not be done.

“Santino requested I help with the fulfillment of task. I need names, Viggo,” you spoke, clear, articulate yet soft, looking to meet his eyes.

“And your word to honor what you promised John.”

The man first looked amused, letting his drink rest on the coffee table, learning towards you. “Now, why would you think I would not?”

“Just covering my bases this time.”

“I am a man of my word,” he added, voice lower, his jaw clenching slightly. “I suggest you do not pry that further.”

The air in the room tightened.

“Absolutely,” you replied with a knowing yet kind smile.

It did not make sense to ever anger a Russian mob boss.

Much to your slight surprise, the man offered a light chuckle, shaking his head in disbelief. “I will give you whatever information I have - not that I have much,” he would concede without much of a fight required.

“But, just so we are clear,” he would start, elbows on knees as his icy stare got closer to yours, “ - there is a reason this is called an impossible task.”

“It simply cannot be done.”

Another crackle of the burning wood would echo across the wood paneling, the orange flames illuminating the side of your face, lips tilted upwards as you opened up your small notebook, looking through your lashes as the words flowed.

“Let’s see what we can do, Mr. Tarasov.”

[storywriter12]

Thoes 3 little words

❤️I love you ❤️

They've had a hell of a week john got beaten up.harold got kidnapped, Frusco got shot and Carter got stabbed john just came back from the hospital when he got outside the new york wind felt fresh on his face he rubbed the exhaustion away from his eyes and face he huffed as he's eyes shut all what he wanted was harold

Harold and John have been seeing each other now for two months, and John can't lie. Those two months have been the best of his life. He's happy with Harold,Harold completes him, and yet they haven't said those three words yet. He knows both of them have wanted to. Just last week, he knew harold wanted to, but he just smiled sweetly at him and kissed his cheek

John arrived to his and Harold's flat he put his keys in the bowl on the table and took of his shoes the smell of burnt wood wiggled at his nose and the warmth from the fire made him feel home I little smile came to his face as he started to walk to the couch where harold sat he of course didn't hear him come in he was in his little world. One of John's hands went into Harold's hair which made him jump but he didn't pull away. John's hand stroked his hair softly as he sat back on the sofa. He kissed Harold's neck softly, one of his other hands wrapped around his stomach. He pulled him close, Harold put down his cup and let John pull him to his body. The warmth of John made Harold feel safe and loved "h..ho how'Joss?" He's voice sounded sad when he asked and worried

(John)she'll be fine, harold

John said kissing the top of Harold's head a breath was released from Harold's mouth like a relief he felt better knowing that john tilted Harold's chin and kiss his lips softly harold kissed him back of course making a soft moan the kiss lasted a few more seconds and john pulled away resting his head on harold forehead

(John)I love you

John said as in a whisperer harold barely heard it

(Harold)I love you to john

They kissed again and cuddled next to the fire with of them.just wanted to live in that moment right now. No one was getting hurt they both didn't need to rush anywhere it was just them

[glbtrx]

Chapters: 6/? Fandom: The Inheritance Cycle - Christopher Paolini Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Galbatorix/Morzan (Inheritance Cycle) Characters: Murtagh Morzansson, Galbatorix (Inheritance Cycle), Morzan (Inheritance Cycle), Brom (Inheritance Cycle), Selena (Inheritance Cycle) Additional Tags: little murtagh, Galbatorix is a third parent, not everything is so tragic, Galbatorix babysitting, morzan is under a lot of stress forgive him Summary:

During a ball, a tragic accident... Casually happens. Luckily Galbatorix and Murtagh are there as well.

[sanguinary-design]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Here's the next chapter!

Remember when I lost my mind about a year and a half ago? Well, it's still happening and you can all bear witness. Hope you enjoy <3