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Vice - BTS Mafia Au
Mafia!BTS x reader
Summary: After finding yourself in a desperate situation, you’re foolish enough to do anything for money, and you somehow find yourself held captive by the members of Seoul’s most ruthless gang, Bangtan.
Warnings: strong language, no smut (yet;)))
Authors Note: just finished watching The Gentlemen and I’m incredibly inspired to right a mafia/drug lord fic lol. This is the first fic I’ve posted so feedback is encouraged!
Chapter 2
Friday couldn’t come soon enough. I’d be lying if I told you I wasn’t a little bit nervous about this whole ordeal, but I’m hoping to get it over with as soon as possible, plus, Hyunwoo will pay me tomorrow.
Despite the fact that his comment was mostly sarcastic and just another way to try and get a rise out of me, I did make sure to follow his advice, and dress up a bit.
After class on Thursday night, I treated myself to a shopping trip in my local thrift store. That store has saved my life (and social status) on multiple occasions.
I picked a beautiful dress that complimented my figure to perfection. Although second hand, it was glamorous enough to convince the other guests that I belonged there, but not too stand-outish to draw any unwanted attention to myself. It was perfect.
I paired it with some matching stilettos I found on sale, and a small, pendant necklace that once belonged to my grandmother, that I took when I ran from home.
Without owning any method of transport to get myself to the address Hyunwoo gave me, I took the bus for the first half of the journey, and walked for a good 45 minutes after I got off.
Now that I’ve finally arrived, my feet are in fucking agony. I definitely didn’t think my shoe choice through very thoroughly. But that’s the last thing on my mind as I stare up at the building in front of me in awe.
The location of the gathering was in a luxury manor on the outskirts of the city (thus why I had to travel so far to get here.) beguilingly intricate designs are sculpted into the buildings exterior, as well as classic stained glass windows. Ridiculously expense cars ranging from Porches to Mustangs to Mclarens were parked outside, serving as another reminder of the kind of people I would be dealing with tonight.
My heels click against the marble stairs as I make my way towards the entrance. Despite my intention to keep a low profile, I can’t help but feel like everyone’s eyes are on me, or maybe I’m just paranoid.
I pass the fake invitation Hyunwoo hooked me up with to the doorman, with my fake ID at ready in my other hand incase he asked for it. Much to my luck, he simply looked it over once and sent me a nod, I exhaled, not even realising I had been holding my breath.
I slipped my fake ID into my bra for safekeeping, and made my way inside. The interior mirrors the grandness and sheer beauty of the outside of the building. Expensive art pieces stand on display all across the main hall, with aristocrat-like guests wandering around.
For a moment, I feel suddenly overwhelmed, as if it had only just hit me the kind of situation I was putting myself in. I quickly shook away the thought, the faster i get the job done, the sooner I’m out of here.
I waste no time making my way through the corridor Hyunwoo had instructed me to go down. Now that I’m here, I’m incredibly thankful for his directions because it would have been hopeless for me to even attempt to navigate this place by myself.
I climb the stairs as he had instructed, and enter the third door on my left. I breathe a sigh of relief seeing that no one was inside the room. God knows how I would have got myself out of that situation.
The room is a spacious office, with built-in bookshelves on the walls and a magnificent victorian era desk standing proud in the center of the expanse.
I hurriedly make my way around desk and tug on the handle of the bottom drawer, but it stays jammed shut. “fuck” I muttered under my breath. It’s locked. I crane my neck to look over the desk, just to ensure that no one was coming.
I reach into my hair that I had styled before leaving the trailer, and pulled out a hair pin. Using my teeth, I bend it, and then jam it into the keyhole. After jiggling it about for a good few seconds, I hear a small click and the drawer opens slightly.
I silently thank my brother for teaching me that trick when we were kids. Coming from a family of junkies does have some benefits.
Just as Hyunwoo had said there would be, a pristine black briefcase sits perfectly inside the drawer. I pull it out and rest it on my knees, surprisingly, it didn’t require a passcode to open it.
I know I shouldn’t snoop, but I’m already stealing from Koreas most dangerous organisation, so it’s not like it will be the riskiest thing I do tonight.
Opening it, I’m faced with rows upon rows of hard cash. ”holy shit” I mutter, there must be at least 240,000,000 won ($200,000) in here.
And I’m only getting 6,000,000? what the fuck, Hyunwoo?
I shut the case closed again and just as I’m about to stand up and make a swift exit, a sharp click fills my ears and I feel something incredibly cold touch the back of my neck.
Terrified, I slowly turn myself around and immediately come face to face with the barrel of a pistol.
My stomach drops. I had worried about all the possible outcomes of tonight. This was most definitely a worst case scenario, to put it lightly.
Looking past the gun, I make eye contact with the cold, hard stare of an extremely handsome man.
“And what the fuck do you think your doing?”
Tag list:
@sa7kou
I... Since it was mentioned in writing, I have to explore it.
I do this to myself, and I have to do it.
God... fucking dammit.
So VLD introduces Shiro's arm as some sort of weapon. We barely get any insight on it. We are shown in the first episode that it "activates" and it's painful for him to experience. He then just attacks the Galra robots with no hesitation?
What?
Why?
How?
I know Shiro was meant to die, but why bother showing me that and not giving me proper answers?
Eyo my dragon age friends. I was wondering if anybody had any recommendations for some longer zevwarden or solavellan fics?
I'm going on a family vacation soon that is going to Be A Lot with No Escape From Familial Socialisation and no connection to the outside world, so am probably going to need my emotional support blorbos to get me through it T-T
Happy DADWC! Can I get "warming their hands by slipping them up the other’s shirt and onto their back/stomach" for fwb! Ghilara Lavellan & Isabella
So...this turned out a lot more smutty than I was expecting..... be nice, its baby's first smut....gonna go hide in the corner now...
@dadrunkwriting
cw: sexual content, dom/sub vibes
She had known it was a bad idea. But Bella had been her usual charming self and pulled her into a darkened booth in the corner, lined up the shots and gotten out the cards. From there it had been inevitable what would happen. Ghilara with her tits out to the world and Isabella only down to her smalls. She had cheated. Obviously. She always did. Not that Ghilara had much idea of how. The woman didn’t even wear sleeves to hide the cards she swapped in.
From there it had only been a few short jumps to the other woman straddling her, mouth pressing open kisses to her breasts. Thankfully for them both, at that point Ghilara had still been sober enough still to pull the two of them up to their rooms before they started fucking in the corner, for all the bar to see. Ghilara stretched out in the bed, feeling the gentle ache of muscles well used, and the sheen of last night’s sweat on her skin. Even with the pounding of her head from the alcohol, she shivered remembering the other woman pinning her hands down, the feel of soft thighs either side of her head, and the gasping moans as the other woman came. She could feel Bella behind her now, the slow rise and fall of the other woman’s breath and her radiating out. Ghilara rolled over in the bed, wrapping her arms around the other woman, tucking them into the rolls of fat that settled at her hips. Isabella groaned. “Ghil, your hands are cold.” Ghilara grinned and tightened her grip on the other woman. Her breasts pressed into her back, she whispered into Bella’s ear, “but you’re so warm,” and buried her hands deeper, stroking and pawing as she went. “You are incorrigible Ghil.” “Maybe I just like feeling you in my hands,” flipping her hands round so that the backs pressed against the other woman. Bella shrieked at the fresh coldness and kicked out at Ghilara, but the elf stayed firm, waves of laughter rolling through her body. Isabella elbowed her, and rolled the two of them over as Ghilara’s bear hug loosened for a single moment. Now astride Ghilara she held her down with her weight, snatching her bandana from the beside table. “Well, well, well,” she cooed, “seems the tables have turned, inquisitor.” Ghilara shivered at her words. The irreverent usage of her title while she was pinned to the bed. Throat dry, she allowed the other woman to lift her arms above her, tying them to the bedframe with a loose knot. Something fluttered in Ghilara’s chest. Her mouth hung ajar, unable to form words, as her entire mind was overcome with the sensations of the slide of the other woman against her body. Her fingers brushing over her ribs, light enough to tickle. She was relentless even as Ghilara struggled and twitched from the tickling sensations. Her hands meandered down her body until they came to rest between her thighs, slipping a single finger between the warm folds of skin. Hand still between her legs, Bella crawled up like a cat until her mouth hovered directly above Ghilara’s still agape lips. “You haven’t even seen the start of how incorrigible I can be. Inquisitor.”
Fellchaser
Hi my sweets, I bring to you some freshly baked Solavellan yearning. Also posted on Ao3, if you prefer. As always, thank you for reading. 💕
This is how he remembers it, the first night Solas knew that he loved her.
He cannot say with any certainty, after all these lonely years, what had happened directly before or directly after, cannot make out the finer details in the grand tapestry of things. But he knows by heart the shape of that hour, the way she had come to him after a victory, flushed with wine and the chill of the evening, her hair curling up in the damp autumn air.
*****
He declines, as he always does, their invitations for a celebratory drink, preferring the relative quiet and solitude of his own quarters.
For many hours, he can hear them– Bull and Sera and the rest– their cheerful noises bouncing off the castle walls like skipping stones. It annoys him for a time, disturbs his solitude, his study, until he hears (or thinks he hears) her voice among them.
Solas can picture her then, in the tavern. Bright mind, bright eyes, bright laughter. Vibrant even in the dimness of the room. And there’s a flicker of a thought he can’t keep smothered– that he should’ve gone down there with her, despite his judgment.
It makes no matter how he tries to keep his distance. She seeks him out, as she always does, as he knows she will. When he doesn’t stop her, he tells himself that it’s because she’s their Inquisitor. He tells himself she can go where she likes, that duty alone compels his counsel.
He knows a lie when he hears one.
He’s nearly talked himself into making an appearance when she shows up in his doorway, hazy and loose with the aura of drink, the tips of her ears and her cheeks turned rosy.
He does nothing to discourage her entering. He says nothing to send her away.
“Hello,” she says simply, when he sees her. Her head tilts against the frame, her gaze fond and unfocused.
“Hello.”
“You never joined us.” An accusation. Lightly leveled, lightly slurred. The syllables tumble in her mouth like stones in a river.
He wants to say, I could not bear you being so close and sweet and real. He wants to say, You are a distraction I cannot afford. Instead he says, “I was preoccupied,” knowing that answer is insufficient.
She makes her way into the chamber, weaving an unsteady path to the table where he has laid out all his books, his quills, his ink.
“With what?” she murmurs, curious even in her state.
Solas knows he should excuse himself, conjure a reason to stay at a distance. But he finds himself wanting to– what? Talk to her, tell her, keep her close?
“Translating a record,” he says at last. “Of ancient practices in Arlathan. Ritual offerings to the gods in exchange for their…favor.”
Solas stumbles on the last word, something bitter in its taste, and where she would normally probe him further she takes no notice. She’s busy poring over the largest book, its contents all in Elvhen, the ink and vellum faded by the centuries. “I can’t make out any of this,” she frowns. “Perhaps I’m worse off than I thought.” “Perhaps,” Solas huffs out a laugh. “Although the language has shifted with time. Some words may yet be familiar, if not–”
“Oh, here!” She gasps delightedly when she finds a phrase she knows, though she says the syllables slowly, as if they are new. “Sa-lath. One’s love, one’s only love. Something like that.”
“In the modern parlance, yes. But here,” he says– and he leans over her to tap the page for emphasis– “Here it means something like ‘beloved.’ The words come together, see. Salath.”
It’s the wine he smells first, that rich, warm scent that floats from her up close, but there’s something different, something distinctive hiding beneath. He wants to taste it and find out, to slip his tongue into her mouth, and–
“They would offer something beloved, then?”
Solas clears his throat.
“Or someone,” he nods, breathing deeply. “A high price for favor.”
She goes quiet for a moment, tracing the small shapes of the letters with her finger. Such a fine movement is made imprecise by the drink, but she repeats it as if she is carving it into her memory. “Salath,” she whispers, tasting the word. “Salath, ‘beloved.’ I will remember that.”
He very much doubts that she will, come morning. But it stirs something inside him all the same. Beloved, beloved.
“What would you demand?” She says, sweeping the thought from his mind. “If you were a god.”
If, he thinks, that one word louder than all the rest.
“I suppose it would depend what was being asked of me.”
“Your favor,” she tells him. “Your love.”
“Ah.” There’s a twist in his chest, like an arrow wrenched free, pain and relief all at once. “The heart of a god is not easily won. I would require yours in return.”
She laughs a little, as if he’s jesting. “That hardly seems equal. A mortal heart for a god’s?”
“Your heart,” Solas says, in a gentle correction. “For mine.” He does not kiss her, like he wants to. He does not stop her kissing him.
The press of her mouth is a summer fruit, warm and sweet and bruising lightly beneath their wanting, their mutual hunger grown apparent.
Only once has he kissed her before this. A dream, an impulse, he’d told himself then. A mistake that he wouldn’t repeat, no matter how tempting.
So he’s grateful, now, that she’s been drinking, that she’s given him an out. He can call this her impulse, even as he takes more, tastes more. He can call this next part chivalry. He knows a lie when he hears one.
“We can’t,” he says, when they come apart. “You are not yourself, and the hour is late. You should get some sleep.”
She’s disappointed, he thinks– and is it cruel to hope she is? To hope she still wants him as he wants her, even as he turns her away?
Best not to dwell on it.
“I will help you upstairs,” he tries again, and she brightens a little. “Can you manage the walk?”
There’s a part of him that wishes she’ll say no, give him an excuse to lift and carry her to her quarters, to feel the weight of her pressed against him. But she says, “Yes,” and, “I’m not so far gone,” and Solas breathes out another laugh.
He knows a lie when he hears one.
All the same, he takes her hand in his, lets her lean on him as they make the long walk to her quarters, each step its own little feat. She stumbles more than once; more than once, he catches her gently.
It is worth being gentle for her.
In her room he removes her boots, knelt at the floor as if an altar. He hardly knows the last time he knelt, only knows that now he wants to.
When he rises she says, “Thank you,” and the following word may be his name, or another entirely. Solas tries to ignore it, tries to let the sound be lost in the lingering silence but he needs to know, as he always does, needs to be certain. “What did you say?”
“I said, ‘thank you,’” she hums, laying back on the bed, and this time he leans in close to hear the rest.
“Salath.” *****
The walk back to his quarters is longer, somehow.
He thinks of her all the way, her hair in a dark spill across the pillows, the way she rolled the old sounds of his language around in her mouth. He thinks of her when he undresses, when he slips into his own bed, when he indulges in the fantasy of feeling her under and around him. Just this once, he thinks, as his hand begins to move beneath the covers, slow at first and then more desperate. Just this once won’t hurt, won’t hurt, won’t–
Ah.
He is in love, he knows it now, as he shudders and gasps out her name. How tragic it is, and how lovely. How foolish, how sweet. His love for her could level cities. It could grow flowers.
A mortal heart for a god’s. Beloved, beloved.
He imagines what he would sacrifice for her, if he has to, when he has to. The answer surfaces in his mind like something dredged up from unfathomable depths, some unknown factor which demands to be accounted for, and which fills him with dread.
“I would give everything,” he says aloud, to himself, to no one.
The words hang in the air like ghosts, the same lament in all their mouths. Beloved, beloved. Tags by request (thank you, angels!): @meg-does-art, @lavellanart
bedroom; heartroom
I really love the whole ‘person A brings up wanting to have kids and person B had never really considered it but now can’t stop thinking about it’ trope
***
He wakes to the feel of her weight moving against him, to the warmth tucked under the curve of his arm pressing back with surprising insistence, and with his initial disorientation it takes him a moment to realise that he’s being skilfully, if a bit forcefully, nudged off the side of the bed.
Blinking away sleep, Solas takes stock of the situation – the whole, honest size of her stretched out across the bed. She tends to move around in her sleep, he’s learned; she’ll curl in on herself, a cat’s contentment in languid, too-large movements, and wiggle until she’s comfortable. Meaning, when she’s all but pushed him off the mattress.
“Ellana.”
“Mm?”
Her shirt has climbed halfway up her chest, and she’s tangled her bare feet in the wool blankets, an endearing chaos in her heavy slumber that it takes him a moment to tear his eyes away from. But, “I conceded the blanket,” Solas tells her, kissing the words into the dip of her throat. “That you yield enough space for me to sleep is not much to ask in return.”
Ellana grunts – there’s really no kinder way of describing the guttural noise that pulls from deep in her chest. “…could get your own blanket.”
“I did. You have commandeered both.”
She’s quiet at that, and for a moment he wonders if she’s fallen back asleep – if she’d awoken at all – when she suddenly sighs and, rolling over towards him, it’s to bury her face in the crook of his neck. “One day, we’re getting a bigger bed,” she murmurs, and whatever thought had been at the forefront of his mind flees on swift feet.
“A cottage somewhere,” she continues, when he’s failed to provide a response. “When this is all over. Small cottage. Big bed.” She giggles. “Lots of room for…activities.”
She’s not usually subtle – it’s one of her more charming qualities, but at least awake her propositions are shy and fumbling things, blurted rather than offered coyly, and with none of the suggestiveness he finds in her tone now. But when he thinks she’s about to continue down the path she’s started on–
“Hmm. Cottage’s got to be big enough for kids, though,” Ellana declares, and Solas’ heart goes still in his chest.
It’s not a good idea to pursue that comment – for his own sake more than anyone else’s, but, “I did not know you’d thought of children,” he says quietly, before he can stop himself. His hand hesitates by her ear, fingers shaking slightly, but when she hums in affirmation he buries them in her hair.
“Two,” she says, the word little more than a breath, but it’s loud in the quiet of her chambers – loud in his ears, filling his entire head, until it’s all he can think about, two sets of small hands and delicate, pointed ears; the first large and curved like hers, and the second–
“Mmmaybe three,” Ellana continues, and he knows she’s asleep – is certain she wouldn’t divulge this information so casually if she weren’t, and he should rouse her, Solas knows, but – “I’d like at least one of each,” she adds, as though to herself. “Hmm, a girl would be nice. You’d be so good with a girl.”
It’s suddenly hard to breathe, and he really shouldn’t think about it, but the wistful joy in her sleep-roughed voice drives every shred of common sense from his mind, and what’s left is a fledgling image taking shape too fast for him to banish it. And it’s impossible not to wonder – to imagine the fall of her hair, sleek and brown or a mop of wild, russet curls; a full lip tucked between uneven teeth, and a pale brow furrowed in fierce concentration. A dimple, perfectly placed at the centre of her chin, or one in each cheek–
“What about you?” Ellana asks then, the question half-mumbled, the syllables thick with sleep, and curled around a yawn.
It’s a challenge just finding his voice, and he knows that if he were to remain silent, it’s likely she wouldn’t even notice – like she probably won’t remember speaking of this come morning, even as Solas knows that every word is etched into his own memory to stay. But he could say nothing – should say nothing, and pretend she never asked.
“I should like a girl,” he tells her instead, with an honesty that burns on his tongue, his voice little more than a murmur, and the pang of regret that follows is so fierce it’s hard to swallow past it.
Ellana sighs, seemingly content with the answer, and oblivious to the shaking fingers curled to a fist against her back, pressed between her shoulder blades, and he feels the beat of her heart – feels her easy contentment in the sprawl of her against him; the sleepy smile tucked against his throat, and each and every one of her heavy, even breaths.
“Shouldn’t make the bear juggle,” she mumbles then, brow furrowing with the words. “Solas – Solas, you need to tell Varric it’s a bad idea.”
He smiles quite despite himself, some of the tension bleeding out of his muscles until his palm lies flat against her back, but it doesn’t shake the tremble from his fingers, brushing against the ends of her hair where it lies in a tumble across the pillow. And – hers, definitely, he thinks, imagining how he might mix the right colour, brown and red, and if it would curl, or lie flat.
“I will tell him, vhenan.”
She murmurs something that sounds like agreement before she falls silent once more, but even as sleep pulls her back down in earnest, Solas remains awake, suddenly reluctant to welcome the Fade’s embrace. Because there’s a trickle of worry now at the back of his mind, of what he’ll find if he does – the sound of running feet and an elated voice calling out, young and bright. A bed that’s bigger but still too small, with her stomach round under his palm, and the mattress dipping under another shape who, like her mother, is not the least bit afraid to make room for herself.
But what worries him most is not the dream itself, but the very real longing that accompanies the idea now that it’s stubbornly taken root.
Chapter Three: How to Regrow a Garden
Moths had gotten into the trunk where she had put a few bolts of cloth, but it was mostly salvageable. She headed over to the kitchen table with it, with only a candle lighting her work. She had the pattern memorised from years of experience. She couldn’t bear to go over to where he lay, to take his current measurements. She couldn’t dare hold out that much hope. So she took measurements from his old clothing. Even that caused a pain to spike through her heart from the weight he had lost. She glanced back over at him, he was skinnier than he had been when they met. She could see the bony protrusion of his ribs and hips, without the soft cover of healthy fat. “Oh Solas…” she whispered. There was no response.
The End and The Beginning is a cosy/cottagecore-esq Solavellan fix-it AU. Set in a universe where Solas' ritual fails, Lavellan fakes both of their deaths to give them a chance to start over. But the weight of a decades worth of trauma is not easy to overcome, especially on your own.
Read from the start
Six Sentence Sunday Whatever Day
Thanks for the tag @sulky-valkyrie !
Fun lil angsty snippet from a forthcoming The End and The Beginning chapter (what else is a solavellan fixit fic if not a pile of angst)
He smiled at Ghilara Lavellan, his beloved, though the smile never reached his eyes. “It is a beautiful gilded cage Ghilara.” “Solas, I-” It was a look that made his heart weep. He held up a hand to quell her protestations. “I do not begrudge you for creating it, and I think I will come to terms with it- in time. But please, Ghilara, leave me to my grief for now.”
Tagging: @inquisimer @saladruiner @ammoniteflesh @skinwalkingxana
Hello Tumblr!! I used to write on here a long time ago and gave it up because life happened and now I'm back and more motivated than ever! This is mostly for practice while I post more serious fanfics on other sites but I plan to have a ton of fun on here!
Sooo here's what I write for!:
Undertale,Underfell,Underswap,and Horrortale
(will grow as I feel more comfortable with the other aus if you want to see a specific au pls request and I'll try my best it'll be good practice for me!)
Homestuck and Hiveswap! (I am a old fan lol)
John doe, Sunny day Jack, Your Boyfriend
The list will grow as I get into more stuff! My current obsession is undertale and it's au's and my hyperfixations run hard my friends so that's what I'll mostly be writing for now!
For requests there's hardly anything I won't write if the request makes me uncomfortable I might not write it but that's a hard feat lol. So feel free to bring all your little daydreams and fantasies to my ask box and I'll try my best to write them out!
Anyways that's all have a lovely day/night!!
*DING DING DING!* what’s that sound? It’s time for an Announcement time!
“Over and over” has just been released with its prologue on wattpad and you can check it out!
https://my.w.tt/q5iENrEl9Z