#“we might not make it to the morning so go on and tell me now.” | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

glossdebut · 1 day ago

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everything i want (a take a bite drabble collection) | MYG

✧ PAIRING: yoongi x fem!reader (TAB!couple)

✧ GENRE: established relationship, fluff, smut, humor

✧ REQUEST: @joonary: hello my dear friend i am here to request something with dilf yoongi 😁 no other specifications go crazy and @beomcoups: I wanted to send you a request with Yoongi and you spend the day at the beach with this prompt "isn't that view beautiful"? It can be sfw or nsfw.

✧ SUMMARY: The best part of being with Yoongi, from the very beginning, was that nothing had to change for either of you. You could be married to Yoongi and to your job at the same time, build your career from the ground up and never sacrifice a thing. But this? Having a baby? It’s all going to be sacrifice. It won’t be just you and Yoongi anymore, living in your precious little workaholic love bubble. Everything is going to change.

✧ TAGS: pregnancy, different stages of pregnancy (conception, morning sickness, early labor, etc.), the smut is crazy but this is mostly soft, TAB!couple are in complete domestic bliss i fear, and they’re married!, yoongi and MC being each other’s voices of reason, TAB!yoongi’s murderous inner monologues make a comeback, rina cameo, baby penny <3, beach episode moment (warnings under the cut because… um…)

✧ WORDCOUNT: 7.6k words

✧ AUTHOR’S NOTE: blame MJ for this. and my m’lady anon for saying i’m always ovulating. *taps mic* min yoongi my womb is empty please call me.

P.S. thank you to tanni @yooniivrse for beta reading <3

P.P.S. i feel like this can maybe stand alone??? but parts of it might be confusing if you haven’t read take a bite in its entirety, so… do that, if you want!

✧ WARNINGS: vaginal fingering, oral (f. receiving), dirty talk, spanking, nipple play, hand/finger kink, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, yoongi calls reader a sl*t in bed but it is all extremely consensual, rough sex, unprotected sex (duh) (but wrap it before you tap it), creampie (double duh)

one —

Yoongi’s being a real good sport about it, but you know you’re being annoying.

Ever since both of you got home, you just… There are things that need to be done, okay? Like unloading the dishwasher. You can’t just leave that for tomorrow, that would be insane. And since you’re unloading the dishwasher, you might as well organize the kitchen cabinets. They’re a mess, and you’re putting away dishes anyway. Why postpone the inevitable?

And Pepper! Sweet, sweet Pepper. She needs to be fed, obviously. You’re not going to neglect your cat, are you? Your cat who has nobody else in the whole world aside from you and Yoongi? The two of you are responsible for a whole life—feline life! Feline life.

This doesn’t have anything to do with what Yoongi’s eomma said tonight. Absolutely not.

You are a grown woman. An award winning music journalist with a kickass career and a super hot, famous, rich man by your side. You’re not going to let Yoongi’s eomma get under your skin. You’re just fidgety. Who wouldn’t be after dinner with the in-laws?

You pause mid-kibble pour, staring down at the sparkly, significant thing wrapped around your finger. It’s been over a year, and sometimes you still can’t believe it’s true. Married. Husband and wife. Mr. and Mrs. Min.

The thought makes you relax, just a little. Yoongi is your better half in every sense. Your soulmate. And more than that, he has your back. There’s no reason why you can’t just tell him what you’ve been thinking. What you’ve been thinking for a long time now, really.

As if he can read your mind, your husband sidles up behind you, wrapping his arms around you as you finish feeding the cat.

“You wanna talk about it?” he murmurs against the back of your neck.

“No,” you huff, turning in his hold to loop your arms around his neck. “But I think we have to.”

Yoongi hums, dipping down to kiss you softly. “Okay. Let’s talk about it, then.”

With a sigh, you peel yourself away from your husband and head to the couch. This feels like a sitting down conversation. Yoongi sits next to you, pulling you into his body, your head on his shoulder.

“Y/N… You know it’s not a dealbreaker, right? Kids. You know that.”

Tilting your head up, you study his features.

Yoongi is usually so unshakeable. It’s rare that you see him truly nervous, not when it comes to you. Your relationship is so solid, you can’t remember the last time you saw him like this.

“Yoongi, of course I know that,” you assure him immediately, bringing a hand up to cup his cheek.

The two of you had the marriage-and-kids conversation not long after you moved in together. It was the logical thing to do, with how serious things were getting. The marriage part of the conversation was easy. Yeah, duh, you wanted to marry Min Yoongi one day. No shit.

The kids part, though? That was a little harder. At least for you.

You didn’t know if you wanted kids. The cons far outweighed the pros, especially where your work schedules were concerned, and at the time, you weren’t sure if that would ever change.

Yoongi was amenable about it, though. He wanted what you wanted. Kids, no kids, whatever. You’re pretty sure those were his exact words.

“I’m not freaking out because I think you’re gonna, like, leave me or something.”

“Okay,” he says, visibly relaxing. “Then why are you freaking out?”

“I don’t know!” you groan, pressing your face into his shoulder. “I don’t know.”

“Baby,” he huffs. “This is our decision, not my eomma’s. Nothing’s changed.”

That’s the thing. That’s why you’re so restless.

“Maybe…” Fuck, you can’t sit still for this. So you stand, hoping you can force the words out if you’re pacing. “Maybe things have changed.”

It would be funny, the way Yoongi’s mouth pops open in a little ‘o’, if you didn’t feel like you were about to throw up.

“I just—” You rub your hands over your face, exasperated. And then you’re stopping in front of him, jabbing your finger at his chest. “You’re really annoying, you know. Paternal. Every time I have to watch you play with your brother’s kid I really want to smack you.”

“Paternal?” Yoongi snorts. His hands catch yours, interlaced fingers pulling you to stand between his open legs.

“Paternal,” you sniff. “Stop looking at me like that.”

Of course, that only makes it worse. He looks so fond, even though you feel more and more like you’re dying as you speak. “How long have you been thinking about this?”

“You mean how long has this been plaguing me?” you grumble, earning a laugh from him.

“Yeah, sure,” Yoongi says as he looks up at you expectantly.

You look down at your joined hands, swinging them back and forth so the warm lamplight catches on your rings. “Since we got married, I guess.”

Yoongi squeezes your hands to catch your attention, quirking an eyebrow at you when you glance up. “That long?” he asks, his voice tinged with disbelief. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I didn’t want to tell you until I was sure,” you mumble as your heart threatens to beat out of your chest.

“You’re telling me now,” he points out. He sounds a little unsteady, like he’s feeling just as jittery as you are, now that it’s all out in the open.

“Yeah,” you breathe. “I am.”

“You want a baby?”

You nod, bottom lip catching between your teeth. “I want a baby.”

Before you have a chance to react, Yoongi sits up, pulling you into a kiss with a hand on the back of your neck. Almost as soon as you melt into it, clambering into his lap as your lips slot with his, he’s pulling away.

“With me, right?” he teases, squawking indignantly when you pinch his sides in retaliation. “Yah, I’m just making sure!”

“Yes with you, asshole!”

two —

You feel a little stupid.

Maybe it’s because you don’t know how to act now. Nobody told you that planning to have a baby would suddenly put so much pressure on sex, but now here you are, standing in the kitchen in a too-tight dress while you try not to burn dinner.

You never cook. That’s Yoongi’s job. But you don’t know what else to do with all this restless energy, don’t know how else to initiate the ‘okay, I’m ready, knock me up’ conversation.

You’ve talked about the important things. You’ve dealt with the birth control issue. You’re taking, like, vitamins and shit now. All that’s left is to… actually try, right?

Except you’re nervous as hell, have been since you woke up to the notification from your cycle tracker informing you that you’re in your fucking ‘fertile window’ (ew!), and you’re suddenly acting like someone you don’t even recognize. Christ, you wonder if Yoongi has been feeling like this, too.

Speaking of Yoongi… He isn’t home yet, and for a moment, you think it’s not too late to just get rid of all of the evidence. Do away with the self-imposed theatrics, order some takeout, and act like it’s just another night. It’s not like Yoongi would mind.

But you’ve already committed to these stupid fucking steaks. And candles. There are candles.

It is too late, anyway. Almost as soon as the thought begins to form in your brain, you hear the sound of keys jangling and a lock turning, and then your future sperm donor himself is slipping his shoes off at the front door.

At least, he’s trying to. He’s got one socked foot out, frozen in his tracks as he takes in the scene before him.

“Did I forget an anniversary?”

You scoff, eyes rolling despite the nausea building inside you. “As if you’ve ever forgotten anything in your life.”

“Point made.” He kicks his shoes off the rest of the way, nodding his head in the direction of the candles on the table. “Wanna tell me what this is for, then?”

You shrug, poking at the steak sizzling in front of you with a pair of tongs. “I wanted to make you dinner.”

“You don’t do that,” he says, eyeing you suspiciously.

“Well, I felt like it tonight,” you huff in exasperation.

“Okay,” he says, rounding the counter. His eyes rake over your form shamelessly, now that he can see all of you. “And the dress?”

“A girl can’t dress up every now and then?”

“Hey,” he says, raising his hands in surrender. “Not complaining, believe me. Just curious.”

You know you’re being a little bit testy. Evasive. But it’s not your fault. Is there a good way to say ‘I did all of this because I want you to cum inside me tonight’? If there is, you haven’t found it.

Instead, you settle on, “I just felt like it.”

Yoongi hums, sliding behind you so he can wrap his arms around your middle. “Just felt like it, huh?” he mumbles. You can feel his lips on the back of your neck, and it’s dizzying how quickly your body reacts to his proximity. “No ulterior motives?”

“Nope,” you say. It sounds like bullshit, even to you. But how are you supposed to spin a convincing lie when your husband’s hands are on you? Hands that slide from hips to waist to tits as his mouth grows insistent at your nape, making you shiver.

“Shame,” he murmurs, nosing at the curve of your neck until his lips reach the shell of your ear. “I was hoping you wanted me to fuck a baby into you.”

“Fuck,” you breathe. Your legs are already growing wobbly beneath you, and he hasn’t even touched you. It’s pathetic, the way anxiety gives way to anticipation so easily.

Smoothly, Yoongi reaches in front of you to turn off the stove. It’s probably best that you skip dinner, anyway. Those steaks were going to be shit and you both know it.

You’re guided away from the stove, spun around so the small of your back is pressed against the kitchen counter. The room seems to shrink around you with the way you’re pinned under Yoongi’s gaze.

He kisses you, slow and deliberate, your legs growing even weaker at the way his lips slide against yours. You get lost in it for a moment, reveling in the way his body molds to yours as his tongue teases at the seam of your lips. But then he pulls away.

“Why don’t you tell me the truth?” His hands slide down your body to knead your ass roughly, causing the hem of your dress to ride up. “What does my girl want, hm?”

“Yoongi,” you whine, desperate as you reach down to palm him through his jeans.

“Nuh-uh,” he chastises, voice laced with amusement. He grabs hold of your wrist, bringing it up to his lips to press a gentle kiss against your skin. “You’ve just gotta ask, beautiful. You know I’ll give you what you need. I’m not a mind reader, though.”

Annoying. Also patently untrue, but whatever. The point of all of this—the dress, the candles, the dinner attempt—was that you wouldn’t have to say it. But of course, Yoongi never makes things easy for you.

“You already know, though,” you huff. “Don’t be mean.”

Yoongi huffs a laugh, fingers skating teasingly along the hem of your dress. “Okay, baby,” he concedes. “I’ll be nice.”

And then his hand slips under your dress, only to find that you’ve foregone panties for the night. “Shit,” he groans. “You’re gonna kill me.”

The anticipation of the day has left you dripping for him, the pads of his fingers sliding along your cunt with ease. You gasp when he thrusts two digits into you, moan when they curl against your front wall, the sensation sending you climbing up the counter.

“This?” he murmurs against your lips. “This is what you want?”

Suddenly, all of your anxiety from the day washes away. It’s stupid, you realize, to be so scared of just telling him everything you want. He loves when you tell him what you want, loves to be the one to fulfil every single one of your wishes. And right now, while your husband’s fingers fuck into your pussy in the middle of your kitchen, all you want is—

“Fuck me. Please, Yoongi. Need you to fuck me.”

“Yeah?” he growls. “Why?”

“B-because,” you whimper, cheeks flushing as you finally say the words. “W-wanna make a baby with you, wan’ you to give me a baby.”

“Fuck,” Yoongi hisses, nipping at your jaw. The pace of his fingers is slow and steady as heat crawls up your spine. You cry out when his thumb begins to circle your clit, your eyes rolling back in your head at the sensation. “There’s my good girl. I’ll give you what you need, baby, I promise. Just cum for me first.”

He doesn’t have to tell you twice. You’re so fucking wound up, and his fingers feel so good pumping in and out of you, it was only a matter of time before you unraveled for him.

Wetness gushes around Yoongi’s fingers, the filthy squelch of his ministrations filling your ears. You don’t have it in you to be embarrassed by it. Not when you’re this close. Before you know it, your orgasm is washing over you, leaving you clenching helplessly around his fingers as he mumbles praise into your neck.

“Shit,” you breathe.

Gently, Yoongi withdraws his fingers. “Feel good?”

With a giggle, you nod, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “Mm. We really need to stop using our kitchen for non-kitchen related activities, though.”

“Nah,” he chuckles. “Where’s the fun in that?”

As you catch your breath, you start to feel antsy due to the silence that settles between you two. Everything’s out in the open now, isn’t it?

As if he can sense the shift in your energy, Yoongi presses his forehead against yours, rubbing his hand down your back. “You’re in your head again.”

“I’m sorry,” you mumble, pouting.

“Don’t apologize,” Yoongi murmurs softly. “Just tell me what's wrong.”

You take a shaky breath, closing your eyes for a moment. Better out than in, you suppose.

“I just… There’s all this pressure now that we’re trying to have a baby. I guess I’m just worried we’re not… doing this right.”

“Right?” he repeats, raising an eyebrow at you.

“Like… It’s a big deal, isn’t it?” you say, glancing at your forgotten steaks further down on the counter. “Shouldn’t we treat it like one?”

Yoongi pulls back, eyes widening in understanding. “So… The dress and the dinner.”

“Yeah.”

There’s a pause, and you can’t help but squirm as he studies you for a moment. You desperately wish you knew what he was thinking, but you know Yoongi. He chooses his words carefully, always.

“Do you want to do things differently?” he finally asks.

Huh.

“What?”

Yoongi grins, chuckling as he reaches to intertwine your fingers with his. “Y/N,” he starts, squeezing your hand. “You are the woman of my dreams. It doesn’t matter when or where or how it happens, our baby is going to be made with love no matter what.”

Your heart pangs at that, lips twisting in a contemplative frown as you consider his words. Damn him for making so much fucking sense all the time.

“If you want to do the dinner and the candles and the rose petals and everything else, we can do that,” Yoongi says, pausing to kiss your nose. “I’ll take my time, fuck you nice and slow. Anything you want.

“But I don’t want you to feel nervous about this,” he murmurs, pressing more kisses into your skin until he’s nosing the underside of your jaw. “I could bend you over this counter and fuck you right here, and we’d still be doing things right, as long as it feels right to you.”

Yoongi’s right. You’ve been building up all of these unrealistic expectations for how this night should go, and for no reason. The anxiety that had built a home in the pit of your stomach gives way to something hotter, your eyes fluttering shut as his breath ghosts over your skin.

“I’m sorry,” you sigh, tangling your fingers in his hair as he mouths at your neck. “I don’t want anything to change.”

“Quit apologizing,” he chastises with a bite to your skin that makes you gasp. “You know what you want. Always so good at telling me, too. So tell me.”

Here goes nothing.

“I want you to take off my dress,” you breathe. It feels like a good place to start.

Tongue darting out to lick his lips, Yoongi’s gaze roves over your body. “Yeah,” he agrees. “Bedroom? Or here?”

“Bedroom,” you say, gently pushing him out of your space so you can hop off the counter.

You barely get a chance to steady yourself before Yoongi’s grabbing hold of your hand. You can’t help but giggle at his eagerness as he drags you out of the kitchen, pausing only to blow out the candles you’d lit earlier.

Once he gets you to the bedroom, Yoongi spins you around so you’re facing away from him. You feel the evidence of his arousal against the curve of your ass as he slowly unzips your dress.

“So fucking pretty,” he murmurs, his breath warm against the back of your neck as your dress drops and pools at your feet. His hands roam over your body, squeezing and caressing everywhere he can reach. “How did I get so lucky, hm?”

Turning in his hold, you loop your arms around his neck with a cheeky smile, your naked form pressed against his clothed one. “Through a mutual disdain for square dancing, if I recall correctly.”

Yoongi laughs at that, gummy smile in full force even as he shamelessly fondles your breasts. “You don’t recall correctly,” he teases. “I had to put in a lot of work after that to actually get you, remember?”

How far you’ve both come since then. No more tortured longing. No more misunderstandings. No more fear of taking the leap. All that remains between you now is love. Plain and simple.

“You had me from day one,” you insist, fondness swelling in your chest. “I didn’t stand a chance.”

It’s so gratifying, witnessing the way you can still fluster your husband after all this time. With pink cheeks, Yoongi ducks his head, attempting to hide a shy smile. “Aw,” he coos, wrapping his arms around your waist. “Do you love me or something?”

Snorting, you bite back a grin. “I do. Very much. And you love me.”

Yoongi hums in agreement. An errant squeeze to your ass, as casual as it may be, reminds you of where you are. Heat floods you all over again, a delicious shiver wracking your body at the reminder of what you’re about to do. As head over heels as you may be for Yoongi, you’d really like to get his cock inside you sometime this year.

You catch his gaze, raising a challenging eyebrow at him.

“But you can fuck me like you don’t,” you offer.

In an instant, the softness in Yoongi’s eyes shifts into something else entirely. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, his grip on your ass tightening.

“You’re sure?” he asks, voice so low and gravelly that your cunt clenches in response. You know him well enough to know that he’s giving you one last out, that his control is likely hanging by a thread.

But fuck, you want it. Want to be fucked within an inch of your life, because who knows the next opportunity you’ll have to get it like that once you’re with child?

“I can handle it.”

Yoongi scans your features for a moment, taking in your flushed cheeks and parted lips. The way your body responds to him without a second thought, willing to take anything he wants to give you. If he’s looking for uncertainty, he isn’t going to find any. Not anymore.

He must be satisfied with what he finds, because before you can react, you’re suddenly on your back, gasping as you’re enveloped in memory foam.

“Spread your legs, baby,” Yoongi says, his hands on your knees roughly guiding your legs to part nice and wide so he can settle between them. “Show me that pretty cunt of yours.”

“Yoongi,” you whimper, fingers instinctively threading into his hair. It’s getting so long lately, so pullable. You might kill him if he tries to cut it anytime soon. “Want your cock, you don’t have to—“

Your pleas are effectively halted when Yoongi spreads your folds with his thumbs, looking up at you with eyes that are all pupil. “You’re this wet for me, and you think I’m not gonna get my mouth on you?”

He doesn’t give you a chance to respond, surging forward to lick a broad stripe over your pussy. You cry out, back arching and hips kicking off the bed when his tongue flicks against your oversensitive clit.

“Fucking dripping,” Yoongi groans appreciatively. “Holy shit, Y/N.”

The whine that escapes you is pathetic, embarrassment and arousal warring inside you as you rock your hips forward. Luckily, Yoongi gets the hint, dipping down again to swirl his tongue over you.

It’s filthy and loud, the way he sucks and slurps at your pussy like he’s starving for it, can’t get enough. It doesn’t take long before your second orgasm is barreling towards you, thighs trembling on either side of his head as you squirm under him.

“Yoongi, fuck,” you mewl as he laves over your aching cunt, tugging hard at the strands of dark hair caught between your fingers to keep him from pulling away. “I’m gonna cum, like, any second.”

Yoongi hums, tongue lashing at your clit at a pace that almost drives you up the bed. Everything feels so fucking good, so overwhelming, that you can’t hold back any longer.

You cum hard, a litany of curses and moans falling from your lips as Yoongi works you through it, only letting up when your hands push weakly at his head.

“You’re so worked up, baby,” he teases, although the way he palms himself through his jeans as he climbs over you tells you he’s just as turned on as you are. “You want my cum that bad?”

Your pussy flutters at his words, silently begging to be filled. Fuck. It doesn’t surprise you that your husband knows how to read your body this well, knows exactly how to push all of your buttons, but it still drives you crazy all the same.

“You’re worked up, too,” you huff as you snake your hand under his, feeling the way his erection strains against his jeans. He’s so fucking hard.

“Of course I am,” he agrees, chuckling at your impatience. He pulls his shirt over his head as he speaks, moving to deal with his jeans next. “I’ve got my girl cumming so easily for me, begging for my cock. Why wouldn’t I be worked up?”

“Then fucking do something about it,” you whine, mouth watering when his cock springs free in front of you. You need him inside you yesterday.

In a flash, you’re flipped over roughly so you’re flat on your stomach.

“So fucking impatient,” Yoongi growls, delivering a sharp slap to your ass that makes you moan.

You feel the heat of his hand dip between your thighs, fingers sliding over your slippery folds, and you can’t help but push your ass back against his touch, knees spreading as wide as they’ll go.

“Look at you. You’re desperate for it.” He sounds almost amazed. You whimper when he slides his fingers from your core, replacing them with the blunt head of his cock. “Well since you wanna act like a slut, I guess I have to fuck you like one, hm?”

Yes. Fucking. Please.

“Please,” you breathe, arching your back prettily for him, wiggling your hips in a way that makes him hiss. “Want it, please.”

Yoongi teases you for a moment, rubbing his tip through your soaked folds, but then the warmth of his body disappears from behind you. “Nah. I changed my mind,” he finally says, smacking your ass once more. “Turn over. I wanna see your face when I cum inside this pussy.”

Oh.

You’ve never moved so fucking fast in your life. Within seconds you’re on your back, and Yoongi doesn’t waste any time either, slotting his body between your legs with ease. You both moan when he finally slides into you, one of his hands coming up to cradle your face.

Yoongi’s always been so patient, much more patient than you. He gives you time to adjust to the stretch of him, his thumb sweetly caressing your cheek as you look into each other's eyes.

But that’s pretty much all the grace you get.

Once he’s sure you’re ready, the first snap of his hips has you reeling, your eyes rolling back in your head. And then he’s fucking you for real, setting a pace that has you crying out his name.

“Fuckin’ love being inside you,” he grunts, his eyes fixed on where your bodies meet so he can watch the way his cock slides in and out of you. “Pussy was made for me, wasn’t it, baby?”

You don’t think you could speak if you tried, too high on the feeling of Yoongi’s cock hitting that place inside you that makes you see stars. Instead, you turn your head, craning your neck until you can get the thumb that was rubbing your cheek into your mouth.

You love Yoongi’s hands. Love how strong and capable they are, love how gentle they can be even when he’s fucking you this hard. You could live and die with Yoongi’s fingers in your mouth and you’d be a happy, happy woman.

Yoongi groans, his thrusts growing rougher as you wrap your lips around his thumb and suck. “There’s my good girl,” he praises. “Fuck, you’re so pretty, baby.”

You preen at the praise, looking up at him through your lashes as you moan around the digit. But then Yoongi’s using his free hand to hitch your leg around his hip, driving his cock even deeper into you somehow, and you’re pulling off of his thumb with a sob.

“Yoongi! F-fuck, it’s too much—”

“You begged for this,” he growls. His thumb, slick with your spit, travels down to circle a nipple, your breath getting caught in your throat when he adds his forefinger and pinches. “You said you could handle it. So take it.”

He keeps fucking into you, rough and relentless, and even though you’ve been reduced to a sobbing mess, it feels so fucking good. So you do what he says and take what he’s giving you.

Satisfied, Yoongi dips down to lave his tongue over your other nipple, sucking it into his mouth as your hands fly to grasp at his hair.

“Nnnghh, Y-yoongi,” you moan. “Feels so g-good.”

With one final flick of his tongue against your breast, he comes back up to kiss you, his mouth moving against yours with an urgency that takes your breath away.

“I love you,” he murmurs against your lips, pressing his forehead against yours. His hands come up to cradle your face again, wiping errant tears from your cheeks. “Love you so much.”

“Love you too,” you sob, using the much-needed reprieve to catch your breath.

“Taking me so good,” he breathes, thrusts growing erratic as he pants against your mouth. “Can’t wait to give you a baby.”

You moan, clenching around him in response. “Need you to cum,” you pant, delirious. “Please, Yoongi, wan’ you to fill me up.”

“Fuck,” he moans, eyes squeezing shut as if he’s pained. “‘M gonna. Gonna fill you up so good, baby. Do me a favor and rub your clit for me, m’kay my love?”

You do as you’re told, slipping a hand between your sweaty bodies. It’s not going to take much at this point, not with how desperate he looks above you. He’s a fucking sight for sore eyes, lips bitten and pupils blown as he tracks the movement of your hand.

“Shit, you’re so sexy,” he groans. “Gonna cum.”

You’re right there with him, both of you moving in perfect synchrony as you chase your release. All it takes is a few passes of your fingers over your clit before your vision goes white, a sob escaping your throat as you feel Yoongi spill into you with a groan.

You cling to him, arms wrapped around his neck as he presses sloppy kisses to your naked shoulder. “God,” you breathe, thighs shaking when you stretch your legs out.

You both gasp for breath, skin sticking together from the sweat that’s been created between you.

“Yoongi?” you mumble. He hums, lifting his head to look down at you. “Thank you.”

“For what?” he asks, brows furrowing in confusion. Then, he grins tiredly. “For giving you the creampie of the century?”

“Ew,” you huff, flicking his forehead weakly. “No, idiot. For getting me out of my head.”

You know he knows what you mean. That’s what you do for each other. Yoongi knows how to calm you down like no one else, and you know you do the same for him. It’s a perfect give and take.

“I don’t know if this will be… If this is the time that’s gonna give us a baby,” you continue, lips twisting as your eyes water slightly. “But I can’t imagine a better man to be the father of my child. I just want you to know that.”

Yoongi softens, taking in your words. Wordlessly, he dips down, eyes fluttering shut as he kisses you tenderly.

“You are the most incredible woman I’ve ever met,” he says, his voice gentle. “I wouldn’t want to do this with anyone else.”

The two of you lay there for a long time, bodies tangled together as you process everything that just happened. What it means for both of you.

The best part of being with Yoongi, from the very beginning, was that nothing had to change for either of you. You could be married to Yoongi and to your job at the same time, build your career from the ground up and never sacrifice a thing.

But this? Having a baby? It’s all going to be sacrifice. It won’t be just you and Yoongi anymore, living in your precious little workaholic love bubble. Everything is going to change.

Funnily enough, nothing has ever felt more right.

three —

It stands to reason that you find out that you’re pregnant in the office of Look Here Magazine. Where else?

You had your suspicions this morning, when you rolled out of bed nauseous as hell. But you also had an important interview scheduled for this afternoon—surely, you were just anxious about that. But the interview went great, and you still felt like shit afterwards.

And then you got sick. Like, really sick. In the bathroom of the store you’d stopped at to grab some ginger ale, hoping that would help with the nausea.

Instead of ginger ale, though, you watched with no small amount of shame as the clerk at the register rang up a pregnancy test for you, eyeing you with thinly veiled judgement. Whatever. Jealous bitch needs to get laid.

So here you are, locked in the single stall restroom at your office, staring down at two pink lines. Fuck.

You’re shaking like a leaf. You’re fucking giddy, of course you are, but holy shit. It’s real now. It’s real, and you’re at work, and Yoongi is at his studio, and all you want to do is call him and tell him the news. Because you’re overjoyed, but you’re also terrified, and when you get like this, he’s the only one who can make you feel better.

But you can’t. You don’t want to tell him over the phone. You want to see his reaction in real time, see the gummy smile you love so much, feel his warmth when he pulls you into his arms, kiss him stupid.

So instead, you pick your phone up with trembling hands and snap a picture, sending it straight to Rina.

It’s five in the morning in Athens. You know she won’t see it for another few hours. But it still calms you down enough to clean up and exit the bathroom, returning to your desk on shaky legs.

★ ★ ★

You can’t wait, as it turns out.

It’s seven in the evening. You got off of work less than thirty minutes ago, and you’re already all the way across town, riding in an ostentatiously large elevator to get to your husband’s swanky ass studio. You definitely broke several traffic laws to get here so fast, but you don’t care. Who knows when Yoongi will get home? You need to tell him now.

When the elevator doors slide open, allowing you to step foot onto Yoongi’s floor, you start to feel sick again. For a different reason this time.

You know Yoongi’s going to be just as psyched as you are, but still, what if he’s not? What if he’s scared shitless and all of a sudden he changes his mind about this? You both wanted a baby, but it sure as shit feels completely different now that it’s real.

You don’t know what you’re going to do if he has a change of heart. Fuck. Flee the country, probably.

You put one foot in front of the other, following the familiar path to Yoongi’s studio. Your heart races as you punch in the code you know by heart, gut twisting as the whir of the lock fills your ears. And then you’re stepping inside, slipping your shoes off at the door with the expression of a sighted rabbit on your face.

Yoongi spins around in his chair, eyes widening at your unexpected presence. “Hey,” he greets, visibly puzzled as he gets up to pull you into a hug. “I didn’t know you were coming.”

“Hey,” you breathe, heartbeat thrumming in your ears. But still, it feels nice to be in his arms after the day you’ve had. “I didn’t know I was. Sorry if I’m interrupting.”

“Nah, don’t apologize. I need a break anyway,” he says, pulling away to study your face. “Everything okay?”

“Um!” you squeak out, grabbing his hands to pull him towards the couch in the corner of his studio, sinking down on the worn leather. You stare down at the material beneath you. He really needs to replace this thing. “Yes? I think so. I hope so.”

“You’re scaring the piss out of me, Y/N,” he huffs, settling down next to you. Gently, his fingers grasp your chin, lifting your head so you’re looking straight at him. “Tell me what’s going on.”

Swallowing thickly, you shift your bag into your lap, digging around in it for a moment until you can procure what you need. Shakily, you hold out two positive pregnancy tests for him to see. God, pregnancy is so gross. You’re holding pee sticks in your hand.

“I’m, um…”

“You’re pregnant,” Yoongi breathes, eyes widening in amazement as he stares at the little lines. Tearing his eyes away, he gapes at you. “You’re pregnant? We’re going to have a baby?”

“I think so,” you say, chewing at your bottom lip nervously.

“Shit,” he says, grinning so wide you can’t help but return it. “We’re going to be parents!”

Before you know it, tears are streaming down your face, even as you laugh in disbelief along with him. You never should’ve doubted him, not even for a second.

“We’re going to be parents,” you sob, still clutching the positive tests in your hand as you speak through your tears. “Can I put these down? It’s so gross. I peed on these.”

Laughing, Yoongi takes the tests from your hand and sets them aside, pulling you into his lap so he can kiss you silly. “Fuck,” he murmurs, breaking away with a sniffle. “I’m so happy.”

Fuck. He can’t do that. He can’t cry, too. You don’t think you can take it.

“Me too,” you say, wiping at your eyes. Then you smack his shoulder, sniffling yourself. “You can’t cry, stupid. You’re supposed to be the strong one.”

Another laugh bubbles up from his throat, nothing but fondness and joy in his watery eyes. “I think for the next nine months, you’re one hundred percent going to be the strong one,” he says, staring down at your belly with awe.

It’s crazy. There’s nothing there yet, but yes there is.

“Yoongi,” you whimper, mouth twisting as you try to hold back another wave of tears. “We’re going to be parents.”

“We’re going to be parents,” he repeats, swallowing thickly as he meets your eyes again. “Fuck.”

“Fuck,” you agree. You’re delirious, so happy you think you could pass out. “I love you.”

Pulling you into a tight hug, Yoongi rubs your back soothingly. “I love you so much, baby,” he breathes as he nuzzles into your hair.

Nothing has ever felt more right.

four —

Yoongi is going to kill somebody. It’s only a matter of time.

He was close, in that stupid fucking airport. It was going to be that bitchy flight attendant. It was. She’d been testing his patience all goddamn morning, getting testy every time he asked for updates on his flight, and Yoongi was already barely hanging on by a thread. But then he could practically hear your voice in his ear. Don’t be a jackass. It’s not her fault your flight is delayed, you’d say. Because you’re his voice of reason when he can’t keep himself in check.

So the flight attendant was spared.

Then, it was going to be the snot-nosed little brat that kept kicking the back of Yoongi’s seat the whole way home. He had booked the flight last minute, unable to upgrade past economy. Which was fine. It’s not like Yoongi’s a snob!

He was just already pissed off. He wanted—no, needed—to be with you, instead of cruising at 35,000 feet, stuck in his very own personal saw trap. But you’d insisted he go on this stupid ass work trip, eviscerating every single logical objection he tried to make. You were impossible to reason with lately.

So there he was.

In the end, the kid was spared, too. Only because throttling a child would probably look really bad for him, considering the circumstances.

The universe just seemed to be working against him, even after the plane touched down on the tarmac. Because of course! Of course it took him forever to find his stupid suitcase. Of course it took him even longer to get an Uber. Of course there was traffic on the way! Why not? What’s one more ‘fuck you, Min Yoongi’?

And of course, when he finally makes it, when he’s panting and out of breath, suitcase in hand as he searches wildly for the room number he was texted, the first person he sees is not you.

“Well look what the cat dragged in!”

Yeah, Rina might not make it. He’s sure you’ll understand.

Yoongi appreciates Rina, he really does. He tries to be there for you when you need him, but sometimes, despite his best efforts, he can’t be. It’s just the way life works. But Rina always steps in when she’s needed. Today is a great example.

That being said, Rina also has a tendency to step in when she’s not needed. Or particularly wanted. Like the entire past month, living in his guest bedroom to dote on you even though—apart from the work trip you insisted he go on—Yoongi has literally been working from home since month six, at your beck and call.

Yoongi gets it. Rina is your best friend. He knows you’ve been elated to have her closeby this past month. But still, Yoongi would’ve paid for a hotel room for her or something. It’s been a little weird trying to, like, fuck his super hot pregnant wife knowing her best friend is just across the hall.

“Hi, Rina,” he says, deadpan even as he’s catching his breath. “Wanna point me in the direction of my wife?”

“She’s piiiiiissed at you,” Rina sing-songs, grinning like the cat that ate the canary.

Yoongi’s eye twitches.

“Because I’m late?” he guesses.

“Because you impregnated her in the first place.”

“Great,” he says, choosing not to engage. He points at a door. “There?”

“Good luck, champ,” Rina says in response, waving him through. Like he needs fucking permission to see you. Don’t engage don’t engage don’t engage.

Huffing, he opens the door to what he can only hope is actually your room, closing it softly behind him.

“Yoongi,” you warble.

There you are.

Suddenly, it’s like none of the events that have transpired today matter one fucking bit. Not the frantic voicemail he’d woken up to, the delayed flight, the bratty kid, none of it.

You look like an angel. A very pregnant, very stressed angel, but his angel nonetheless.

“Baby,” he breathes. He’s by your side in an instant, carding his fingers through your hair. “I’m sorry I’m late.”

“How was your trip?” you ask, leaning into his touch so sweetly. Man, he missed you.

“About as pointless as I thought it’d be. Just wanted to be with you the whole time.”

“Well, you’re here now.”

“Yeah. I’m here now,” he hums, pressing a kiss to your sweaty temple. “How are you feeling?”

You huff at that, staring up at him like he’s stupid. Or like Rina wasn’t lying when she said you’re pissed at him.

“Like my vagina will never be the same again, thanks to you,” you grumble. “I can’t believe I let you do this to me. I’m going to make you pay, Min Yoongi.”

“Feel free,” he huffs, unable to suppress the small smile quirking at the corners of his lips. He can’t help it. You can be pissed at him all you want, he’s just happy to see you. “I’ll even remind you, if you want. Do you want me to put a date on your calendar?”

“Don’t push it,” you grit out, glaring daggers at him.

“You’re the only one doing the pushing today, baby.”

“God, I hope so,” you whine. “Get this thing out of me! It’s not fair that you get to be a DILF and I have to be all big and gross.”

A DILF???

“Baby,” Yoongi coos, doing his best to stifle the laughter threatening to break free. “You’re so beautiful, Y/N. You’re glowing.”

“It’s sweat,” you deadpan.

“No, I’m serious,” he insists, taking your hands in his despite the way you try to whack him away. Despite his amusement, he’s completely sincere when he says, “You are the most beautiful woman in the world. Don’t be like that.”

“Really?” you pout.

Yoongi nods sagely, squeezing your hands. “One hundred percent a MILF.”

You groan, whacking his hands away in irritation, successfully this time. “Make yourself useful and go get me some ice chips, motherfucker.”

He snorts, backing towards the door with a little salute. “Yes ma’am,” he says. “I’ll be back in a few. I love you.”

“I love you too. Asshole.”

As he slips out of your room, he swears he catches the corners of your lips turning up, although you try valiantly to hide it.

Yeah. You’re going to be just fine.

five —

It’s been nine months—thirty six weeks, because apparently babies are measured in weeks for some reason—since Min Penny was brought into this world. Yoongi doesn’t think he’ll ever get sick of looking at her.

She looks so much like you, it’s crazy. Every time he says that, you’re quick to tell him just how wrong he is—that she has Yoongi’s nose, Yoongi’s eyes, Yoongi’s smile—but when he looks at her, all he sees is you.

He loves it. She’s perfect.

She sleeps every night in a crib that Yoongi built, surrounded by stuffed animals that you handpicked, in a home that you two have made together.

Yoongi couldn’t be happier.

The three of you have spent the last week or so in Daegu, and Yoongi’s parents have had ample time to get plenty of pictures and shower Penny with gifts that she proceeds to shove in her mouth at every opportunity.

It’s time to head back home, but not before a little detour.

The weather is perfect today, giving both of you an opportunity to celebrate Penny’s half birthday the way you’ve been wanting to. A little overcast, but not so much that there’s a chance of rain. Really, it couldn’t be any better.

Yoongi’s always hated the beach, but a weekend trip to Jeju with his family didn’t sound half bad when you’d pitched it. And now that he’s here, sprawled out on a blanket on Jungmun Saekdal Beach while you shovel Jolly Pong into Penny’s waiting mouth, he couldn’t imagine being anywhere else.

When Penny grows disinterested in the Jolly Pong, you take a moment to adjust the little yellow sun hat you’d bought for her earlier and then lean back on your hands.

“Isn’t that view beautiful?” you sigh.

It’s so silly. You’re gazing out into the water, eyes sparkling as you take in the scenery in front of you. It’s beautiful here, it is. Yoongi hasn’t been to Jeju in a long time, and he’s sure the view is just as beautiful as you say. But all Yoongi can see is you. You, the amazing mother of his child.

You’re radiant, glowing in a way that he’s never seen before. Even after all this time, you never fail to take his breath away.

“Yeah,” he hums, his hand curling around yours where it rests in the sand. “It is.”

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nerdygirlramblings · 1 day ago

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Off to See the Wizard (7)

previous | next

cw: bad attempt at accents

Gaz watches the door slam behind you and turns back to Price, eyebrow raised. "Well, that was'n part 'a the plan," he says dryly. He looks to Soap and Ghost then back at Price. He drops his gaze to where Price still holds his wrist and, voice laced with sadness, says, "Maybe we were too much."

Price angles his head to catch Gaz's eye. He sees his own guilt reflected there. He sighs and runs a hand over his face. "Ya might be right," he admits.

"Wot 'appened?" Ghost asks, looking from the chair you abandoned to the door to Price.

"Think we might-a come on too strong," Price says. "She'd been skittish at dinner. Who knows wha' she thinks 'a wha' you an' me told 'er seein' what we did tonight." He drops his head into his hands. He knows you need to know about them, but when they first tried to explain their relationship to Laswell, it took months to make her see. To understand. They simply don't have that time with you.

Price knows actions speak louder than words. But it seems they shouted when a whisper might have worked just as well.

You sleep fitfully, chased through your dreams by soft lips, deep blue eyes, a desperate plea, and a broken heart. In the morning, when you hear the others getting ready, instead of rolling over and going back to sleep, you pull your things together. As the door to the barracks closes behind them, you head to the bathroom to get ready. You've paid attention to their routine and know they do their first round of training before they eat. If you head to the mess now, you can pick up some coffee and food to take with you, thus avoiding them for now.

You run quickly through the line in the mess, grabbing some fruit before you go. You carry it and a big tumbler of coffee to your office where you proceed to barricade yourself in with all the current intel you have. You check and double-check and triple-check the travel itinerary; the boys leave in four days, and despite your own emotional turmoil, you want them safe. You ignore the text you get from Laswell asking how you're getting on with the boys. Does she know something about them you don't? Instead you respond with a comment about how you know how to get to town if you need to and about Corporal Avery. You keep your thoughts about the 141 guarded.

By lunchtime, you're deeply invested in some older intelligence on the organization the 141 is taking on. It's a series of wire-taps between some of the organization's presumed leaders and local underlings from months ago. You know the audio has been scrubbed six ways from Sunday, but you wouldn't be the best if you didn't follow every hunch, and something tells you there's important information here. If you can find it.

You're so deep down the rabbit hole you don't hear the knocking on your door. You focus on your job and don't realize you've skipped lunch.

You work through to dinner, stopping when your growling stomach reminds you it hasn't had quite enough fuel to keep going at this rate. A glance at the clock shows it's 7:30, far later than you've seen the boys eat. Maybe you can eat in the mess in peace and slip into the barracks unnoticed, but you doubt it.

It's really John you're avoiding. It's not Kyle's fault he kissed his friend? lover? partner? in front of you. He couldn't know what John insinuated earlier that day. He couldn't know the kiss just about broke you. Even Simon, though he said he wants you, didn't do anything to make you feel like he was putting you on. It was Soap who snuggled close. Sure, Simon didn't stop him, but maybe that's how they comfort one another. You know their jobs are harrowing. Maybe this is something they do to cope.

You aren't thinking about food when you walk into the mess, mind still stuck on the 141, so you're surprised to see Soap sitting alone at a table. You consider ignoring him - he hasn't seen you yet - but when he glances up and sees you, his whole demeanor changes. You didn't realize how sad he looked until you think about how happy he is to see you. He waves an arm and starts to rise, looking like he's going to start shouting at you in a moment.

You hurriedly make your way to him, sitting in the space across from him as he takes his seat. "Och, Oz, was thinkin' you'd taken off." It's part tease, part scold. "We didnae knoo whare ye were. Gaz couldnae feend ye for brekkie, ahnd Ghost said no one answered yoor door at lunch."

You bite your lip and look away, torn between being ashamed and frustrated. You finally settle on curious. "I'm a big girl, Soap. I can, and do, take care of myself."

He waves a hand at you. "Aye, we knoo. But we're all keen on spendin' time wi' oor best girl now tha' yoor here." He blushes a bit at this admission but still meets your gaze. "We only have a few days, and I fer one doan wanna miss out on ye if I can help it "

You feel the heat rush to your cheeks. Soap has always been a sweet talker, but this feels definitively more like flirting than anything he"s said over comms.

He starts talking again, barrelling through your silence. "An' I hope I didnae make ye uncomfortable when I was restin' las' night. He doesnae look it, but Ghost makes a right fine pillow." He winks at you. "I bet you do too. Yoor soothing like tha'."

You hurry to respond. "No, no, I wasn't... uncomfortable? A little surprised I guess. Didn't know it was, well, I don't know what I thought, but it's fine. I'm fine." You know how you sound, tripping over yourself. In an attempt to deflect, you say, "I still need to eat, so..." You trail off and hope he gets the hint to leave, but it seems he's stubborn because he doesn't react. In fact, he leans forward and levers him up when you do.

"Lemme come wi'," he says. "We all had oor scran, but I can keep ye company. Pay ye back for all those nights ye made things less lonely."

You can't really say no when he puts it so sweetly. So you let him accompany you through the line, pointing out what you should try and what to avoid. You don't fail to notice the sounds he makes when you grab your selections, the hums and snickers and scoffs and questioning noises. When you're sure you have a fairly balanced plate - with some extra desserts because it's been one of those days - Soap deftly pays, ignoring your reminder that, "I get a daily meal allowance as part of this placement. It isn't even my money I'm spending." Then he snags your tray, carrying it for you back to your table.

As you eat Soap tells you more about himself, especially his family and how they want him to "settle doon wi' a nice girl." And just as John did the previous morning, Soap looks directly into your eyes as he says it. "Ne'er thought I'd feend one Ah wanted to settle doon wi'. No' really. No' until yoo, Oz."

You sputter for a moment, but really, who wouldn't. Three admissions of desire? love? in two days, and though you aren't quite as shocked by Soap's after both John and Simon, you're still troubled. "What about last night? You and Simon...you seem...close."

Soap nods his head. "Aye, we are. But it doesnae mean my heart is too full for ye." He looks at you so earnestly the recriminations die in your throat. You have feelings for four people all at the same time, after all. Who's to say the same can't be true for Soap. Is that what's going on with John, too?

You take a deep breath and force yourself to meet Soap's eyes. "What, exactly, are you saying, Soap? Are you playing around? Is this a game, or-"

He hastily cuts you off. "No! No no, nothin' li' tha'. I like ye, Oz. Have for a long while." He reaches across the table to hold your hand. "And yoor right. I have feelings foor...Ghost too." He shrugs and focuses on the table, collecting his thoughts. "Guess Ah don't see the point in limitin' mah love when each mission could be mah last." He spears you with his ice blue gaze and drives the point home when he adds, "An' Ah knoo Ah'm no' the only one who thinks tha' way."

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6 part 8

Taglist: @blackhawkfanatic @starriestarlight @grayskel @mxtokko @imjustheretofightforlove @miss-vanta-likes-to-write @thriving-n-jiving @madsothree @silly-starfish @danielle143 @beelzebee @nova-willow-541 @alchemyfreak321 @lilynotdilly @eternallyelvish @viylikescats @erintaro @hidden-treasures21

#cod #poly!141 #poly!141 x reader #tf 141 #tf 141 x reader #kyle garrick #johnny mactavish #john price #simon riley #nerdygirl says

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puck-luck · 2 days ago

Text

the "slut summer" conversation | beaquinn

notes: no actual smut, but there are references to sex (specifically, beaquinn's first time and squirting). use of generally degrading words for women (slut, whore) but they are not used as insults. this takes place on DAY 7 of stg (chapter 1). now you know how bea originally brings up her "slut summer" to quinn. enjoy! thank you once again to captain (@captainlexaproluvr) for the request ;)

WC: 2,193

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“Said she wanted five guys, she ain’t talking ‘bout burgers,” Trevor says under his breath, shooting Bea a glare. He’s awfully slut-shamey for someone who wants to have sex with Honey so bad.

Bea pays him no mind. She smiles and replies sweetly, “My pussy already got murdered, Trev. I didn’t need five guys.” The fact that she wants four– and already checked one off the list– is irrelevant. She actually needs to have that talk with Quinn today, to get ahead of things. She doesn’t want him to feel blindsided when she flirts with Jack, Luke, or Cole. As much as she’s dreading it, Bea knows it has to be done.

“No way Quinn ‘murdered’ your pussy, Bea,” Jack jumps in, air quotes around the word. “The dude doesn’t fuck.”

Bea laughs. “I assure you, he fucks.”

Speak of the Devil– Quinn appears at the bottom of the stairs, making his way into the kitchen. “Yeah, I fuck,” he says. He comes over to Bea first, smoothing a hand over her hair and dropping a kiss on the top of her head before he heads toward the kitchen. He shoulders past Trevor to get to the fridge.

Oh, she wishes he hadn’t kissed the top of her head like that. She might’ve miscalculated. He might be attached already.

“Well, fuck your way to church,” Jack says. “Bea’s making everyone go with her.”

Quinn’s eyes flicker over to Bea again, an amused smile on his face. He shrugs. “Okay,” he says. “It’s not like there’s anything else for us to do on a Sunday morning in this place. Everything is probably closed.”

“It’s true, everything is closed on Sundays except the grocery store and the gas station,” Bea verifies with a nod. She’s not quite sure how Quinn managed to peg the town in less than a week, but it probably wasn’t very difficult. Litchton is sleepy and small and isolated– of course everything is closed on Sundays. She adds, “And the church, of course.”

Trevor finds his way to the fridge.

“Why can’t we just stay here?” Jack asks.

“Because it’ll be fun,” Trevor replies, turning and clapping Jack on the shoulder. He even squeezes Jack’s muscles just to be a pest. “It’s our chance to become one with the community, Jacky.”

Well, that and he’s probably wondering if a certain girl will be there. Bea can’t blame him for assuming. The church is a huge thing in this town, it just so happens that Honey is one of the few people in the area that only go when they’re asked to. She has a really complicated relationship with God– Bea knows that better than anyone. “Yeah, Jacky, it’ll be good for you. Why don’t you two head upstairs to change?” She looks over to Quinn, who is grabbing a glass from one of the upper shelves of the cabinets. His t-shirt is riding up, revealing the soft skin of his abdomen. Ugh. Bea can’t believe she has to have this conversation. She hopes, if nothing else, that she doesn’t cry. Quinn can even yell at her– Bea just doesn’t want to cry. “I want to chit-chat with Quinn for a second.”

Trevor and Jack race upstairs, always competing. Bea can hear them pushing each other until they reach the landing, then slamming their bedroom doors shut.

Bea stands and walks over to the counter, taking a seat on one of the stools.

Quinn is filling his glass with water, but he meets her eyes when he’s done and smiles. “Good morning, Bea.”

“Good morning, Quinn,” Bea plays along. She’s not sure how to do this. She’s never had to tell someone that she wants to hook up with his two brothers and one of his closest friends before. If only there was a good line that everyone knows– an ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ for Slut Summers. “Can I talk to you about something?”

“Sure,” Quinn replies, taking a swig of his water. “What’s up?”

“It’s about last night,” Bea says, trying to tiptoe around the subject without digging herself too far into a hole. If she doesn’t bring it up now, she’ll be leading him on. Or, honestly, maybe not– maybe Quinn was looking for a one night stand. If that was the case, why would he kiss her on the head when he came downstairs this morning?

Quinn pulls his eyebrows together, his face growing more serious. “What about last night? It was okay, wasn’t it?”

“Oh, my God, no, you were great,” Bea says. “I wasn’t lying when I said you fuck.”

Quinn’s serious expression softens. “Okay,” he says. “Then what is it?”

“I had a lot of fun,” Bea tells him. “I just– well, I need to be upfront with you.”

Quinn takes another sip of his water and gestures for her to continue.

Bea takes a deep breath. “I’ve been thinking about this summer, okay? I’ve been thinking a lot about what I want, especially when it comes to you guys, and I’ve decided that I’m not looking for anything, like, serious right now.”

The corners of Quinn’s lips turn up. “Okay, so you’re looking for hookups,” he says. “That’s actually what I was going to ask you. I was a little disappointed when you weren’t in bed this morning, I wanted to talk to you about what I want, too.”

“Oh?” Bea asks. That’s promising– he’s smiling about the fact that she wants to hook up, and he was already planning to ask her about it. “Um, I mean– it’s complicated, what I want, so maybe you should go first.”

Because then she can know what he wants and act accordingly… it’s a path that’ll save her from taking the wrong step before things even really start. Bea’s playing it graciously, but really, the offer to let Quinn go first is very selfish. She doesn’t like being selfish, but she really doesn’t want to hurt his feelings right after they slept together and had a great time doing so.

“That’s really kind of you,” Quinn says with a chuckle. “Very thoughtful, Bea. But… you started this thing. I want you to get whatever it is off your mind.”

Damn him for being so logical. Maybe she should’ve stayed in bed and let him talk first, so that she could have an out. There’s so much pressure here, being the one to reveal the dynamic that they want, especially when hers is so… abnormal.

“Okay,” Bea says slowly, trying to find the best words to string together without sounding like a total whore. She doesn’t want Quinn to think she’s disgusting– she’s not sure why he would, or why she cares so much, but she would probably curl up into a ball and die if he started judging her. “Um, for me, this summer is about… experiencing things… with different people.” She speaks slowly, watching his reaction, but his face is impassive. “I don’t want to put all of my eggs in one basket, if you… get what I’m saying.” She presses her lips together in a line and waits.

Quinn raises an eyebrow. When he speaks, he sounds a little surprised, but not angry. “So you want to… see other people?”

Bea nods tentatively.

“Anyone you have in mind?” Quinn asks.

Bea’s pretty sure he’s already figured out the people that she wants to see. She bares her teeth to him in an awkward smile, bracing herself for the anger. If it’s coming, it’s coming now.

Quinn sets his glass down on the counter and crosses his arms over his chest, bending down so his elbows rest on the counter. “Like who?” he asks.

Bea licks over her bottom lip and bites it, grimacing slightly. “Litchton isn’t a big town, and there aren’t many attractive men here that I haven’t already considered,” she says. “So… when Honey told me there was a group of guys living here this summer… I thought it might be interesting to… partake.”

Quinn nods along with her words, but doesn’t speak, seeming to sense that she’s not done.

“And it’s not that I’m not very interested in you, Quinn. You’re– well, you’ve got a magic cock and I am very happy that you were the first one, but I would feel like I missed out if I didn’t explore my options in the house. How many chances does a girl get to have a Slut Summer with a houseful of attractive athletes?” Maybe she goes too far with that last sentence.

“And you want… all of us?” Quinn asks after a beat of silence.

“Not Trevor,” Bea says. “I’m not exactly interested in, uh… all of that.”

She’s lucky, because Quinn laughs softly instead of frowning at her negative perception of one of his best friends. He stands tall and lets his arms fall to his sides, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Okay,” Quinn says. “But I don’t want to know anything about what you do with Jack and Luke. They’re my brothers. I don’t want to think about them like that. I already know too much. As long as you keep us separate, it’s fine with me.”

“Really?” Bea asks. “You’re not… angry?”

“Why would I be angry?” Quinn asks. “It’s not like I have a claim on you. We hooked up last night, but that’s it. We had fun. I’m not going to stop you from exploring your options.” He pauses. “Although, I would like to hook up again.”

“Me too,” Bea agrees quickly. “I want– yes, I want to keep hooking up with you. It was really good, Q. I literally thought I was going to squirt or something when I was on top.”

Quinn’s eyes brighten. “Oh, yeah?” He grins crookedly. “Tell me more about that.”

Bea blushes and pushes her index finger against her nose, covering her mouth slightly. “Maybe not right now,” she says. “But I’d be happy to… try and make that happen later, if you want.” She shrugs, pinching her lips together to try and stop a smile from growing on her face. She’s just found something Quinn seems to like. She wants to use that to her advantage.

Quinn nods, looking thoughtful. “I think we could make something like that happen.”

Bea laughs, which makes Quinn laugh, and it takes them a moment to collect themselves. Bea feels loose and relieved, glad that Quinn isn’t screaming at her or judging her or kicking her out of the house and banning her from ever returning.

After they calm down, Bea leans forward a bit. “So, what were you thinking? This morning, I mean. What were you going to ask me?”

“I was going to ask if you were looking for anything serious,” Quinn replies, a little smile still gracing his face. “Without saying too much, I, uh, got out of a relationship recently. She and I were together for a long time and I wanted to let you know that I don’t think I’m ready to, y’know, rush into anything.”

Well, if that’s not interesting. She’s not going to push, but Bea wants to know more immediately. She loves gossip, loves knowing people’s business, but she’s sure she’ll get plenty of openings to ask Quinn about this relationship over the summer, if he’s willing to share.

“I want to keep hooking up with you,” Quinn continues. “Because I am ‘very interested’ in you, too. You’re the most interesting thing going on around here, Bea. I think we could be really good friends.”

Bea grins. “I think so, too. You might be hyping me up too much, though. I’m not that interesting.”

Quinn snorts out a laugh. “Whatever you say.”

A quick silence passes between them. Footsteps start to sound overhead– one of the boys must be done changing.

“Look, I’m really glad you’re not upset,” Bea tells Quinn quickly, before they’re interrupted. “I didn’t want to mess things up so soon.”

“Don’t worry about me, baby,” Quinn teases, using the same tone on the word ‘baby’ as he did the night before. He’s teasing her, messing with her like they know each other well enough to do so. It’s refreshing. “I think if this had happened when I was younger, I wouldn’t have taken it so well. I probably would’ve… I don’t know, agreed? But I would’ve been miserable the whole time?” He laughs, although Bea doesn’t find that very funny, and continues, “But it’s just a summer, right? I don’t mind sharing you with the other guys. I’m just glad you told me. It would be a different story if you started having your Slut Summer without telling any of us.”

“Yeah,” Bea replies, smiling wide. Quinn gets it. He understands. Bea feels a little silly– she was worried for nothing. She nods, hearing someone’s feet pound against the steps, making their way back to the kitchen. “It’s just a summer. Let’s have fun.”

Quinn returns her smile and goes back to his food, just in time for Jack to enter the room at a sprint. He looks around wildly, then raises a fist. “Dude, let’s fucking go, I win!”

––––––––––

i love u forever beaquinn but u guys were so stupid for saying you'd be "casual" and "good friends"

#puck-luck's fics #andy writes anything🍄#small town girl x tz #beaquinn!!#quinn hughes #qh43 #quinn hughes fanfiction #quinn hughes smut #(light references to it anyway)#quinn hughes x oc #nhl fanfiction #nhl smut #hockey romance #hockey smut #hockey fanfiction

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hannahssimblr · 2 days ago

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Astrid,

Hope you got my postcard from Phuket, and that the Bangkok one shows up, eventually. Maybe it is actually lost, like maybe I’m doing something wrong at the post office. It’s fine if they all go into the abyss. I am writing just to write, because it feels romantic or whatever. You probably hate the idea of this. I could just text you. I texted you forty-five minutes ago. Still miss you.

We’re in Phi Phi now. Islands, very beautiful. I bet you already know about them, but I’d never heard about this place before I came here. The landscape is kind of mental, like giants made it. Weird to look at. We went out on a little boat yesterday to see the sights. Jonas jumped off and swam, and I did not. My tattoo is still healing. Stupid fucking thing. I waved over a boat of girls and told them Jonas was saying he fancied them, and then he got annoyed with me, because he wasn’t saying that, and he was embarrassed. I think he should learn to talk to women without wanting to die, and he says I think about women too much, that I’m too invested and I should think about something else. History, philosophy, whatever. Why would I when there are women like you on the earth?

At night, instead of going out and drinking, we go to bed early, in our bunks, him on the top, me below like always, and he tells me all this shit about the Suez canal, or what the Falklands war was all about, since I was stupid enough to ask a follow up question once. Then I fall asleep to escape the boredom. We get up at six and do activities, then. Lots of walking. My body hurts.

Jonas finally tried those scorpions he was banging on about, and now he’s sick, btw. Food poisoning. I don’t really know how to take care of him, except coming back to the hostel every few hours, making sure he has water. Until he’s better, I guess I’m just wandering around on my own. Luckily, it’s nice to look at. Maybe today I’ll swim with my arm out of the water. Running out of space. Love and miss you can't wait to see you.

xxx Jude.

I snap open the lid of a bottle of water and carry it into the hostel room. It smells bad there, but I’ve stopped saying it, because it makes Jonas look like he’s about to cry. He’s curled up on his bunk, a complexion like curdled yoghurt, as a chink of morning light spills through the blinds and over his shivering body. Mostly naked. Too hot, then too cold, then sipping water, then throwing it up. I hover in the doorway.

“I’ve water,” I say, and he just stares. Resigned, half-dead, maybe. “Should you go to hospital or something, do you think?”

“No, I feel slightly better.”

“Oh, okay. Do you want the water, or?”

“Yes. Bring it to me.”

I approach him like a leper, not sure why, as I’m fully aware he’s not contagious, but it’s been ten days since I’ve thrown up, and I’d like to maintain my healthy aura. He regards me with bleary eyes as I back away. “It is good you are an artist and not a nurse.”

“Yeah, I don’t know. I’m not so good with illness.”

“Even though you are always ill.” A tentative sip from the bottle. “You went out this morning?”

“To the post office.”

“Another postcard to Astrid.”

“Yes.”

I can tell he wants to laugh but lacks strength, managing only a feeble wheeze. “Is she missing you as much as you are missing her?”

“No, I don’t think so. She’s much better at distance.”

“She’s an independent person.”

“Yeah.”

“Tell me what she is doing today.”

“It’s Wednesday, so probably going to reformer pilates. Then she’s supposed to meet a friend from university for lunch. After that, I don’t know. Something spontaneous and thrilling, probably.”

“And you?”

“What about me?”

He manages a watery smile. “You’ll be doing nothing again today? Missing her?”

“I was thinking I might wade into the sea, actually. Keep walking out until I disappear, wailing after Astrid like the pathetic little freak I am.”

“It’s Wednesday?”

“Yes, Wednesday.”

“I signed up for something today.”

“Well, I don’t think you’ll be going, by the cut of you.”

“No,” giving up on the water for now, he rolls onto his back, watching insects congregate around the plastic light fixture. “You could go in my place. It’s a… meditation thing.”

I pull a face. “Meditation? That thing where you sit cross-legged and go like ‘om’?” I demonstrate, but feel bad for making him laugh. Apparently a bit painful for him.

“Yes,” he says. “Kind of. You might find value in it.”

“Is that the kind of guy you think I am? With like, dirty feet and harem pants?”

“Since I am the one who signed up, is it the kind of person you think I am?”

“Not far off.”

“Well, meditation has many benefits. It’s not just for the dirty-feet-squad. It’s good for people who suffer with various mental health concerns, and people who have racing thoughts they cannot stop and such things. Maybe it will inspire you to stop thinking about women’s breasts.”

I scoff. “Why would I do a thing like that?”

“So you can think of more productive things that will inform you, and grow your mind rather than rotting it away.”

“Like the Falklands war, for instance.”

“Yes, like the Falklands war,” he says, suddenly animated. “Thank you for saying that. Or the targeting of Libyan migrant workers on suspicion of being mercenaries by—”

I take a brisk and decisive step out of the room. “Well! Glad you’re feeling better, Jonas. See you later. Keep drinking that water, et cetera.” I swing the door shut and amble away, down the hostel hallway and back to the beach, rearing for another day of nothing, bored senseless by the edge of a lonely ocean.

Beginning // Prev // Next

#lucky boy 2011 #his COLOUR #i feel a bit sick looking at him actually #feel better soon king

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askereiniongilgalad · 22 hours ago

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Good morning, High King ☀️ !

I hope it’s not to forward to ask, but I find my curiosity compels me to: can you tell us more of your relationship with Arondír? You seem to be forming a bond with him, and I hoped you would be willing share your first impressions of the warrior with us. He seems quite fond of you and Lady Galadriel.

Good morning, night, whatever it is, my friend! ☀️🌙

Well, I suppose it was only a matter of time before someone asked. You see, I have this habit... some might call it a talent, for adopting elves. Galadriel, Celebrimbor, Elrond (though, to be fair, he adopted me first), and now… the newest addition: Arondir. Oh yes, holy, Valar-blessed Arondir. The answer to my weary prayers!!

My first impression of him? A profound one. He’s a capable warrior. 💪 Disciplined. Patient. Noble. Outstanding performance during the Siege of Eregion. ⚔️ And yes, you’ve hit the key point: he’s quite fond of Lady Galadriel.

Did I mention he’s patient? Very, very patient.

So, there we were...muddy, exhausted, battle-worn, and bonding. Well, more like me gently easing him into the family… and into his newest and most important assignment:

🎀 My nanny. 🎀

Yes, my friend, I present to you: Galadriel’s newest nanny. 🎉 He’s even equipped with the survival instincts to possibly make this work.

Our relationship? Let’s just say it’s an unspoken understanding that we’re both in way too deep. So yes... he’s now my latest addition to the collection, and trust me: he’s not getting out of my sight anytime soon. 🔗 If all goes well, I might just preserve what little remains of my sanity for what you call the "S3 event". 🤞🙏

Wish me luck. I’m really going to need it.

Gil-galad 👑🍷

#GoodMorningGoodNightIDontEvenKnow #HolyValarBlessedArondir #NannyDutyUnlocked #S3SurvivalTrainingStartsNow #OneDoesNotSimplyBabysitGaladriel #AllHailTheNanny #ElfWranglerSupreme #ElrondOwesMeBigOne #S3SurvivalPlan #IllStopNow #galadriel #arondir #gil-galad #the rings of power #trop #trop crack #gil galad #lotr trop

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tinydefector · 18 hours ago

Text

Behind the Scenes - DC

Tim Drake x Male Reader Series.

Soo..... I might have decided to dip my toes into writing for DC, I'm still going to be writing Transformers Fics too but I really wanted to make this mainly for myself, it make turn into an x Oc but we will wait and see, the first part is mainly just the Prologue and it's Tim centred without a reader introduced yet.

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Word count: 3.4K

Warnings: nothing.

Masterlist

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Tim had been staring at the screen now for hours, fingers dancing across the keyboard as he went, he had fallen down the rabbit hole of another case. Honestly he wouldn't have cursed at himself getting so invested in another Riddler case, but in truth he loved the challenge, cross examining every little detail from the scenes, the Clues. In some ways dealing with Riddler was like a break for him, the Riddler despised him, he figured things out way too quickly for Nigma's liking and ruined His plans half the time, and Timothy revealed it.

Tim wasn't interested in the riddles, no he was far more interested in the smaller details such as the barrel with a grain meal logo on it. It was so out of place, new compared to most of the other stuff that had been at the scene. It was possible he had somewhat narrowed down where Riddler was, and it was all due to the Rogue not being thorough enough. “Red Robin To Nightwing” he calls into his ear piece after switching channels.

“Hear you loud and clear RR” Dick had called back. “I believe Riddler is in Blüdhaven, at BGM Grains factory or shipment warehouse from what i've been able to gather, he's starting to get sloppy” Tim remarked while taking a mouthful of his coffee only for his nose to scrunch up slightly at how cold it had gotten.

“Hmm I'll check it out, Penguin’s also been making his rounds around Haven, I'll drop in and see if I can spot Riddler might finally catch him after the hell he's being causing B” Dick remarks, there's a slight static sound along with the whooshing of wind. “Keep me updated, I'm going to do some more digging, Oracle might even be able to tap me into the camera” he stretches slightly, his joints popping and cracking with a sigh before he focuses back in.

“you're game, Weren't you meant to be in bed three hours ago, you have an appointment tomorrow at WE with manufacturing and Marketing” Nightwing remarked with a hint of amusement in his voice. Tim rolls his eyes before drinking more of his coffee, at this rate he would just make sure to have two caffeine capsules, some dayquil and most likely coffee before he leaves in the morning if Alfred doesn't insist on him having Tea instead.

“ Hmmm, says the man who had Chief Delmore Redhorn up his ass, Must be fun having your boss pile you with paperwork and put you on mall duty” Tim retorts effortlessly, he was used to playing this game with Dick, the back and forth jabs over work.

“Careful RR, B might decide to demote you if you keep showing up to WE looking like a zombie” he teases back which earns a scoff from Tim "that's what make-up is for Big bird, to cover up the baggage and Trauma That this family carries” he snarks with a roll of his eyes. There was next to nothing that Fitcover, some eye drops, caffeine and Cologne couldn't mask.

“Whatever you say T. But I'm serious if you don't log off, I'll be calling Oracle and tell her to disable your connection. It's 3:47am go to bed” Dick says sternly, which earns a huff From Tim. “Ah don't, I'll have Alfred down there to drag you up, it's log off time” Dick continued, and Tim knows he won't win this argument, he was going on nearly 53 hours with the minimum of an hour nap in random spots.

“Fine, Fine I'm logging off and heading up. Keep me posted on Riddler!” He huffs as he begins logging out of his account on the main computer. He sits there for a moment in the large seat contemplating moving before finally working up the energy to trudge his way upstairs.

Tim makes it to his room or at least the one he stayed at when he was at the Manor, it hadn't changed much, just had a few less things in there than it used to. He grabs his antibiotics, promethazine, taking them with a large mouthful of water from the bottle he kept on the bedside table. he Kicks off most of his clothes deciding it was too hard to bother with anything more than his boxers, grabbing his compression gloves and fighting with them for a moment before he lays back in bed, tiredly staring up at the ceiling. It doesn't take long for the promethazine to make him drowsy on top of his fatigue and he is out shortly after.

The next morning, Tim awoke feeling somewhat refreshed, his mind clearer than it had been the day before, less exhaustion and tension in his frame. The combination of the antibiotics and promethazine had granted him a night free of the usual nightmares and dreams that often plagued his mind.

He rolled out of bed slowly, his muscles protesting slightly from the lingering aches and pains. A hot shower helped to work out the kinks and tension in his body, the steaming water cascading over his scars and battle-worn flesh. He stood there for a long while just letting the heat seep into his skin, eyes closed as he enjoyed the momentary relief the hot water gave.

As he stepped out of the shower, Tim caught sight of his reflection in the mirror. The dark circles under his eyes were still noticeable, but not as pronounced as they had been the day before. After drying off and getting dressed in his usual white button up and black slacks, He applied a thin layer of concealer under his eyes, carefully blending it into his skin to hide the evidence of his exhaustion.

Next, he smoothed on a foundation, the creamy substance helping to even out his complexion and conceal the faint, silvery scars that lined his cheeks - mementos from Joker. The scars were barely noticeable to most, but to Tim, they stood out more than anything, they had healed well only leaving very thin silvery lines, but they were still a reminder of what happened when he was 13.

Dressed in a crisp button-down shirt and tailored slacks, Tim looked every inch the successful businessman. Only those who knew him well could sense the weariness that still lingered beneath the polished exterior.

Tim entered the dining room, his footsteps soft against the hardwood floors. The smell of freshly brewed tea and toast wafted through the air. Bruce sat at the head of the table, newspaper in one hand, the other loosely holding a cup of tea. His breakfast plate half-empty was pushed slightly to the side. Behind the swinging door to the kitchen, the faint hum of a classical tune played as Alfred moved around, orchestrating the morning like a conductor with his symphony.

Tim offered Bruce a nod as he passed the table. He looked tired despite the dark circles under his eyes being concealed. There's a faint sluggishness in his movements. Without a word, he headed straight for the kitchen, clearly aiming for the coffee pot. As soon as Tim stepped into the kitchen, Alfred's sharp yet warm voice cut through the music.

"Master Timothy, don't even think about it. Coffee is hardly what you need right now. Have you slept at all?" He inquiries not even turning around to look at the younger man

Tim paused mid-reach for the coffee pot, his hand hovering above the handle. He sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly. "Good morning to you too, Alfred."

Alfred turned, crossing his arms with the kind of disapproving look only he could master, the disappointed grandfather stare. The soft music continued in the background as he gestured toward the kettle. "Tea, Master Tim. Far more civilized and significantly better for someone who looks like they've just returned from the grave."

Tim hesitated but relented. "Fine. Tea it is." Alfred huffed but began preparing the tea while muttering under his breath about "young men and their lack of proper self-care."

Tim returned to the dining room, plopping into the chair across from Bruce. The latter set down the newspaper, his piercing gaze settling on Tim. "You haven't been sleeping."

Tim blinked, he was well aware he hadn't been sleeping, he had been doing reserch into the Head of medical manufacturing as this was now the third time this month, that Luicus had brought him to attention over it, and Tim had done his own digging, and noe Marketing and been trying their best to sway Tim into letting them raise the price of certain medical items. And that was excluding everything that had been happening while he moonlights as Red Robin.

His tone is defensive. "I'm fine. Just had a lot to do." Bruce raised an eyebrow, the kind of look that said he wasn't buying it. He leaned back, resting his hands on the arms of his chair. "You can't run on fumes, Not in the long run. You know that."

Tim looked away, running a hand through his hair. Trying not to mess it up after styling it into the business look he normally did for board meeting and anything that involved him having to be at any WE sites. "I will catch up on sleep once everything with patrols, WE settle down. Riddler has been causing issues in Blüdhaven and Luicus and myself are suspicious of the head of drug manufacturing, so I've been doing digging"

Bruce doesn't say anything but just continues to watch Tim. Before he gets the chance to say anything Alfred appears, setting a cup of tea in front of Tim with a faintly pointed expression.

"So, about the meeting today. WE Operations and Marketing. What’s the agenda?" Tim straightened a little, his exhaustion momentarily forgotten as he switched into work mode. "The marketing team wants to pitch a new campaign to raise prices of medication such as Insulin, amoxycillin, Levothyroxine.” there is a slight sneer to Tim's voice over it. He hated dealing with the pharmaceutical marketing Team, not to mention the head of the manufacturing. They have been trying to sway him for months now over increasing prices for life saving medication. And WE had always prided itself on being affordable for everyone.

“ I think we need to replace management and look at other options for that Team, or replacements, they have been the main ones causing so much strife within the company. The Steel operations will be presenting their quarterly report, but from what Lucius told me, there aren't any major surprises. I actually enjoy talking with Mr Brill, his Teams deserve a raise, He ask about you often, wants to know if your coming in for another one of their Forklift workshops " There's a small smirk on Tim's face, he knew all about those workshops Bruce used to attend before he had taken over as CEO.

Bruce frowned slightly, swirling the tea in his cup, as he takes a sip. "You know I don't involve myself much in the day-to-day anymore." But there's a small smile on Bruce's face remembering the shock of so many people when he used to show up to those workshops.

The conversation had shifted to lighter topics, Bruce still nursing his tea while Tim sat back in his chair finishing up his own tea, trying to muster some energy for the day ahead, as he still eyes the kitchen wondering if he could get away with coffee before he left for his meeting, even if he couldn't he would either get one while at WE from the breakroom or afterwards sneak away long enough to get one from the local cafe he frequent.

Alfred moved about the dining room with his usual quiet grace, clearing away Bruce’s breakfast plate and straightening the table. As Alfred returned from the kitchen, he paused by Tim’s chair, his hands resting lightly on the back of it. His tone was casual, but there was a hint of purpose behind his words. "Master Timothy, if I might trouble you for a moment..."

Tim glanced up, raising a brow. "Uh-oh. What did I do now?"

Alfred gave him a long-suffering look before continuing. "Nothing, yet. But I was wondering if you might accompany me later today after your meetings. There’s a small, family-owned nursery I frequent for the plants that brighten up this dreary old Manor. They’ve just started their spring stock, and I’d like to see what they have this year."

Tim blinked, surprised, it wasn't what he had expected to hear from the old butler. "You’re asking me to go plant shopping with you?" Alfred gave a faint huff, though there was a glint of amusement in his eyes. "Indeed, I am. Surely you can spare a moment from your busy schedule to assist an old man with something as simple as choosing a few ferns and perhaps a philodendron or two?"

Tim leaned back, fingers linked together as he processed everything, "Couldn’t you just call them? Have them send over a list or something? Sounds like less hassle." Alfred’s expression turned pointed, though his tone remained polite, he was making it very clear it Wasn't up for debate.

"Of course I could, Master Timothy. But where is the joy in that? I’d much rather go in person. There’s a charm to it, you see. And, if I may be so bold, I think an outing might do you some good. Perhaps some fresh air and a bit of greenery might help shake off the exhaustion you so stubbornly insist on ignoring."

Bruce chuckled softly from his seat, glancing between the two. Tim shot Bruce a mock glare before turning back to Alfred, this felt like a trap, a trap to keep him busy and his focus away from work and cases. His lips press into a thin line as he stares down Alfred, the older man fixes him with his own look.

"Fine, fine. I’ll go. On one condition, we stop at my favourite Cafe and I get my ristretto, or Iced Lungo " He finally relented knowing he wasn't getting out of this, but he sure wasn't going to not put up some resistance over it.

Alfred gave a small, satisfied smile, as though he’d just won a minor battle. "That can be arranged, Master Tim. Your company will suffice. Though, if I may offer a suggestion, do try not to have too much Caffeine."

Tim rolled his eyes, though there was a faint grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Yeah, yeah. That's my offer, coffee for company." Bruce set down his tea, his tone light but teasing. "Don’t let him talk you into carrying all the pots. He’s been known to overdo it."

Alfred turned to Bruce with a feigned look of innocence. "I assure you, Master Bruce, I wouldn’t dream of it." Bruce gave him a knowing look, but Tim waved it off, standing up and stretching. glancing at the clock on the wall, his faint grin fading as the reality of his packed schedule loomed over him again. He drained the rest of his tea, setting the cup down with a soft clink against the saucer.

“Alright,” he said, pushing his chair back and standing with a stretch. “I’ve got to head out. If I get to my office early enough, I might actually have a chance to breathe before the swarm descends.” he said, pushing the chair back into the table.

Bruce raised an eyebrow over the rim of his teacup, his expression somewhere between amused and concerned. “You mean you’re running off to hide before they corner you,” Bruce said knowingly. Tim hummed, grabbing his blazer off the back of the chair. “Something like that. I like to call it ‘strategic retreat.’”

Alfred gave him a pointed look as he passed by. “Strategic retreat or not, Master Timothy, I do hope you’ll consider pacing yourself today. Another cup of tea wouldn’t go amiss, either.” Tim paused in the doorway, glancing back with a wry grin. “Tea’s nice, Alfred, but I’m going to need something a little stronger if I’m going to survive the marketing team today.”

Alfred’s brow furrowed as he turned to face him fully, his disapproval evident. “Master Tim, I do hope you’re not referring to–” “Triple shot espresso,” Tim cut in, his grin widening. “Don’t worry, I’ll make it myself. Wouldn’t want to drag anyone else into my caffeine dependency.”

Bruce let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. He knew Tim drank an awful amount of coffee but some days it really put others to shame “You’re going to crash hard later if you keep running like this.” Tim shrugged as he slipped his arms into the blazer and adjusted the cuffs.“Yeah, probably. But that’s a problem for later. Right now, I’ve got to deal with pharmaceutical marketing trying to convince me that price-gouging insulin is somehow good for the company.” His voice turned sharp at the end, a flicker of irritation breaking through his usual sarcasm.

Alfred followed him toward the hallway, speaking as he moved. “If they press you too much, Master Timothy, do remember that you have the authority to shut them down completely.” Tim glanced back over his shoulder, his hand resting on the doorframe. “Oh, don’t worry, Alfred. I’ve been shutting them down for months. They’re just persistent. Like termites with suits.”

Alfred gave him a small, approving nod. “As long as you don’t let them wear you down. And do keep in mind our little outing to the nursery later. Perhaps a few moments among greenery will help restore your... equilibrium.”

Tim snorted softly. “Yeah, I’ll keep that in mind.” He turned and headed down the hallway, his footsteps quick and purposeful on the polished floors. As he passed by the large windows overlooking the grounds, he caught a glimpse of the sunlight streaming through the trees, but he didn’t stop to take it in. His mind was already racing ahead—mentally preparing for the battle waiting for him at Wayne Enterprises.

By the time he reached the garage, Tim was already planning his first move of the day: getting to his office before anyone else had the chance to ambush him. He climbed into his car, the engine purring to life as he pulled out of the long driveway, the manor shrinking behind him in the rearview mirror.

The drive gave him a moment of quiet, though his fingers drummed impatiently on the steering wheel as he navigated the early morning traffic. He barely noticed the scenery passing by—his thoughts were too focused on the meetings ahead. The pharmaceutical marketing team, in particular, was already grating on his nerves, and he hadn’t even seen them yet.

By the time he reached the Wayne Enterprises building, the city was fully awake. Tim parked in his reserved spot, grabbed his bag, and made his way inside, weaving through the bustling crowd of employees already heading to their stations. The elevator ride to his floor was mercifully empty, giving him a rare moment to himself. When the doors slid open, he stepped out into the sleek, modern office space that housed his team.

Tim moved quickly, nodding at a few early risers but keeping his pace brisk. He wasn’t ready to be stopped yet. His office door clicked shut behind him, and he let out a small sigh of relief. For now, at least, he was safe. Dropping his bag onto the chair, he crossed the room to the small coffee bar tucked into the corner. The espresso machine gleamed under the overhead lights, and Tim wasted no time getting to work.

“Triple shot,” he muttered to himself as he loaded the machine. The scent of freshly brewed coffee filled the room, and for a brief moment, it was almost enough to make him forget the chaos waiting just outside his door.

Almost.

Cup in hand, Tim moved to his desk and took a long sip, the bitter jolt of caffeine already doing its job. He set the cup down and powered on his computer, his inbox lighting up with a flood of unread emails. “Alright,” he muttered, cracking his knuckles, the ache slowly dissipating Into pins and needles. “Let’s see what today’s disaster looks like.”

The quiet hum of his office was soon accompanied by the rhythmic tapping of his keyboard as Tim dove into his work, bracing himself for the inevitable knock on his door that would signal the start of the day’s battles. For now, though, he savored the calm before the storm, his triple shot espresso keeping him upright as he prepared to face whatever came next.

__________

#dc comics #dc universe #tim drake #tim drake x reader #tim drake x male reader #tim drake x you #batman #Batfam #dc tim drake #red robin #red robin x reader #male reader

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evermoreness · 3 days ago

Note

please write about ron weasley and reader waking up late to class and they got dressed so quickly that they mismatched their ties !!!

— I absolutely adored this prompt! Hope you like it.

late morning scramble | ron weasley

pairing: ron weasley x ravenclaw!reader

summary: you and your boyfriend are late to potions class, now you have to face Snape's interrogations.

You groaned as sunlight streamed through the window, stirring you awake. Ron's arms around your waist, your head in his chest. Last night, you sneaked out from the ravenclaw tower to the boys dorm in the gryffindor tower. You and Ron stayed up till late, chatting and making out til you were tired enough to go to sleep. Then, you blinked, the realization hit you like a Bludger when you spotted the clock on the wall.

“Ron!” you hissed, shaking him violently. “Wake up! We’re late!”

Ron groaned, turning over. “Mmm…just five more minutes, love.”

You yanked the covers off him. “Five minutes? We’re already five minutes into Potions!”

Ron bolted upright, wide-eyed. “Bloody hell!”

You scrambled out of bed, tripping over shoes and robes in your haste. You grabbed your Ravenclaw tie while Ron reached for his Gryffindor one. In your panic, neither realized you’d swapped.

“Come on, Ron, we're gonna get a detention if we’re any later!” You said, yanking him out the door.

You finally burst out of the Gryffindor common room, running full tilt toward the dungeons. Bursting into the dungeon classroom, you and Ron skidded to a halt, both red-faced and breathless. The class turned to look at you, and Snape’s icy glare froze them in place.

“Sorry, we’re late!” you panted, dragging Ron to your usual seats at the back of the room.

Snape, standing at the front with his trademark scowl, raised an eyebrow. His dark eyes scanned both of you, lingering on your ties.

“Miss y/l/n,” Snape said suddenly, his tone sharp. “Do you realize you’re wearing a Gryffindor tie today?”

You froze, your hand flying to your chest. Sure enough, the red and gold tie stood out against your Ravenclaw robes.

“And Mr. Weasley,” Snape continued, his lip curling, “it seems you’ve taken a liking to blue and bronze.”

The class erupted into muffled laughter. You shot a glare at Seamus, who was trying unsuccessfully to stifle his snickers.

“Well, Professor,” You began, forcing a smile. “You see, there was a bit of a mix-up this morning. I—I spilled tea on my tie, and Ron here graciously lent me one of his.”

“Oh really?” Snape’s eyebrows lifted in mock curiosity. “And what, pray tell, happened to Mr. Weasley’s tie?”

“Er… I lost it?” Ron offered weakly.

Snape’s gaze flicked between you, his expression unreadable. “Interesting. And why, might I ask, do you both look like you’ve been chased by a herd of rampaging Hippogriffs?”

The way Snape said it made Ron hold back a laughter, you nudged him with your elbow, making him do a dramatic face of pain.

You were quick to answer. “We, um, tripped on the way here. Didn’t we, Ron?”

Ron nodded. “Yeah! Fell right over Peeves’ stupid tripwire.”

Snape cut them off. “Did you perhaps sleep through your alarms? Together?”

The class went silent. Your cheeks burned, and you could feel Ron fidgeting beside you, doing his best innocent face.

“Absolutely not, Professor!” You said, your voice a little too high. “We were… uh… studying late last night! Lost track of time! Separate study sessions, of course.”

“Studying?” Snape repeated, his tone dripping with disbelief. “Tell me, Miss y/l/n, do you often tutor your boyfriend late into the night in such a state?”

The snickering grew louder. Ron flushed a deep red. “It’s not like that!” he blurted out.

Snape’s eyes narrowed. “Not like what, Mr. Weasley? Are you suggesting that you and Miss y/l/n were not, in fact, sleeping together?”

The class collectively gasped. You spluttered, your face heating. “Of course not! That’s ridiculous! We were—”

“Coincidence!” Ron interjected loudly, his voice cracking. “It’s all just a big coincidence!”

The class erupted into laughter.

“Ten points from Gryffindor,” Snape said, “and ten from Ravenclaw. For your tardiness, and your insult to my intelligence.”

Ron slumped in his seat. “Brilliant,” he muttered under his breath.

You shot him a look, your lips twitching in amusement despite yourself.

"At least we didn't get detention" You whispered to him as you both started working together putting the ingredients into the cauldron.

"Next time we check each other's ties." Ron whispered back, a serious look in his face as he was thinking of solutions.

"Next time?" You said, a little smile on your lips. You and Ron had been sneaking out to see each other since way before you dated. Before, it was just to chat and play chess, and now was just to make out in his dorm room without any of the other boys noticing.

"What? You don't want a next time?" Ron looked at you confused, his brows furrowed, making you let out a small laugh.

Before you could answer, Snape glared at you both. He was looking like he wanted to kill both of you.

"If any of you," Snape started, getting closer to you and Ron, pointing at you with his wand "Speak one more time in my class without permission, you will spend the night together, not in a dorm room, but in detention"

Ron and you exchanged looks, nodding.

After the class, the gossip about the incident spread faster than the Hogwarts Express. By lunchtime, the entire school seemed to know about Thaís and Ron’s mix-up.

Fred and George appeared out of nowhere, their faces alight with mischief.

“Well, well,” Fred said, draping an arm around Ron. “What’s this we hear about our dear brother sneaking into the Ravenclaw tower?”

“Or was it y/n sneaking into Gryffindor?” George added, winking.

“Cut it out,” Ron grumbled, his ears turning bright red.

“Oh, don’t be shy, little Ronniekins,” Fred teased. “We’re just proud of you! Bagging one of the prettiest witches of fifth year and all”

Ron groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Can you not talk like this about my girlfriend?”

“Actually, no” Fred said, smirking. “Must be nice to have a Ravenclaw girlfriend willing to sneak into the Gryffindor tower for late-night chats.”

“Chats,” George repeated, making air quotes.

You crossed your arms, glaring at the twins. “For the record, it was innocent.”

"Innocent as you both taking off your clothes?" George said, a smirk in his face. Ron choked on air, and you tried to not die from embarrassment.

“Innocent enough to get Snape all riled up,” Fred quipped.

You groaned, running a hand through your hair. “I’m doomed.”

“Doomed? No, no, no,” Fred said, clapping a hand on your shoulder. “You’re legends. This story will live on forever.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress your grin. “Well, if I’m going down in history, at least I’ve got good company.”

Ron smirked, pulling you closer to him, his arm going around your waist. "And I would do it again"

Fred pretended to gag. “Ugh, disgusting.”

George did a disgusted face. “Absolutely revolting.”

As the twins sauntered off, Ron turned to you, his face still a bit red. “Remind me to hex them later.”

But as you walked to their next class, you couldn’t help but laugh. Even with all the teasing and gossip, you knew you wouldn’t trade your chaotic life with Ron for anything.

#ron weasley #ron weasley x you #ron weasley x reader #harry potter #fanfic #x reader #x yn #ravenclaw #gryffindor #fred weasley #george weasley

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honeyjars-sims · 3 days ago

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Part 2 1.01 A Big Splash

It's a typical Saturday morning, and as usual, I slept in. As hard as it is to drag myself out of bed, I know I have things to do today, so into the shower I go.

While I'm getting ready, I can't help but reflect on my recent birthday. It's hard to believe how much has happened over my lifetime, or even just in the past 10 years. In a lot of ways, I still feel like that same kid who thought he knew everything but had so much to learn. If I could go back and tell him what was about to happen in his life, I don't think he'd believe me. Sometimes, I still don’t believe it.

As I head downstairs, I hear the familiar sound of Paul stirring something in a bowl and briefly wonder what he's making before chuckling to myself. I already know it's pancakes. It's always pancakes, but I can't complain about the predictability when I know they're going to be delicious.

I make it downstairs and the girls are so busy helping that they don't even notice I've come down.

Well, Rachel is helping, at least. She has her own bowl and is standing on the footstool at the island stirring away. Chelsea, however, can't be trusted with anything that we plan to eat unless I'm there to supervise. Otherwise we run the risk of having a secret ingredient–toddler slobber or animal hair or whatever else has ended up on her grubby little hands.

I sneak up behind her and give her a little tickle. She turns around. “Dada!” she squeals, as I scoop her up and give her a squeeze.

“Good morning, my loves,” I say.

“Dada, we’re making pancakes!” Rachel tells me, as though I should be surprised by this revelation.

“I see that. I can’t wait to try them.”

“What are you in the mood for this morning?” Paul asks me. “We’re out of bananas, but we have plenty of blueberries and strawberries.”

I come up behind him, wrapping my arms around his waist. “I'm in the mood for some of this,” I say, and he turns his head to meet my lips.

“Lucky for you, there’s always plenty of that.”

Rachel and Paul finish the pancakes and we all scarf them down. It’s times like this when I wish we had more space. There’s not enough room for a dining table in our townhouse.

Chelsea insists she doesn’t need a high chair but can’t reach the barstools, so she ends up having most of her meals on the couch. Which is why the pillows smell like maple syrup and feel sticky.

Once we’ve finished breakfast, Rachel has a request. “Can we go to the splash pad? Please?

“Yeah, Dada, pwease?” Chelsea echoes. How can I say no to that?

The splash pad isn’t far but we have to drive, which means packing up everything we need and getting the kids secured in their seats. And of course, they want our dog Tucker to come with us.

Once we arrive, though, it’s worth all the effort. The girls love splashing around in the water...and yeah, so do Paul and I.

“This was a good idea,” I tell Paul once we take a little break from the water.

“Yeah, it’s a beautiful day. We should do this more often, especially now that Chelsea’s getting older.”

“True, it’s a lot easier going out now that she’s not a baby anymore. Although…”

Paul sighs. “John,” he warns. He knows exactly what I’m hinting at.

“I’m just saying, she’s getting so big. I miss having a baby around.”

“So do I, but it would be much harder to have days like this with a newborn. Besides, we barely have space in the house for the four of us.”

“Exactly. We’re already outgrowing the house, so we might as well upgrade to something bigger and fill it with more babies.”

I gesture over to a lot across from the splash pad. “Look how close the Hopewell Commons expansion is. They have bigger units there. If we lived there we could just walk to the splash pad. Imagine how much the kids would love that.”

“Well, there has to be a unit available first,” Paul points out. “But I suppose we can let Gail and Ellie know we’re interested so they can let us know when something opens up.”

“Cool. So baby time?”

“I’m not saying no, but can we think about it a little more?”

“Yeah sure,” I agree. Sometimes Paul’s need to consider every possible angle before making a decision can be a bit frustrating, but I have to admit it’s helpful to have someone to reel me in sometimes. It’s a nice balance–a little chaotic, a little structured, and a lot of fun.

Once again my thoughts turn to the past. Paul and I have been together for almost 10 years now. When I turned 20, I had no idea that my roommate would end up being my husband. That was certainly a year of discovery for me. And with a new home and a new baby possibly on the horizon, year 30 is shaping up to be quite an adventure as well.

Previous | Beginning of story | Beginning of chapter | Next

Bonus pics below!

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seldomscilence16 · 1 year ago

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Whumptober day 28:

"We might not make it to the morning, so go on and tell me now."

Bloody knife | sacrifice | "You'll have to go through me."

Fandom: Voltron (El dorado Au)

Prompts used: All

Alright so, I have so much I want to do with this au, so this is short and does end on a vague cliff hanger (heheh). If you've watched the movie you can assume the end, however when I get around to writing this fully, it may be different to how you'd expect. This was intended however, to end up as a Klank story (is that right?), and while it's not present in this it will be in the full one.

TW for blood

…

El Dorado. The city of gold, gifted to mortals by the Gods over a thousand years ago. It was a legend to many, a myth to many more, a hope to some.

Keith and Hunk had differing views, before this whole journey began. Hunk had wanted something solid and tangible- Spain, or any of the civilizations they knew and had seen before their eyes. Keith had adventure in his eyes, a yearning to go and find and discover and MOVE. The map had given them something, a trail to blaze rather than an ocean of peril.

Their semi-stolen, rescuer to rescued, horse hadn't been completely swayed, but was loyal enough to stay with them- which Hunk took as a win. Especially when they found the natives- well they found them- were led to El Dorado, and decided to pretend to be Gods. And honestly, everything had been surprisingly fine!

Until Keith got fed up with Haggar's bs- which yeah fair, but come on!- and now they were… well here.

Confined to their temple- to bask or rest or pray, Hunk couldn't even recall- because tomorrow they had to prove their Godness again. The anniversary of El Dorado's creation and the day before they were set to leave, a big event with the Gods themselves present.

"You just had to upset Haggar!" Hunk is pacing, heart pounding and breaths short and mind racing.

"I didn't know she'd do… this!" He gestures vaguely to encompass their situation.

"Oh gee, the chick that speaks for the Gods that's been on our butts since we got here gets pissed off and talks about a big deal event to get said butts caught!? Wow so surprising!"

"Hunk, I'm sorry, okay! We can figure this out, so stop panicking!"

"Oh yeah let me just turn it off! We might not make it to the morning, so go on and tell me now, what brilliant plan do you have to get us out of here!?" Hunks worked himself up to full on panic.

"If you panic I'm gonna panic! I need your brain! Or else I'm gonna end up jumping off the stairs and hoping I fly!"

"Geez. The horse was right, you two are a mess."

"Lance!" The two turn to find their native guide standing just inside their back entrance, Shiro- their horse- behind him.

"How have you two made it this far?" He mumbles, looking over his shoulder to ensure he wasn't followed.

"This isn't a normal con!" Keith hisses, nerves still high strung, "If they find out we're lying, we're dead!"

"Only because Haggar has her claws in everything. The Chief doesn't like her or her ways, so all you have to do tomorrow is get him on your side and the people will follow."

"You make it sound so easy!" Hunk whines, though both men have calmed down.

Lance is quiet, and the two finally take notice of his own nervous energy.

"Lance? Is there something else we should know?" Keith ventures carefully, the two step closer, each reaching for a hand.

He allows the motion, squeezing gently as he offers up a smile, it falls short to the sunny ones he'd shared the past few days.

"Tomorrow, just… focus on getting out of it alive. You just have to make it through tomorrow then you can take your boat of gold and leave."

"And then WE can take OUR boat of gold and leave." Hunk corrects quickly, nerves growing again.

"Yeah, we have a plan." Keith agrees, intense stare directed at his tan face.

Lance doesn't meet their eyes, instead smiling wide enough for them to squeeze closed, giving their hands one more strong grip.

"Right. I have to go, tomorrow will be fine." Lance pulls away, turning quickly towards where he came.

"We'll all make it out of here Lance." Keith says it firmly, no room for doubt.

"We're in this together." Hunk concurs.

"Get some sleep you two, you'll need your strength tomorrow."

"My Lieges, once again, my apologies for yesterdays… difference of opinions." Haggar offers a smile, long fingers steepled before her, hood hiding her eyes from view. The smile is not comforting, its disconcerting and down right creepy.

"Right well, bigones." Keith waves the lackluster apology away, neutral face hiding how fast his heart is beating.

Hunk and Keith had barely slept, pressed side by side on the plush bed nest, dreading the day to come, trying to think of some feat they could fake. Shiro had been just as nervous, the armadillo that'd been following them around since they arrived curled up on his back as the two almost seemed to converse. To top it all off, they hadn't seen Lance since he left last night. They'd need another miracle to pull all this off.

"I have a gift, one that will hopefully please the Gods this time."

Keith looks ready to protest, to angrily tell her off once again about needless sacrifices, only for the very Earth to shake as a huge stone beast descends from Haggar's temple. The people scream, Hunk frozen beside Keith as they stare upon the crazy woman dwarfed by the glowing eyed creature behind her.

"I have had my eyes opened, the Gods command they do not want Sacrifices, it is because those will not do! The new age is upon us, and a mass cleanse is needed to please the Gods!"

"Quiznak." Keith mutters darkly.

"Unless of course, they wish to speak for themselves?" Her voice is a tad mocking, and the two realize she knows, their jig is up, and these people may very well pay for it.

"The Gods do not deal with petty mortals in their own realm, Haggar!" The voice comes from higher ground, they whip around to find Lance atop Shiro on one of the higher ledges of the city. "You will be judged in their realm and dealt punishment that you are past due for. So say the Gods!"

"What is he doing?" Hunk whispers aghastly.

"Xibalba." Keith utters back, "The whirlpool." He turns to Hunk and sees the realization dawn on his face.

They nod at each other, and turn as one towards the giant beast,

"Yes! Our brothers and sisters upon the higher realm shall judge you accordingly! You, the false prophet, shall not haunt these people any longer!" Hunks voice deepens dramatically as he speaks, false bravado the only thing keeping his panic at bay.

"We shall end this here!" Keith agrees, the people have mostly scattered, but those that haven't quickly follow coarse.

The beast roars, Haggar grinning far too brightly, as the chase begins.

They run through the winding paths of El Dorado, destination clear in their mind, trying to keep steady as every pounce behind them shakes the ground. They suppose they should be grateful Haggar hated them so, or else this chase would be meaningless. Now they simply had to hope this plan worked, lest this be the end of it all.

As the ledge finally comes into view, the area desolate, they slide to a stop.

"False Gods. Now everyone will know the truth of your divinity, and it will be you to be judged! I know what you are, and I know what you are not! And you are not Gods!"

Haggar and the beast block their exit, and they realize they may not have thought this through-

"You're not a God? You… lied to me?" Lance comes, seemingly, out of nowhere, eyeing them both with betrayal.

His eyes motion behind him-

"What? No, he lied to both of us!" Hunk jumps in, pointing at Keith.

"I did not! It was your plan!" Keith fires back, poking Hunks chest.

"You're the one who wanted gold first!"

"Well you're the one falling for your own con!"

"Well at least I didn’t drool at first sight!"

"Oh don't even! Low blow! You gooey eyed him too!"

"You guys said you were gonna ascend! I can't believe you lied to my people!"

They've steadily moved, argument turning physical as they get between the beast and Haggar who watches them with sick glee.

"This is all you're-" Hunk and Keith have a fist in each other's shirts, arms pulled back to sock eachother in the jaws, but before they can do a finishing move, the beast roars once more.

Haggar launches herself at them, knife pulled from some hidden fold of her robes, manic smile bright, only for it to fall as knife plunges into someone else.

Lance stands between them now, knife buried just below his belly button, but face set in a glare.

"You'll have to go through me."

The knife is yanked out- blood splattering across its surface and the stones below- an outraged yell combining with the creature's Earth rumbling bellow. As the beast lunges forward, Keith wraps an arm around Lance as he and Hunk jump to the sides, vine in hand. Haggar's scream echoes, as the ledge breaks off with the weight of the once stone statue, and disappears in the whirlpool below.

#whumptober 2023 #no.28 #“we might not make it to the morning so go on and tell me now.”#lyric #bloody knife #sacrifice #“you'll have to go through me!”#voltron legendary defender #fic #blood tw #angst #injuries #langst #au #klank ship #el dorado au #el dorado

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adrift-in-thyme · 1 year ago

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Whumptober Day 28: “We might not make it to the morning; so go on and tell me now”

Read it on Ao3

- Time/Malon

- Summary: an injured Link shows up at Lon Lon Ranch

CW for blood and injury, mentions of death and broken bones

——————————

Malon’s hands never shake.

She can’t afford for them to. Sure, there are times when they are a bit unsteady from exhaustion or stress. Sure, there are things that scare her enough to make them trembling a possibility. But in her world, when things get hairy there is only action and no time for anything else.

Now is no different. At least, that’s what she keeps telling herself. Her hands don’t tremble, even as blood oozes over them. Her thoughts don’t falter. No tears fall.

But they want to. Oh, they want to. Because this time feels so very different. She has dealt with wounded animals before and even wounded people (she will never forget the time Ingo got kicked in the leg by Epona; satisfying though it may have been after the man’s behavior, setting that bone wasn’t exactly what she would call enjoyable). Never before, however, has she held the broken body of someone she cares for quite so much.

“You’re an idiot, fairy boy,” she breathes as she presses another cloth to the gash running across her friend’s middle.

“‘m your idiot, though,” he mumbles back. Even now there is characteristic mischief peeking out from behind the exhaustion and pain straining his tone.

Malon rolls her eyes.

Link has been bleeding all over her nice, clean floors and furniture for at least five minutes now. And that’s after he rode in, slumped over Epona’s back, one hand pressed to his stomach, the other clutching the horse’s reins like a lifeline.

He had come because he had nowhere else to go, he had said when she had stepped out onto the porch, eyes wide and heart in her throat. Because he could think of nowhere else that would be safe. Where he would be accepted without hesitation.

And as she had helped him down from the saddle, as he had practically collapsed onto her arms, he had apologized. Assured her he would take care of the wound himself, if only she would provide him a place to stay. As though he were a stranger in her home and not her best friend.

“Oh, shush,” she had scolded, ushering him into the house and lowering him onto the nearest chair. “I’ll take care of everything. You just sit down.”

And meekly, he had obeyed.

Now, he watches her with a slightly dazed look, as she tries to save his life.

For that is what she is doing, really. If she doesn’t get this wound to stop bleeding soon, he’ll bleed out.

As it is, she’s afraid he won’t last the night.

She worries her bottom lip and reaches behind her for the bandages lying on the table.

“Care to tell me how this happened?” The sharp bite of fear is in her tone despite her attempts to restrain it.

And really, who cares at this point, anyway? Her fairy boy is hurt, badly. She’s allowed to be a little worried.

Link drags in an unsteady breath.

“Monster fight.”

“The usual, then.” She shakes her head, sighing. “What I wanna know is what kinda monster fight was it that got you this hurt? I don’t think you’ve ever come around looking like this before.”

Link blinks, long and slow. The blue of his eyes seems unnaturally bright. Maybe because of the light, maybe because of pain. Malon thinks it’s likely both. But it almost reminds her of that little fairy that used to follow him around.

“Did you go into a dungeon or somethin’?”

Her gaze is back on her work, now, as she ties the bandages as tightly as possible. But when he speaks she can hear something almost like guilt in his voice.

“I—” A sharp hiss, fingers fisting in the fabric of his tunic. Malon murmurs an apology, trying to ignore the way the sound is like a dagger to her heart. “I was looking for…for something.”

“Lookin’ for something huh?”

She ties off the gauzy strips of fabric now practically holding the man together and takes a moment to survey her work.

That should hold.

Now, to get that bleeding firmly under control before he passes out…or worse. She grasps the bottle of potion that she had snatched from the cupboard earlier. It’s always handy, she has found, for times when the healing power of Lon Lon milk isn’t quite up to par. Times like now.

“That had better have been one important treasure. Did you get it at least?”

A small smile lifts Link’s lips. Somehow, it doesn’t make him look any more alive. He’s too pale, too ashen. There’s too much blood, coating his tunic, coating his hands and dribbling down from his mouth and nose.

But at least he has the strength to smile. Malon is willing to appreciate small miracles.

“Yeah, I got it.”

Something in the way he says it makes her slightly suspicious. But she hardly has time to figure out why. She wipes her hands on a nearby cloth, quickly so as not to take in just how stark the crimson looks against the white. Then, she uncorks the potion bottle and gets to her feet.

Link moves trembling, crimson drenched fingers toward the bottle. But she shakes her head.

“Uh-uh. You’re weak. Let me.”

With one careful hand, she tips his chin up and holds the bottle to his lips with the other. He swallows its contents obediently.

“That should help,” she says, once he’s finished. She turns away, setting the bottle back on the table. “At the very least you won’t be bleeding everywhere anymore.”

“Thanks,” he murmurs. He sounds a bit stronger already, she thinks. But maybe she’s just fooling herself to distract from the worry currently chewing a hole in her gut.

“Anytime, fairy boy.”

Malon inspects the wound one more time, reassuring herself that it’s no longer in danger of bleeding through the bandages. Thankfully, the potion already seems to be doing its job. The bandages remain a clean, cottony white.

“Looks like you’re out of the danger zone,” she says with a sigh of relief. “But you’re gonna need some rest and a new set of clothes.”

She looks over him once more, frowning. He raises an eyebrow.

“What?”

“I’m gonna have to tend to those other wounds of yours too. I swear, you look like you let the horses trample you.”

There is a distinct twinkle in his eye now. Already, he is beginning to look a little more like himself.

“Ah, it’s a…a good look then. A seasoned adventurer kind of look.”

Her lips quirk up even as she glares at him.

“No. It’s not a good look. I thought that much was implied. And it’s the kind that gives me a heart attack.”

He grins. But it quickly turns into a grimace as she sets about cleaning a cut along his neck. Gently, she tilts her head to get a better look at it.

“Stay still, now, and let me work.”

He mumbles a tired-sounding reply. His eyes are beginning to drift closed, despite his efforts to keep them open. And as she tackles each injury, he grows closer and closer toward losing his grip on consciousness completely. But the time he is cleaned up and she has managed to help him fumble into one of Talon’s spare tunics he is practically asleep.

“There,” she murmurs, setting aside the bowl of water and multiple cloths that she had used. They tinge the water pink. “Feelin a little better now?”

She knows that she is. The terror of earlier has abated somewhat, every steady breath, every beat of his heart convincing her that the danger is gone. At least, for now.

For now, her fairy boy is safe. For now, her hands don’t shake.

He hums, sleepily. His gaze is trained on the fireplace now, seemingly mesmerized by the flames dancing there. But when she drapes a blanket over him he drags his gaze up to meet hers.

“Hey, Mal.”

“Yeah?”

“I…I think I’m in love with you.” He frowns, thought obviously a difficult task at the moment. “No…know I am.”

Malon stops short, edges of the blanket still clutched in her suddenly shaky hands. A short bark of laughter escapes, a bit louder than she means it to be.

“I think you’ve lost a little bit too much blood.”

“‘m fine,” he retorts, scowling. “Malon ‘m serious. I love you.”

Shaking her head, she tucks the blanket up around his chin and presses a quick kiss to his cheek.

“Alright, fairy boy. It’s time for you to get some sleep. We can pick up this conversation in the morning.”

His scowl becomes decidedly pouty, though he has little choice but to comply. His eyes slip closed, breath beginning to even out.

By the time, Malon has cleaned up the gory mess (she never wants to see this much blood again, especially not from him), and put away her tools, he is long gone. She allows herself a moment to gaze at him, slumbering peacefully, face illuminated by the flickering flames. He is less pale now and with the blood gone he looks more human. Younger, more like himself.

Reaching out, she rubs her thumb on his cheek, a smile playing on her lips.

“I love you too, Link.”

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