#(this post should be replaced it has a CRACK in it)

[guinevereslancelot]

i don't care abt spn and didn't watch probably the last ten seasons but with the way death was so often impermanent i think it would have been really funny if they just brought back jess in the last episode

[oimoi-op]

I got some vintage pens I wanna show off but unfortunately I've met today's binocular vision limit so pictures of small rubber tubes will have to wait :(

[pucksandpower]

I’m a Feminist

Franco Colapinto x team principal!Reader

Summary: everyone knows that Franco has a thing for older women, okay … so when his team principal turns out to be a (stupidly attractive) older woman, he can’t be held responsible for his actions

Franco sprawls in the chair, arms crossed over his chest like he’s holding court instead of facing an emergency meeting. His grin is wide, cocky even, and wholly unapologetic. Across the desk, you pinch the bridge of your nose, willing patience to come like some kind of divine miracle.

“Explain,” you say, voice flat, your tone giving nothing away. You refuse to let him see how utterly exhausted you already are by this conversation.

“I sneezed,” Franco says with a shrug, “and liked all your pictures. Really, it was — how do you say — an accident.”

You stare. No, you glare. "And commented damn mommy on all of them?”

Franco falters — barely. There’s a half-second where his grin wavers, his bravado cracks, but then it’s gone, replaced by another shrug. “I-I have the flu?”

Your exhale is sharp, just shy of a growl. “Franco.”

“What?” He leans forward now, feigning innocence. “Is it so bad? You look muy guapa in your photos. Should I not celebrate my team principal’s beauty? This feels sexist, no?”

“Sexist?” Your eyebrows climb so high they might leave your face.

“I’m a feminist,” he announces, as if that explains everything.

“Do feminists call their bosses ‘mommy’ in the comments?”

“Only the hot ones,” he shoots back without missing a beat, then quickly adds, “Joking! I’m joking.”

You slam your palms down on the desk, the sound sharp enough to make him flinch, but the smile doesn’t leave his face. If anything, it widens. “Do you even understand how unprofessional this is? I have sponsors asking me if I’ve been hacked! The CEO of Dorilton Capital called me himself this morning!”

Franco’s face lights up like you’ve just paid him a compliment. “Darren! He likes me. He said I was charming.”

“He said you were a walking HR violation!”

His grin falters again, but there’s something annoyingly endearing about how quickly it returns. “Well, at least he talked about me.”

You sink back into your chair and drag a hand through your hair. God, you’re tired. “Do you even know how this looks? You went through every single photo I’ve ever posted. Franco, that’s-”

“Dedicated?”

“Obsessive,” you snap. “Creepy. Insane.”

“Romantic,” he offers, leaning back again like he’s just solved a puzzle.

“You are twenty-one years old!”

“And you’re …” He trails off, letting the sentence dangle in the air like bait.

You narrow your eyes. “Don’t finish that sentence.”

He smirks. “I was going to say timeless.”

“Franco, enough.” Your voice is sharp enough to cut through his bravado, and for the first time, he looks a little serious. “Do you have any idea what kind of position you’ve put me in? If this gets out-”

“It won’t.”

“It already has! You didn’t think people would notice when every post I’ve made since 2016 suddenly has your username in the likes and comments?”

Franco shrugs. “I’m a fan.”

“A fan?” You throw your hands up. “What are you even a fan of? My press conferences? My sponsor meetings? My ability to yell at you when you ruin your tires on lap seventeen?”

His grin returns, this time with a little more sheepishness. “How sexy you look doing that last one, mostly.”

Your head falls into your hands, and for a moment, there’s silence. You think — foolishly — that maybe he’s finally run out of things to say.

But no.

“You never answered my DM,” he says, voice lighter, teasing.

Your head snaps up. “Excuse me?”

“Last week,” he says, tilting his head like it’s the most casual thing in the world. “I sent you a DM. Very respectful. Very sweet.”

“I don’t even check my DMs!”

“Well, now I’m offended.” He places a hand over his heart like he’s genuinely wounded.

“I’m going to lose my job,” you mutter, mostly to yourself.

“Don’t be dramatic,” Franco says, waving you off. “You’re too good to lose your job. Everyone knows that.”

You stare at him, incredulous. “You’re the one who’s dramatic! I can’t believe I’m sitting here having this conversation right now.”

“I can’t believe you’re not flattered,” he counters, leaning forward again. “I thought women liked grand gestures.”

“Grand gestures?” You bark out a laugh, humorless and sharp. “Franco, this isn’t a romantic comedy. You don’t win me over by cyberstalking me!”

“Cyberstalking?” His mouth falls open, mock-offended. “That’s harsh, no? I think of it more like … research.”

“Research?”

“Sí. I’m just a very dedicated employee.”

“Dedicated?” Your laugh this time is louder, more incredulous. “I swear to God-”

“Would it help if I apologized?” He interrupts, holding his hands up like he’s surrendering.

“Yes,” you say immediately.

He doesn’t. Instead, he tilts his head, watching you in that unnervingly focused way he sometimes has, the one that makes you feel like he’s cataloging every detail of your expression. “You wouldn’t believe me, though. Even if I apologized, you’d think I was lying.”

“Because you would be lying.”

“Touché.” He grins again, but this time it’s softer, less of a weapon and more of a shield. “Okay, so maybe I’m not sorry. But I didn’t mean to cause problems for you.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” you mutter.

“I mean it,” he says, and for the first time, there’s something like sincerity in his voice. “I thought it was funny. I didn’t think-”

“That’s the problem, Franco. You didn’t think.”

There’s a beat of silence. For a second, you think you’ve finally gotten through to him. His expression shifts, the grin fading into something that almost looks like remorse.

Then he says, “But if I had thought about it, you’d still be mad, so really, why bother?”

“Franco!”

He laughs, bright and unrepentant. “Okay, okay. I’ll stop. I promise. No more liking your pictures, no more comments, no more DMs. Contenta?”

You eye him warily. “You swear?”

“On my life.”

“Franco.”

“On my seat,” he amends, holding a hand to his chest.

You sigh, long and heavy, but you nod. “Fine. Just — keep your head down for a while, okay? Don’t give anyone else a reason to call me about this.”

He stands, smoothing his shirt with exaggerated care. “Anything for you … mommy.”

“And don’t call me ‘mommy,’” you snap as he heads for the door.

He pauses, hand on the handle, and glances back over his shoulder, smirk firmly in place. “Not even in private?”

“Franco!”

He’s laughing as he leaves, the sound echoing in the hallway long after the door closes behind him. You sink back into your chair, exhausted, and wonder — not for the first time —if this job is going to kill you.

And if it does, you think grimly, it’ll probably be Franco Colapinto’s fault.

[phemiec]

A Mouthwashing (and How Fish is Made) fansong, unfortunately from Jimmy’s POV mostly, sorry. 🐴 Music and lyrics by me, PhemieC

NOTE: this is my first fansong in five years, and sad to say but my voice has been decimated by illness in the last few years, so please don’t go into this expecting it to sound the same as my old stuff.

That being said, I have released an instrumental version, and I would LOVE to hear covers from other vocalists! Feel free to post and sell if you make a cover as well. <3

LYRICS UNDER CUT

[verse 1] Momma bird sleeping and her nest is empty Pretty and clean I feel the crease of envy Cutting a line right through the sky above me Healthy and green just like a good tree should be Momma bird leaving now her eggs are lonely Out from the underbrush I creep so slowly I’ll lay my own, her home is sound and safe, he’s Grey like a stone among her round blue babies She’ll never tell if she’s a few shells lighter Quick cracking clever comes my little fighter  Babes that feel safer they hatch so much slower Thrown down below then by my own fast grower Momma returns to feed her only child he Smells like a stranger and he cries so loudly Drinks of his fill while I look up on proudly Picking away at the discarded bounty 

[chorus] What hides inside has the skill to thrive Do you have the will to decide to survive? A parasite needs you alive To feed their growing appetite 

[verse 2] Thing crawling thirsty, shared flesh, a blessing Drink of my stagnancy, the taste refreshing Carry a part of me and keep on climbing  Top of the ladder’s just a place for dying Dread in your gullet, ignore it, buddy Lead in the bullet, it’s harmless, mostly Let me consume you, let you defend me Curling protector, my friendly fresh meat Im in control now and I like the feeling I’ll play the role of every wound you’re healing Follow the leader was always my thing Swallow your pills and lay still, unwrithing Master of puppets is my one objective Real apex predators can be selective Relay your message, it won’t stop the spread if I replace your tongue when I open your head up

[chorus] What hides inside has the skill to thrive Do you have the will to decide to survive? A parasite keeps you alive To feed their growing appetite 

[verse 3] My stress relief, she keeps asking questions I can’t believe she thinks I’ll learn her lesson Nothing outside of me will ever get in No mocking birdie with an unblinking grin Four beating hooves, I hate to hear them thunder Trample the metal tomb I’m buried under braying beast, neighing in the womb inside her Breaking its legs to glue you back together

[chorus] What hides inside has the skill to thrive Do you have the will to decide to survive? A parasite needs you alive To feed their growing appetite…

[flwrkid14]

Tim and Jason: Caught Between Healing and Fear

note: completely inspired by this amazing post! tysm to @timdrakewhump for letting me use it as inspo!! <33

Tim doesn’t flinch around Jason. Not exactly. It’s more of a stiffening, a tightening of his shoulders, a flicker in his eyes that he knows Jason catches. He hates it. Everyone else has moved on. Dick forgave. Bruce rebuilt. Even Damian, with all his sharp edges, has softened into something survivable. But Tim? He still expects a hit that doesn’t come, still hears the echo of fists in the dark.

And that? That’s on him, right? It has to be. Because if everyone else can move on, why can’t he?

They don’t talk about it. Not directly. The bats have always been good at side-stepping, at smoothing over the cracks with enough shared history to pretend the damage never happened. They act like everything’s fixed, like Jason is something fragile they have to keep close, hold together. They ignore the way Tim’s shoulders tense when Jason’s voice gets too loud, the way his hands shake when shadows fall just right. They brush off his excuses to leave the room or, worse, look at him like he’s the problem.

“Jason’s trying, Tim.” “He’s better now.” “Don’t hold onto the past.”

But Tim isn’t holding on. He’s bracing.

Every patrol with Jason is a test. Every sparring match, a gamble. Jason keeps it light—punches pulled, jabs softened with crooked smiles—but Tim knows what Jason’s hands are capable of. He remembers the brutality, the raw fury that doesn’t vanish just because it’s been filed down to something more manageable. He knows Jason’s trying. He knows Jason’s better. But there’s a thin line between better and safe, and Tim’s still learning how to balance on it.

When Jason starts spending more time at the manor, no one questions it. They welcome him with open arms, eager to fill the empty spaces his absence left. He’s part of the family, they say. He needs support, they insist. So Jason sits at the dinner table, helps out on patrol, lounges on the couch like he’s always belonged there. And Tim... Tim watches from the corner of the room, a shadow on the periphery, pretending he doesn’t notice the way everyone else orbits around Jason like he’s the sun.

They send Tim on solo missions now—so Jason can have space. They say it like it’s a good thing, like they’re doing Tim a favor. More responsibility, more autonomy. He should be grateful. And he is. Or he would be, if it didn’t feel like being exiled. The irony isn’t lost on him. They don’t want Jason to be alone, so Tim has to be.

The apartment is quieter than the manor, the kind of quiet that presses in too close. No hum of the Cave, no distant footsteps of someone always nearby. It’s fine. He’s used to it. He tells himself that every night, like a mantra. He likes the solitude. It’s familiar, comforting in a way that makes his chest ache. But sometimes, when the silence stretches too thin, he thinks about calling. Jason always picks up now. He’d probably offer to come over, bridge the gap that Tim never asked to be there.

But what would Tim say? Sorry I still see the blood on your knuckles? Sorry I can’t forget how it felt to be the replacement? Sorry you came back, and I thought it would fix things, but it didn’t?

He doesn’t call.

They’re terrified of losing Jason again. They hold him close, desperate, like he might slip through their fingers if they let go for even a second. Tim understands that. He really does. He remembers the hollow ache that filled the manor after Jason died, the way grief settled into the walls like a permanent stain. No one wants to go through that again. They’d do anything to keep Jason safe, to keep him here.

But no one asks what Tim gave up. What he’s still giving up.

Jason is here, but Tim feels like he’s the ghost.

Sometimes, when they’re all gathered together—Bruce at the head of the table, Dick and Steph cracking jokes, Duke helping himself to another slice of pie—Tim looks around and wonders if anyone would notice if he slipped away. Just stood up, walked out, and didn’t come back. Would they miss him? Or would they be too busy watching Jason, making sure he doesn’t disappear again?

He catches Jason watching him sometimes, eyes sharp and knowing. Jason’s not stupid. He sees the cracks. Tim wonders if he feels guilty, or if he’s just waiting for Tim to say something, to break the silence that’s grown too thick between them. But Tim won’t. He can’t. The words stick in his throat, heavy and bitter.

So he stays quiet. He goes on solo missions, patrols alone, comes back to an empty apartment that feels less like home every day. And he tells himself it’s enough.

Because it has to be.

[papaya-twinks]

have my babies - l.n

Warnings: 👶

Pairing: Lando Norris x fem!reader

SMAU

Faceclaim: random Pinterest girls

A/N - how could I not include Eminem tho also I have no idea if Eminem has insta, so, um, suck my dick

y/n

Caption: the archives never disappoint, look at my baddie bf

landonorris: I know where you live.

-> y/n: thansk yuo so do i

georgerussel63: haircut was rough 👎👎

-> y/n: ain’t it 😂😂

user1: HELP HES SO CUTE

user2: HES SO SQUISHYYYYY

maxverstappen1: I’m the og baddie tho

-> y/n: fr I’d never replace u

-> maxverstappen1: that’s what I thunked

-> ♥️ by author

landonorris

Caption: DM me for her address

y/n: woah buddster! wait I liv u with, stupid

-> landonorris: ur at Max’s 25/8

-> y/n: don’t expose me like that

maxverstappen1: YASSSS BADDIE 💅💅💅💅💅

-> y/n: ATE THAT SHIT UP RAAAAAA

carmenmundt: oh to have the confidence to do that in public

-> y/n: surely dating George is worse than wearing a happy meal box

user1: does he know we’ll ALL acc DM him

-> y/n: no, his package doesn’t come that smart unfortunately

y/n

Caption: Was chat just gonna not show me baby Eminem?

landonorris: HES FUCKING OVER DOUBLE MY AGE

-> y/n: not in that photo he’s not

-> landonorris: i- y/n 😔

-> y/n: he’s cute, I want a baby

-> landonorris: i-i can help 🙋‍♂️🥺

-> y/n: no

eminem: slim shady before the crack got him

-> y/n: AHHH YOURE ALIVE?! 😍😍😍😍

-> y/n: I MEAN UM

-> y/n: ITS JUST YOURE NIT VERY ACTIVE

-> y/n: I DIDNT MENA IT OFFENSIVEKY, UR NOT OLD 😫😫😫

-> eminem: replying was a mistake.

-> y/n: NO COME BACK

maxverstappen1: posting him b4 ur og baddie is wild, y/n.

-> y/n: IM SORRY IM UPSETTING EVERYONE TODAY

-> maxverstappen1: you should be

-> y/n: 😫😫

landonorris: really? right in front of the kids?

-> y/n: the kids you’ll give me 🥹?

y/n

Caption: RAAAA BADDIE SOMEONE GIFT ME DTI VIP SO I CAN RECREATE THIS FIT 💅💅

maxverstappen1: RAAAA YESSSS BADDIE AHHHH 🤪🤪🤪🤪

-> y/n: ATE THAT UP GIRLLLLLLL 😍😍😍😍

-> maxverstappen1: FR SLAYED THAT SHIIIII 😫😫😫

-> y/n: TYPE SHITTTTTT- I MEAN TYPE SHIFT (keeping it pg)

-> landonorris: I’m right here y/n 🥺

-> y/n: sorry, who r u

-> landonorris: the father of ur kids

-> y/n: hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm. no.

[kaiserin-erzsebet]

I would LOVE to hear more gripes about accuracy of portrayal of historical monarchies!!!

I have been wanting to do this for a while, because there is a lot that irks me. And this ranges across board from big budget period dramas to how people write royalty AUs, which means this isn't one specific thing I'm pointing at. And if it is helpful on a writing tips level, I'll be happy with that.

Long post under the cut:

Disclaimers:

I research 19th century European history, which has a lot of questions about what a monarchy is and why they continue to exist. That's the perspective I am bringing to this.

I probably shouldn't have to say this, but: this is not about modern monarchism. This is about history. I don't want to debate whether you think certain countries should continue to have their monarchs be public figures who are only nominally head of state.

The short version:

Monarchies are institutions. They are part of how the government functions and that should have implications for how someone writes them. A monarch is a person with a built in job that they were born into.

Monarchies are not all absolute. They can exist in a multiple forms with very different structures, and often discontent within a monarchy wants to reform the system not replace it.

My biggest advice would be this: figure out how your fictional or historical monarchy is structured. You don't have to exposit about it, but you do need to know it.

The long version:

The King has a job and there is a right and wrong way to do it.

Fantasy monarchies that draw upon history seem to have Versailles in mind in terms of an aesthetic space and royalty with a lot of power over the people around them. This also includes a lot of lounging around and looking pretty and doing lavish things. However, the issue is that this is a mental image of the dysfunction in the French monarchy close to the revolutions. You can't "Après moi, le déluge" through several centuries of government.

A King (or Queen) has a job, a really important one. They are the head of state, the highest authority in the country, and the highest judge on legal matters. At least in the platonic ideal of absolute monarchy, those jobs being concentrated into one person means their responsibility and good judgement will give the state stability and consistently.

Enlightened absolutism was exactly that: monarchs staunchly holding onto the ideals of the Enlightenment and making reforms from the top down. People who read texts about ideal government and natural rights and put it into practice.

A lot of fiction takes that and goes: Oh, so they have unlimited power and can do whatever they want. Being king means you can do what you want without oversight? That's why someone would want to be king?

And yeah, sure, in theory. But the problem with having a job is that you can do it poorly and people will object to you doing it poorly. If someone is not fulfilling obligations, it is noticeable because the state functions poorly. The premise of Robin Hood is that the king is doing his job poorly. He's overtaxing, the officials are corrupt, there's disorder. The solution? Bring back the true king who is good and fair, and thus functional.

Ludwig II of Bavaria gets ousted from his throne for being more interested in opera and extravagant building projects than ruling. Again, it is a problem and people notice.

Historically, if you want to protect from someone being bad at the job you can support the idea that there should be more oversight and safeguards: Other bodies that control parts of the government alongside the king's ability to approve or disapprove. This tactic takes away the ability to be arbitrary since laws and such are not just coming from the crowned head of state. That would be a constitutional monarchy.

Not everyone needs to be Franz Joseph, waking up at the crack of dawn and working on governmental papers and meetings until bedtime. However, if a monarch is shown in fiction lounging around or talking to courtiers all day but never doing any actual governing, I'm going to assume they are very bad at their job.

2. You're probably understanding Courts and Ministers wrong.

I run into the issue quite a bit that courts are flattened to random servants, ladies-in-waiting, and people trying to be the king's sole advisor (for malicious power grabbing reasons).

The first problem: Being at court isn't an easily accessible thing. You're probably nobility or a scion of an important family. Your presence is built on family prestige and your own skill. Yes, even people in service to the monarch. There are no random people here, because proximity heightens the likelihood of greater promotion.

For example, I'm currently doing my research on a prince from an important dynasty in the 19th century. His secretary is a Baron.

It's not impossible for someone not of noble birth to get to be at court. They could have risen up the ranks of the army or be an exceptionally skilled civil servant promoted to the rank of minister. Though depending on the time period, expect these "new men" to get pushback from nobility by blood.

Ministers also matter.

Unless your fictional monarch is one of the few people who decides (to mixed results) to do all of the thinking about government on their own, there is a cabinet and ministers.

These are skilled people whose job is to think about aspects of government and be knowledgeable about them. A monarch might have many of them that argue and balance each other.

Or, you can write a particularly skilled statesman in a leading role that makes them just as prominent as the monarch if not more so. There are many historical examples of ministers who define their period:

If your monarch character isn't a strong person politically, but is intelligent, having them find a minister to take over most of the governing is a good idea. This person is promoted based on merit, even if the monarchy is hereditary.

I have rarely if ever seen fiction do a good job with a prominent minister as a character (except A Royal Affair, which everyone should watch).

Think of monarchies as whole institutions of government. They have people within them who do all the jobs of governing. But the structure of the government and the personality of the monarch can determine whether it is one person (Joseph II, Peter the Great, etc.), a prominent minister (like a Metternich or Bismarck) or a counsel or congress.

The structure can support a person not doing a lot as monarch, but you as a writer need to think what structures are around them allowing that.

3. Revolutions are scary.

There is a common trend in fiction to make your good guys pro-republic. They're revolutionaries who want to get rid of the king, so they must be good.

But here's the thing: Revolutions are a step into the unknown and have historically happened rather rarely and with very mixed results. That's because the system has to be really broken for something totally new to sound better than what you already have.

A monarchy can create a sense of stability: A fixed head of state who will be there until they die. Historically, people aren't seeking to change that. More often, the call is for a change within the existing structure. The Magna Carta or a written Constitution. Firing of Bad Ministers or the abdication of a bad king in favor of their heir. Creating elected bodies under the sovereign. These are all shifting the monarchical paradigm but keeping the monarchy intact.

And historically even the most liberal of people wanted to place restrictions of some sort on voting, especially property and gender restrictions.

There is a myriad of ways to change the system, the person at the top, or both while maintaining a monarchy. You can have a monarchy be elected as the best person among the nobility (though it didn't go that well for the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth).

Completely throwing the whole thing out means risking all stability vanishing. That could be anarchy. That could mean a charismatic strongman who is also bad at governing in power. You could end up with a guillotine and rivers of blood in the streets. You could end up with a restoration eventually because Cromwell or Robespierre doesn't actually produce something people want to live under and they want the old certainty back.

People have a sense of inertia about changing government. What you have is better than what you don't know, especially if there can be internal reform. Making your character a Republican (in the Jacobin sense, not the US politics sense) means that they are a radical in most times and places and will likely be in the minority.

If there is one thing I would say is the point here is that monarchies are government systems, and thinking through how someone exists in that system in fiction is important. Being king isn't actually much of a fun job unless you're very good at delegating or very irresponsible. Unless you want to be celebrity, president, congress, and moral center of the state all in one, being king isn't a great deal.

[cxffecoupx]

vernon as a girl dad

girl dad! vernon fluff, crack, a little smut, requested warnings: reader has a womb, vernon and his daughter sharing one braincell, sex (only a little though) wc: 771 writer's notes: it's been too long so i couldnt wait to post this (read: i didn't proof read this). to the anon who requested it, i'm so sorry for the long wait😭😭 but i really hope you understand and forgive me and that you enjoy it :) do lemme know your thoughts!!

girl dad! hansol who zones out during the birth of your babygirl. like, man's just stood there like🧍‍♂️while you're screaming out in the pain and frustration. he seems motionless, but trust that he's just processing the whole situation. like, what do you mean he's having a new member in his family? a little proof of your love for each other? he needs some time to compose.

girl dad! hansol who does not get overwhelmed for some reason. it's funny cause you just bawled your eyes out to him like, two hours after giving birth, and he's sitting beside you, one hand holding your hand and stroking it, and the other carefully cradling your daughter, who sleeps oblivious to all this chaos.

girl dad! hansol who becomes hesitant with your daughter. he knows he isnt the best to take care of her, and constanly worries if he'll end up doing something wrong. asks you every minute about what he should do, or why she's crying, or how to burp her. he's like a little boy trying to take care of his little sister.

girl dad! hansol who LOVES it when his baby plays with him. he'd be just sitting there, and she crawls over, pulling the ends with his pants to get his attention. he lifts her up on his shoulders, while watching the program on the tv. the next moment he feels her pulling his hair and his ears and he starts blushing and giggling. you sit beside from them, watching his giggles elicit hearty laughs from your daughter.

girl dad! hansol who secretly worries if your daughter will like the room he's taken so much effort to decorate. he's tailing along as you take her to her new room; he eagerly watches her as her tiny eyes look around the room; he ends up beaming with pride and joy when she squeals and runs to him for all the beautiful decorations. he feels so happy his heart threatens to explode and his cheeks hurt from smiling too hard.

girl dad! hansol who is eager to spend some alone time with you. dont get him wrong, he would love to spend every waking moment with his little girl, but it's been too long without any intimate touch and it has slowly driven him crazy. so the moment his sister, Sophia, is out the door with your daughter, his mouth is on yours and his hands on every inch of your skin, like he's trying to remember what your body felt like before all this beautiful chaos.

you're giggling, watching his rush and eagerness, but he takes no time to silence you and replace them with moans and whimpers as he slowly relishes you. his tongue moves with a new grace and vigor, and all thoughts to remain silent leaves your mind as you call out his name repeatedly throughout the night.

girl dad! hansol who is beyond ecstatic over the fact that his daughter and he share the same love for food. who steals food from your plate and ends up indirectly teaching his daughter the same. so now, when you have burgers and fries on special nights, you remain extra cautious because one moment of distraction could lead to the crunchy fries and half a burger going missing.

girl dad! hansol who looks forward to fridays for movie nights with his favourite girls. you both have always had this ritual, but now with a new member along, he takes this as an opportunity to pass on his love for movies to his little princess. by 8pm, you prepare caramel popcorn and vanilla ice cream as she rushes to sit on her daddy's lap and pick the movie to watch.

girl dad! hansol who begins to slowly learn along with his baby. hearing you talk to your daughter about the importance of expressing emotions helps him understand that hiding them only pains those who love him. catching himself laughing loudly over some antics of his girl's make him realise that laughing out loud only brings more happiness to your life. watching his babygirl go from hearing her mother read stories to her to reading those stories on her own made him worry of the fact that time passes by too quick. he starts to cherish every laugh they share, every hug they have, every silly little competitions they keep.

and although his worry still remains, he likes to push it away with the thought that there's no other people he'd rather watch the sunsets and sunrises (that bring the calm after the chaos of crying over sleep and getting ready) with.

[yourstruly-caycay]

A "Loving" Husband

Yan! Poseidon x reader

Woo! My first time writing a yandere version of a character, and for the first time in forever I post something ehe.

Warning: yandere behaviour incoming

Synopsis: Poseidon never have any intention to tell Atlas, his son, about the inside of the golden door under the deep sea within the darkness. But, out of impatient and curiosity, Atlas bound to uncover the secret.

....................

The curious little boy finds himself in front of a huge golden door, a shiny one as it shines by the glimpse of the moon. He checks his surroundings once more to make sure he doesn't hear any doorstep near him as the window shows a scenery of the darkness of the sea. He sighs in relief as he's ready to find the answer that his dad has been avoiding to answer, “If this door is in this deep underground, what could dad possibly hide?” 

He tries to push the door, he keeps pushing to the point his face and hand turns red. “I can open it!” He courage himself  as it finally opened a little bit, small enough to fit his size.  

“Ha! Dad must be proud if he knows that I can open a door this heavy.” He pat his back proudly as he goes through the door. The inside of the room is exactly as he questions it, a room full of old neat treasures and artifacts on the shelves. Out of all the treasure he saw, he spotted something bigger. A beautiful and shiny marble statue of a life-sized woman sitting on a couch with a lot of jewelry on her and white silk dress, but he notices that the clothes at the waist part are ruffled, as if that part has always been touched. 

"Hmm, why does the ring seem familiar?" To get a better sight, he climbed to her thigh and sat on her. Observing the ring closer, he remembered the very same pair of rings in his dad's finger.

“But why is it on the statue? I thought mom was supposed to wear this? Perhaps I should try to give it back to her.” Carefully, his eyes focus on taking off the ring from the finger without realizing that his feets slip from the statue's silk dress as he’s hanging by the ring finger. 

Unfortunately, the ring finger cracks as his head knocks onto the floor. He rubbed on his injured head, displeased seeing the gold blood on his hand from the injured head. However, the feeling of pain is replaced by panic as he closes his mouth when he sees the ring finger shatter from the statue. In a speed, he grabs the statue's ring finger and sprints all the way to his room.

�� 

By the next morning-

"WHY DO YOU NEED TO BE ANGRY JUST FOR A MISSING PART OF A STATUE?" 

The boy jolted up from the sudden loud voice outside his room, he immediately opened the door. His heart beats fast and eyes go wide seeing his father and mother arguing in the hallway with Hades and some staff hidden in the corner or running away because they’re too scared at the sight of Poseidon.

"WHY? I'VE WARNED EVERYONE IN THIS CASTLE NOT TO ENTER THAT ROOM EXCEPT FOR ME, BUT A HIDDEN INSECT SEEMS TO HAVE BROKEN INTO THAT ROOM! I’LL FIND THE FOOL AND SHRED THEIR HANDS."

"BUT THAT DOESN'T EXCUSE YOUR SUDDEN OUTRAGE LIKE A MAD MAN." 

“You insolent women-” Before Poseidon’s trident even near Amphitrite, Hades held his wrist and said in a stern voice. “Poseidon, calm down,” His eyes now turn to glare at him, but Hades still has the stoic face and staring back at him, “It’s just a statue, I don't know what's so special about that. But, if you’re still determine to punish the culprit, do it, but don’t throw the blame to the wrong person.”

And so, he put his trident down, his breath steadier and turned back to his usual stoic face, yet eyes still glare at his brother, “Just a statue? That statue is a prize possession of mine, worthy of my time to care for it.”

Hades can only sigh and shake his head in disappointment, meanwhile Amphitrite opens her mouth to say something while holding in the trembling voice with knees getting weak pressing down her fear as she stares back at him. The trident might not pierce her at all, but the sharp wind from the trident is enough to cause a scratch of gold blood to flow from her face.  

"You've got to be kidding me, Poseidon, everyone already fucking know that you're protective of that precious little statue of yours. I don’t know what’s so special about it, it might be more special than me, but have you even spared a little heart for your poor wife whom you married by your own choice? Why do you marry me if you never treat me like a wife?"

"Amphitrite," Poseidon said coldly, "Since when gods married for love? Just do your own job as a queen." 

Poseidon is finally out of sight as Amphitrite clenches her fist, glaring at her husband's back. "Tch, what did the statue do to make you this crazy?" she mumbles. 

"Amphitrite, I do apologize for his manners." Hades pats her shoulder as he sees her in a trembling state, she gazes at him with tears spilling from her eyes. 

"There's no need to apologize," she wipes her tears, "It’s his fault… no, it's my fault. How stupid and naive I am to agree to marrying him in the first place. I thought that maybe… if I become a good wife; a good mother, then maybe he can at least show an ounce of love to me like any lover does… what did I do to deserve this?" 

"Don't say that, it’s his fault for being immature." 

"Immature?" she snapped at him, "No no no, it’s insanity. I saw it in his eyes, the possessiveness and madness when the part of the statue is missing, all for the sake of that? I don’t know how long I will have to bear this. I can slowly go insane too for centuries living in this lifeless marriage, Hades, especially when the son he so much loved is not my own blood-" She gasped and closed her mouth, Hades got caught off guard hearing it.

"What?" He holds her shoulder, “What do you mean? Didn’t Poseidon announce to the whole Greek pantheons about you bearing his child?” Amphitrite isn’t able to hold eye contact anymore seeing the confused but angry Hades. 

"Mom..."Her heart drops dead as she turns in horror to see him trembling, the familiar uncomfortable expression when he has to witness the familiar scene many times.

"Atlas!" She runs to hug him, "Did you just see the fight? Oh, I'm so sorry to have you see that." 

"Mom... what do you mean?" 

"W- what is it?" 

"So, you're not really my mom?" His eyes are getting glossier each time passed along with his red nose. "Then, where's my real mom? Did she abandon me?" The tears fall as his crying sound is getting louder making her feeling more guilty, she hugs him tightly and pat his blonde hair. 

“No no, of course not my dear… she’s umm… she-”

“I believe me and him deserve an explanation from you, Amphitrite.” He glared at Amphitrite like a predator caged its prey, unable to let her run away from the problem. After a long uncomfortable silence, she takes a breath first and stands up to glance at him. 

“You both deserve an explanation… but, promise me,” she continued, “Don’t tell Poseidon, at least not now, okay?” He nods as she leads them to Atlas’ bedroom and locks the door. She sits on his bed as she massages her head, trying to find the best words to explain while the two of them wait for her. 

“I already knew Atlas when he’s only a toddler, I still remember the sight of Poseidon holding him…”

… 

~The night before the wedding~

To her younger self when she was still a naive princess, who was once frightened by Poseidon’s first sight. The way he always ignores her or glares at her when she makes a mistake. Hundreds of insults and mockery threw at her, driving her to avoid him even more throughout years staying in Poseidon castle as his fiance because her father thought that it’s a “good thing” for her to get familiar with him before the marriage.

When she’s ready to go to sleep, relaxing her tense muscles before tomorrow's marriage, the sudden strange calming sound arouses her suspicion. She opens the doors and follows the sound. All the way to the bottom of the sea floors. She found the source of the sound from one of the rooms and opened the door a little bit. Her eyes went wide at such a beautiful sight of the cold tyrant of the sea showing a small smile toward the unknown baby, holding the sleeping baby with such a gentle touch while humming a calm deep lullaby with the moon illuminating him heavenly like an angel. 

“Impossible, how can he be so cruel, yet gentle at the same time?” She mutter

“Women, what are you doing?” She jumped at his sharp tone, once warm turned icy in a split second. She slowly opened the door, welcomed by his unamused face. She clears her throat to not feel pressured by the awkwardness, “My apologies, Poseidon, I just happened to hear your heavenly lullaby from my bedroom, I can’t help but listen to it too.” 

She glanced at the sleeping baby, a smile growing wide fighting the urge not to touch the cheek, “So, who’s this baby? He’s just as beautiful as you.” 

“My son.” 

Silence came again, as her mouth slightly opened and eyes wide in disbelief. Unsure what to even say, “S- so, you’ve married before, then?” she frowned when he kept silent, “Where’s your previous wife?” 

“Passed away.” He said in the usual cold tones, but she knew underneath that  there’s a slight crack and irritation as his gaze now turned to the moonlight. Of course she passed away, or else Poseidon wouldn’t even remarry. However, deep in her heart she knew there’s a small crack discovered he’s used to love a certain woman, and now the baby is the only thing left of that woman. 

“Sorry to hear that,” she continued, “What’s the name of the baby?”  

“Atlas.” 

… 

~the night after the marriage event~ 

It was a cold kiss, but she received it welcomely despite his expressionless face throughout the whole wedding, but it’s okay. “It’s really okay, he’s probably not used to me yet. One day he will!” She patted herself. Emerald eyes sparkled at the whole sea regions and the Greek pantheon of deities and nymphs congratulated them, isn’t this what she’s been dreaming of? Marrying a handsome prince and living happily ever after? 

During night time where everyone has a great time of feast, smiling and chattering. While Poseidon were discussing with his brothers and several gods, Amphitrite was accompanied by Aphrodite and Persephone having tea together as the both of them enjoyed their little chats while she quietly listened. 

“Dear Amphitrite sweetheart, may I ask why you would want to marry Poseidon? It’s clear as day that he’s hard to be swayed by love.” Amphitrie got caught off guard with Aphrodite's question, she rested her chin on her hand thinking the perfect way to explain it. 

“Well, I’m aware that a god like Poseidon is difficult to read and likes to close himself off from everyone. I’m aware too that this is a marriage for political reasons, but time itself is impossible to read too, who knows it’ll take time for him to open up to me, and maybe I can fix him.” 

Aphrodite giggled while pinching her cheek playfully, “Amphitrite, I hope you can keep your words, I’ll give you the best gift if you can win his heart.” 

“Haha, to be honest, I’m used to being scared of him too, but when I saw him holding his son gently in his arm it’s like seeing part of the real him open up. How can I not want to win his heart and show his other good side to me too ?”

“Son?” Persephone gasped and stood in surprise causing everyone to look at them, “What do you mean he has a son?” 

Suddenly, everyone is freezed, tons of eyes now peered at Amphitrtie who was surprised too at everyone’s new discovery. “I- I thought everyone know that he has a child-” 

Suddenly Poseidon touched her shoulder and leaned her closer to him as he announced to everyone, “Yes, I do have a son… with her.”

Everyone including his brothers and her families are elated by the news, congratulating the couple as they continued the feast. However, Amphitrite snapped at Poseidon who’s still avoiding her eye contact, questioning his suspicious act… head feels dizzy as she frowned at the announcement. Suddenly, Zeus wrapped his arm around Poseidon and Amphitrite in joyous, “Congratulations on having a child! So it turns out you guys already did a dirty thing before the marriage, huh?” 

“Shut up.” 

“Congratulations, I anticipate meeting my nephew by tomorrow.” Hades shook his hand while laughing, yet despite the wonderful news, Amphitrite got left confused all alone watching the crowd in line congratulate them, leaving her deep in thought of her mind.

…

“Poseidon, what’s with all of this? I thought everyone knew about your son.” Amphitrite sat on bed facing Poseidon who’s changing his clothes to something more comfortable, once again avoiding eye contact with her. She clenches her fist when he has the nerve to ignore her question, “Not only that, but you LIED to them about him being my son in blood? What about your previous wife? How would she feel about this?”

“Don’t remind me about Y/n, Amphitrite.” 

“Y/n? So that’s her name, huh? Don’t tell me that no one also knew about this Y/n.” 

Another silent response made her more convinced, knowing this, she slowly moved away from him, his unreadable expression made her stomach twist. “Poseidon, why would you lie?”

What are you trying to hide?

“All you need to know is that I did all of this to keep her and Atlas safe from the gods’ eyes. If they ever discover the truth about them, I’ll gouge their eyes and shred their bodies to pieces where their mouth wouldn’t spread all over to other realm,” Amphitrite shiver at his calm tone, she felt her heart skipped a beat at his eyes finally made an eye contact, the eyes that threaten her as if a trident ready to strike her if she made a single mistake, “This include you too Amphitrite, just do your job as a queen and a mother, and I’ll turn a blind eye on you. Remember that this is a marriage that’ll benefit your family.”

… 

“That’s all I know,” Amphitrite steady her breath as she lies her head down, feeling uncomfortable with the silence, “It’s true, ever since that, I wouldn’t dare to ask him about her. I- I don’t- I don’t know why my foolish self is still trying to love him despite his undying love for his previous wife.” 

Tears spilled from her eyes, words unable to be formed as she cover her cry from them. “Why did I even keep pursuing?” She thought, but a sudden heaviness on her caught her off guard, uncovering her face to see Atlas hugging her. 

“It’s ok, mom.” Amphitrite hug him back with more tears spilled, her heart melt knowing Atlas is still calling her mom despite the truth. However, Hades is still standing across from her as he Massages his forehead, still surprised yet angry, but at his foolish brother. 

“Atlas, can you please change your clothes and go have breakfast? Your mother and I still have to discuss about… this…further through.” Atlas nods as he changes his clothes and unlocks the door to go to the dining hall, leaving Amphitrite and Hades alone in his room. 

Hades approach Amphitrite to sit beside her as his hand tap on her shoulder, “I’m sorry to hear that… I never thought he would do that.” 

“It’s not your fault.”

“It is. As his brother, I shouldn’t have been too lenient on him, he’s just using you for his own benefit.”Amphitrite shake her head, “It’s partly my fault too for not refused it and being naive, I was too scared by my own father,” clearing her throat as she jump to different topic, “But, about her…” 

“Y/n…” Hades humm, “So she’s Atlas' biological mother, why does Poseidon hide her from everyone? Out of shame?”

“Shame?” 

“Poseidon is a pride god, if he loves her that much, what makes him want to hide her in the dark? Have you ever suspected her identity and background?” 

Amphitrite put her hand on the chin as she recalled her moment when she was in the library, however it put a frown on her face, “I have try to search about her in the library, yet no books have had a record about her, so for now I’m assuming that she’s not a goddess from this pantheon nor a nymph.”

“Not even a nymph? How did you come up with that assumption?” 

“From Atlas of course, if Y/n is a nymph from certain creatures, he will have the appearance or characteristic of that creature, however none of it are in him.”

“Fair enough.”

 “How about you? Does the name Y/n sound familiar?” 

“That’s… the problem, it’s new and unfamiliar within this patheon nor any other places, never for eons have I ever heard that name,” Hades massages his head and sighs as the mystery causes a headache to him., sick of his brother’s antics, he stand up, “I will ask him right now, he’s the only one who knows the truth.”

Hearing this, Amphitrite immediately stand and holds his shoulder as she shakes her head, “Don’t! If you ask him he will immediately know I told you and will slaughter me,” she continued after steadied her breath, “Please, I’m not stopping you to research about her, but don’t directly ask him.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll talk to him about this too. He has been hiding this far too long, I’m disappointed at his oddly obsessive behavior-” 

“Hades, your shoes.” Hearing her gasp, he looked down and froze, seeing the crimson blood seeping from under the bed all the way staining his shoes. He kneels, and looks under it to discover the missing part of the statue — the ring finger — feeling the hard rock texture, yet when he touches the bleeding part, he shivers from the soft rotten meat and bone texture. 

“There’s a dead body of a mortal hidden inside a statue, how is it under his bed?” He frown, “Moreover, the ring on that finger-“

“It can’t be, that’s the same pair of rings that Poseidon has.”

[jolalibrary]

the man who has returned home

javier peña x f!reader | masterlist

summary: this week’s sex diary - the man who has returned home under the covers’s sex diaries series asks anonymous men to record their sex lives — with angst, sometimes sexy, and always revealing results.

wordcount: 3k warnings: sex diary. modern!times (for the plot). smut (it's a sex diary) 18+, so the usual explicit things. reader in this has a nickname to protect their identity. an: I've wanted to finish and post this for ages, all because I've read and been inspired by The Cut’s Sex Diaries for the longest time. not sure what this will be, but at most going to be a loose collection of the ppcu boys, but for now, i don't want to run before i walk, so meet javi p.

DAY 1 5.32am

He’s woken earlier than he wants to.

There’s sweat on his forehead, on his spine—it forces the off-white sheets, which are crumpled under him, to cling to him. Worst of all, he’s breathing heavily, his heart angrily thumping in his chest, a tightness that doesn't lessen the more he gulps still-warm air.

He knows it's another nightmare; another shapeless horror that can be added to the tab.

Foolishly, he thought they’d lessen in time, ease a little as time ticks from weeks to over a month of being back.

Instead, it’s only worsening. A thought which ruptures as he digs the base of his palms into his eyes, groaning, before stopping himself.

The last thing he wants is to wake up his Pop.

6.18am

The shower isn't fixing the irk in his bones, it doesn’t wash away the woven annoyance in his muscles as water cascades and slides off the slope of his nose to his chest.

He tries fucking his fist to the memory of... let's call her Cinnamon. Cinnamon is a woman he used to know and now knows in an entirely different way. She doesn't ask questions, doesn't appear to care what he did overseas or not and mostly doesn't look at him like he hung the moon.

It's why he fucked her. It's why he keeps fucking her.

Now, he's touching himself to the thought of her. Hoping it helps, alleviates.

A few tugs and he’s panting, forehead pressed to the cold tiles as he groans her name. It's all acidic, purposeful. It hisses out all coiled around pleasure before it's swirling down the drain.

It does rid the annoyance, but it’s replaced instead by shame. It blooms out similar to the red welts as he dries himself, running the towel over his shoulders, chest, stomach, and thighs.

He doesn’t recognise the person he greets in the mirror when he goes back into his bedroom. The one with dark bags under his eyes and a haunted look he manages to mask every day when he steps into the rest of the house.

He’s barely pulled his jeans up his thighs before a fresh irk swarms him. Wondering, nursing his lip between his teeth whether breaking the new horse in might help. It’ll keep him busy, at least.

Then he spots the number on his dresser. The one staring at him as he tucks his shirt into his jeans—the one etched in lipstick. His phone is next to it, all but tempting, making his jaw jut to one side as he contemplates if he should open that text chain again.

He doesn’t.

He wonders if he’ll crack sooner on this than he did smoking.

6.38pm

Twelve hours could be a new record.

Cinnamon’s fingers claw, scratching at the back of his head. Each slap of his thighs against the back of hers makes her whine. A delectable noise, a sight for sore eyes. Especially as she’s smothered in a faint sheen of sweat and perfume, neck bowing as he pants against her neck. Inhaling her. Feeling her pulse against his tongue.

Each plunge of his cock, each press of his fingers into her supple skin makes him grunt. The feel of her, squirming, desperately rutting back into whatever he gives you only makes him more desperate to fuck her so hard he hopes it’ll fuck the bad out of his head. Loud, sinful noises come from where the two of them are joined, the sheets a mess under the two of them.

He can still taste her on his tongue. He’d delved, made her thighs stretch around his broad shoulders as he buried his face into her pussy, fucked her hole with his tongue as her breath hitched and her fists clamped around her sheets.

He suspects she knows that he’s not sleeping, but she doesn’t ask. Likely has little care about how he’s using her, because he suspects she’s using him too.

Dragging his mouth to hers, she moans against his tongue. She pants out harder, as though knowing he needs permission. He does. Makes her skin ripple with the force of it as more sobs and mewls are punched out of you as your pussy clenches, flutters and pulses.

Fuck, he groans—quickening his pace, desperately clinging to not come just yet. Needing her to. Wanting her too. Feeling her squeezing and bearing down as she nods, as she tells him she’s close, I’m close, fuck I'm c—

When she comes, she arches into him. Tensing before becoming boneless and limp. Wrapping her tight, fucking heat around him that makes his morning feel futile.

And it is, because he never wants to leave this. A need. A desperate, hungry need. One he can never replicate this as a moan is forced from her throat and her pleasure crashes over her in a thick, heavy wave. It pushes him over with a few more thrusts until he’s groaning into her neck, bruising her hips to the point of no return as he pulses inside of her, fucks his spend into her until he’s softening.

Fuck, she says, panting.

Fuck, he replies, before he finds his mouth is latching to hers and the two of them become a heap in her bed.

7.12pm

He suspects there should be some guilt that he keeps doing this with her.

A thought that ruminates as his fingers twitch for a smoke. A need for it. One she must tell because she smirks and says nothing.

He won't admit it, but he likes it when she smirks. Has some perverse reaction to it. Because it reminds him she took him in her mouth behind the bar, his nails scraping brick, coming forcibly down her throat as she looked at him like she somehow expected more from him.

All that's to say, it's ruined her smirk now. It makes him hard now whenever she does it, like some sick Pavlov's reaction.

She may have a new number, a new look and an apartment, yet she’s the same girl he’d once known deep down. She's been shyer then, but he knew she wasn't innocent, not like she let others think.

But, he supposes that's the meaning of a true friendship. When you know a person intimately, like he knows her. Like he knows that she hates heights because of the time they climbed a tree and knows she sobbed when she tripped and broke her arm on his ranch. In the same way, he knew for a long time what oversized tees she owned, could almost predict which she'd choose, until one day there was suddenly a sundress that made his cock hard and his brain malfunction.

Fuck, she still has nice legs.

A thing he had witnessed when he was a teen. When she began dating a friend of his and wore their jacket on cooler evenings with him on the ranch. We're ranch friends, she used to say, hooking her pinky with his.

Now he’s fucking her.

Spearing her and making her fingers clamp around his as she needs him for leverage as she careens towards another orgasm. Those glorious, beautiful, stunning fucking legs wrapped around him or pressed to her chest as he sheaths his cock inside of her.

She reminds him of how good they are when she slips from his arms to retrieve water. Naked. His and her slick likely still smeared between her thighs.

His arm comes up over his forehead, muscles relaxing into your mattress and flower-scented sheets. He shouldn’t sleep.

He shouldn’t sleep over.

He falls asleep anyway.

DAY 4 9.12am

He’s not sure whether to be offended that he doesn’t hear from her or if he’s out of practice.

Before, back in Colombia he supposed it was more scheduled. A need for info and a need to forget. Routine, almost booked in. I’ll be here to hear what you have to say and then hear how you say my name.

Back home isn’t like that.

Cinnamon does have a job—a good one, from what he has been able to pull out of her. She keeps things locked down. Any time things toe the line of getting too close, she clams up and shifts the conversation.

There’s no faded tan line on her finger, though. No gossip when he enters stores about her.

He thinks he could ask his pop. Quiz him.

He decides against this ten minutes later.

4.12pm

Cinnamon is busy tonight.

He kinda hates that he was the one to ask. He hates it more than she only replies with the word can't.

10.48pm

He hears his phone go off when he’s doing his best to pretend the world doesn’t exist.

For one, he should be asleep. A thing he knows but hasn’t quite managed to get more than five hours since he came home.

The sound of nothing bothers him more than the old sounds of busy streets, guns and shouting. It crosses his mind he should check in on M tomorrow. See how he coped when he came home.

His phone sounds again. Jaw grit, he checks it, and sees a photo from Cinnamon.

Felt bad not being available is accompanied by her holding a towel in a way he’d describe as art. He can almost feel the condensation from her skin, how the droplets would feel on his palm and how he’d collect the beads from her perk breasts. She’s chosen her angles, even made sure to twist her hip toward him, casting a shadow that leaves your perfect pussy hidden.

He’s hard before he can wrap his head around it. Palm around his velvet skin, tugging, hips meeting his movements.

He comes hard, phone in one hand, fist around his cock.

You’re forgiven, he texts back when he’s cleaned up.

He sleeps for six hours.

DAY 13 9.02pm

It’s been days.

Odd texts, a phone call that lasted 18 minutes. But otherwise, silence. Awkward, weird silence that makes him feel shitty.

He wonders if he’s the other man. If there’s a whole life that she lives and he’s the break for her. It makes him think, question, ponder. Delve into a side of his thoughts he shouldn’t do sober or without a smoke.

Then, like the sun after a storm, Cinnamon asks if she can come to the ranch.

A thing she has yet to do since this thing began. There’s a white line, he imagines, between the road and where he sleeps.

She looks upset when she exits her vehicle, with red eyes and a sternness he thinks is forced. He asks her what she needs, and she responds with a shrug.

He doesn’t think when he places his hand on her lower spine, when he leads her down the beaten path—when he scoops overhanging branches from her face and takes her to the edge of the ranch.

It’s crosses his mind that he should ask, that he should check she’s okay, but then her mouth is on his. Hot, fervently, breathing him in as her fingers slide into his hair and pull him as close as she can have him.

Stop with the puppy eyes, Peña. You don’t have to… we’re not like—

He kisses her instead of letting her finish her thought. Better that than ask why not. Choosing to part her lips with his tongue, moan into her mouth like he’s starving, like he needs a taste of her as much as she needs him.

Maybe he does.

Maybe that’s why he can’t fucking sleep again.

Wanna taste you on my tongue, Javi…

And her hand is undoing his belt, not even needing both hands, managing with one and a smirk. Easing his jeans down to his knees, licking a stripe up her palm before he’s grunting, shifting his hips into her hand as she kisses his lips, his jaw, before descending down to her knees.

Can I?

He snorts before nodding, because how could he refuse her? A thing he almost says but Cinnamon has the sweetest mouth.

She takes as much of him as she can, right down her throat. He knows if he reached his hand around, he’d be able to feel how determined she is, trace his fingers over the bulge of him there.

The thought makes him grunt her name—her real name. Hissing it into the quiet air that only is interrupted by the cicadas.

He bites at his lip as she swirls her tongue, gazing down to find her cheeks hollowed and her eyes staring up at him—uncaring that her knees are in the dirt and she’s slobbering over her chin.

Her breaths are measured, nostrils flaring as she bobs up and down, and the sounds of it meet his ears.

And shit, fuck—she looks wrecked, fucked, and he’s not even touched her.

Suspecting if he did, however, he’d find her soaked, dripping, desperate to be stuffed full of him.

It’s that which almost makes him confess that he can’t stop thinking about her. He’s almost become sore from how much he’s stroked himself to the memory of her, to the image she’d sent and the one she’d let him take.

His photo album is becoming dedicated to her, to them. A shrine. Images of her in lace or nothing; her body contorted and her face hidden. Then, the latest one, her body splattered in shadows from her undrawn window, skin wearing only moonlight and the light sheen of their activities—one covering a breast, the other dipped between her legs, doing as he said, two fingers swirling around her clit, chin tilted up, take the photo, Javi. Just take it.

He wonders if she’d let him take one like this. Or if he’d have to settle on a memory.

A grunt passes through his clenched teeth, hand firm on the back of her head as she takes him deeper, as she bobs her head and sucks and swallows—

A louder noise leaves his throat soon after. One that rips from it as he spurts down her throat. When his body is licked by flames and something has tightened to an impossible degree in his lower stomach before he’s hissing, feeling her cleaning him up and releasing him with a pop.

Then, he’s treated to another prize, another treat. Cinnamon’s mouth opens, seeing the white ribbons swirling in her spit. Her tongue almost outstretched as though presenting him with a gift wrapped in a bow.

Swallow, he commands.

And she does.

He wonders if it’s romantic to fuck her in a field.

He does so anyway.

DAY 20 7.02am

There’s something about morning sex he can’t put his finger on.

Whether it’s because it’s a thing he hasn’t indulged much in. In Colombia, he’d only encountered it a handful of times.

He suspects it’s Cinnamon.

Her soft thighs on either side of his waist, the way she arches into him, contorts so her chest is flush against his as he finds himself deeper like this, hitting that spot inside of her that makes her look at him with nothing but lust.

It’s slower, less rushed. The pace not punishing, but controlled thrusts that somehow make her slicker, tighter.

He comes to the conclusion it’s her when she grasps his forearm, feels it flex under her fingers as she splutters his name and splinters around his cock. He realises this because he understands her, and knows what she needs. Has her figured out as he shifts her muscle-slacked body to hit the angle she needs to see stars again. It makes her eyes and her whines become desperate moans. He wishes she’d bury the sounds into his skull, into his brain. Wishes they’d cover screams and the sound of a life being taken.

For a moment they do. She makes sure of it.

Heat becoming blistering in his lower stomach, a need to increase his pace as she keens and whines, fingers digging into his shoulders, cut me he thinks, dig your nail down he silently pleads.

Her orgasm crests and he becomes dizzy from it—pushing a thigh closer to her chest, staring down at the place the two of them conjoin. Seeing the mess he’s made of her, how she takes him, how her slick coats around the base of him and the tight curls.

Then his own breathless moan forces itself out, small jerks followed by a stillness before her lips find his. The taste of him there, evidence of what began the entire morning thing.

12.33pm

He has a call with M, one he takes in his truck—overlooking the place he’s from.

It’s quiet here. A favourite from when he was at school, a place he brought people to so he could impress them.

Once, a long time ago, he’d brought Cinnamon here too.

As a friend. To make her smile—cheer her up.

He thinks about that when he should be listening, a thing he seems to do more and more of lately.

He hopes M hasn’t said anything helpful.

8.24pm

Do you fancy grabbing food?

Five fucking words that he regrets typing out, never mind sending. Biting his nails, rocking on the two legs of a garden chair as he prays his weight won’t make it buckle beneath him.

He stares at the slight curve of his stomach under his tee. The one that had formed as age caught up with his horrendous diet and his lack of fitness out of running and fucking.

He almost launches his phone when it beeps, and he sees a reply.

Now or as a date?

He contemplates his reply.

DAY 24 7.02pm

Cinnamon arrives looking fucking beautiful, just as he expected she would. Her eyes latch and dig into him as she moves between tables and he finds himself on his feet to pull her chair out.

She’s wearing a different perfume, a different lipstick than the night they’d reunited. She also looks nervous, politely asking for water before turning her smile to him. She likes his shirt, and teases him about not wearing a tie—he laughs. Finds it slips from him with ease.

He keeps laughing, interspersed with hers.

She finally shares that has never been married. Engaged though, once. He asks her if the breakdown of it is as rememberable as his, and she smirks, eyes shimmering, nothing can be as memorable as you, Javi.

He hopes she chose her words carefully.

She confirms later she did, dragging him through her door, his fingers undoing her dress.

Finding her wearing his favourite colour. A thing he’d said offhand the night they reconnected in the bar.

I remember, Javi, she had said then.

Now, he realises he maybe should have believed her back then. 

an: hope you like this different styling. I've had this half-done in my drafts for ages, trying to find the courage. so a huge thank you to @thetriumphantpanda for always believing in me, cause without her so much of what i'd write would find its way into the bin.

[three-dee-ess]

Hey I saw your post about the puffy battery and my 3DS has that (it’s starting to crack the case). I knew it was affecting the battery life but I didn’t know that it was dangerous. How would you go about repairing/replacing this?

ok this is going on my FAQ after this. possibly in my pinned post.

Contact your local *non emergency* number and ask them how to dispose of a puffy lithium ion battery. Follow their instructions.

To remove the battery from the case (which is the best thing to do in that situation) follow the instructions linked in my pinned post "for physical 3DS issues" (https://www.ifixit.com/Device/Nintendo_Handheld_Console)

Be as careful as possible to NOT puncture the battery.

for getting a replacement, just look at the number on your 3DS's battery and type that into amazon. Should be plenty of results, all around $10~$20 USD and they should work perfectly fine. check the reviews if you are worried.

Again, if you have any battery that is bending or breaking the case, is is a legitimate explosion hazard. That battery can explode into a fiery ball of toxic gas. It is in your best interest to dispose of it as soon as possible.

this also goes for batteries inside of ANY electronic device. Switch batteries, macbook batteries, phone batteries, electric bike batteries are also examples of lithium ion batteries that get a lot of usage and often can get overcharged.

resource links:

[endlessthxxghts]

Lay Off The Flannels

DBF!joel miller x afab!reader || W/C: 1.3k

Summary: Joel gets handsy while your father temporarily steps away.

Warnings: Age gap (unspecified - obviously a legal one though, hello??). No physical description of reader (pic above is used for aesthetic only!). SMUT 18+ MDNI. Oral sex (F receiving). Using a flannel to clean up🫣... Awkward interactions with an oblivious father. Fluffy/light-hearted ending :). I think that's it! Let me know if otherwise!

Author's Note: Hey y'all! Soo my personal definition of a drabble is when something is written and posted on a whim, and that's exactly what I'm doing here.. This was only proof-read once by me, so if you see any typos and confusing wording... NO YA DIDN'T. Anyway, I have a bunch of WIPs needing to get done, but the stress was getting to me, so I took a break from those and wrote this fun little scenario to calm my mind and give me a good little laugh. I hope you guys enjoy!💚

MASTERLIST

“We shouldn’t be-”

“I know,” he says. 

“It’s too risky.”

“I know,” he says. 

You pull his lips back onto yours, breathing in each other’s breaths, consuming each other eagerly as if the world was going to end if you didn’t. 

His lips drag down to your jaw, to the sweet spots on your neck that make you mewl such addicting sounds he’ll never tire of, tasting the product of the hard work you did today with your father. His best friend.

His best friend, who- 

“He should be back any minute now,” you say breathily as Joel drops down to the ground, his knees cracking from the sudden change. 

Joel is desperate. Frantic, even. The speed he unbuttons and unzips your jeans and yanks them—underwear included—off of you has your hands flying to grasp at the edge of the workbench you’re sitting on. “Don’t care,” he says, inhaling in a breath, inhaling your arousal. “Need to fuckin’ taste you.” 

Your father’s car crapped out on him a few days ago, and being the untrustful man he was, he bought the parts that needed replacing to do it himself. He had you working on his car with him, teaching you what to do if you were ever stuck in a similar situation—”It ain’t worth the bill, takin’ it to them mechanics. It’ll cost ya an arm and a leg just for them to diagnose your car’s issue even if you tell ‘em ya know what’s wrong, never mind actually fixin’ it,” he said to you this morning. 

As soon as your father left, Joel was making his way to you, large strides cutting the time in half. His arms wrapped around your waist, picking you up from the seat you were situated on and lifted you to the bench against the wall behind you. His lips were on yours immediately, open-mouthed and needy. His hand slammed onto the black button beside your head, the garage door sliding down thereafter.

Joel grabbed onto your thighs, settling them onto his broad shoulders, stabling you and opening you up to him all in one. Wasting no time, his entire face dives into you, tongue immediately going to your sobbing entrance, hooked nose pushing directly onto your clit. 

“Fuck,” you gasp out loud, “Joel, oh my god,” your head hitting the wall, eyes rolling back. 

The moans you’re feeding Joel has him groaning into you, his hands tightening his grip on the bottom of your thighs, the dull ache of it an indicator that you’ll have bruises forming within the hour. 

His tongue—god, you love his tongue—always reaches places you never thought was possible, offering you a glimpse into Heaven each time he tastes you. The squelch of your pussy and his groans equivalent to that of an angel’s choir. You never want him to stop. Especially because his mouth is the closest to Heaven either of you will ever get. 

Your hole begins to flutter around his tongue, your slick pouring out of you at this point. You’re close. Joel knows it. His tongue leaves your hole and is quickly replaced by two of his fingers, sliding in with ease because of your level of arousal. His tongue meets your clit, licking and circling and absolutely worshiping it as if it’s the most unique of pearls to ever exist. 

The combination of his fingers and his tongue—plus his whimpers—are what do it for you. After a few more circles from his tongue, you’re cumming and you’re cumming hard, your liquids running down his wrist and soaking the rim of his sleeve. He gives one last suck to your clit before he lifts off of it, tilting his head up to watch you come undone, his fingers never pausing as he works you through your climax. 

“Baby,” you’re whining, reaching that point of oversensitivity with his fingers, but your hips betray you as they grind into his hand. 

“So fuckin’ perfect,” he mutters, gauging the contradictions of your body’s needs and wants. He slowly pulls his fingers out of you, greedily sucking them into his mouth, not letting a drop of your liquid gold go to waste. 

He stands at full height again, his hands on your thighs to scoot you back from the edge, giving you more stability, so he can let go of you and take his flannel off so he can wipe you down with it. 

He sets his flannel beside you, reaching for your bottoms on the ground. He puts them back on you, gentle as ever, and guides you off the bench—albeit, on some wobbly legs. Once you’re breathing returns to semi-normal, you’re grabbing him by his t-shirt and pulling him in for a heady kiss. Your tongue breaches his mouth, and he lets you in selfishly, sucking on your tongue for anything more you can give him. You taste yourself on him, tangy with a hint of something that lights your neurons on fire, turning you on more even though he just pulled one of the most draining of orgasms out of you. 

Joel pulls away from you, and like clock work, the garage door is whirring open. Your father. He’s walking up the driveway with a Harbor Freight bag. 

“Got what you needed?” you immediately ask, trying to control the topic of conversation. 

“Yeah. Why’d you close the garage?” 

Your eyes widen for a fraction of a second before going back to normal. “The heat was getting a little much. Was gonna open it up when you got back,” you say. 

He nods his head, then looks to Joel. “Hey, bud,” he says as he sets his bag down, walking up to give his best friend a handshake. “What’re ya doin’ here?” he asks, “Not that ya need a reason, of course,” he adds quickly, a light chuckle leaves his mouth. 

“Just thought I’d swing by. Thought your girl here was workin’ on your car all by herself, was gonna make sure the damage was minimal,” he teases, looking at you with a wink. “But now you’re here,” Joel smiles. “I gotta take a leak anyhow, I’ll see y’all later, yeah?” Joel says as he makes his way to the end of your garage. 

Your father offers a quick yeah, his eyes zoning in on the flannel atop his workbench. Before you can stop him, your father grabs it. “Oh, Joel, don’t forget ya flannel,” he says waving it in the air as he lightly jogs to him before he gets too far. Joel’s face immediately flushes, as pale as if he’s seen a ghost, as he realizes what your father is holding. His eyes dart to you, your expression just as traumatized. 

“Oh, y-yeah,” Joel says as he quickly takes it in his grasp, “T-thanks.” 

“Yeah, no problem,” he says as he begins walking back to you, stopping midway to turn back to Joel. “And Joel?” your dad yells out.

Joel turns around, reluctant. 

“Maybe lay off on the flannels during the summer, yeah?? That shit was soaked in sweat!” Your father says as his laugh grows to an uncontrollable level. 

Joel’s jaw drops to the floor as your face turns to absolute terror. 

“Dad!” you exclaim, absolutely stunned at his comment. “I’m done helping you for the day,” you say as you shake your head, gathering your things and heading inside.

Your dad’s laugh turns into a howl at your reaction, not realizing (thankfully) what’s got you so uncomfortable. 

As soon as you make it to your room, the entirety of the situation finally hits you, and you’re gasping for air at how hard you’re laughing. 

As you lay on your bed to try to calm yourself down, your phone rings. It’s Joel. Your laughter immediately starts back up again, and you answer, skipping all forms of introduction.

“Better lay off the flannels, Miller,” you say, barely able to keep it together by the end of your comment. 

“Shut up,” he says, stoic as ever.

A giggle erupts out of you, causing the biggest of butterflies to flutter all throughout his belly. “Can I come over later?” 

“I was expectin’ you to, darlin’.” 

End note: I'm sure there are a few fics out there with a premise similar to this, of reader doin some ✨things✨ with dbf!joel in reader’s dad’s garage 🫣 — I think it's pretty common given that Joel is a pretty laborious kinda guy, so if you've read anything similar, please share them in the comments or message me them! I'd love to read them and also give credit where credit is due. This fic fandom we've created is about spreading creativity, and that's exactly what I would like to do here. :)

Tags: @javierpena-inatacvest @katiexpunk @teatree121 @farmerlarrry @mellymbee @jobee403 @soavenuepenguin @rainbowcosmicchaos @untamedheart81 @babygal-babygal @pedritoferg @akah565 @pedrostories

EDIT: As of the new year 2024, I no longer do taglists!! Follow @endlessthxxghtsnotifs and turn on the notifications to be updated when new stories come out!!

[rainynightmoonlight]

hiii i loved your cute yan bsf is there a part two? i am so obsessed 🫶🫶

Cutey for you! PT. 2 | Yan Cute boy best friend x you

Characters: Jesse

Summary: Your cute best friend just adores you with all his heart. To the point it brings him to tears

Warnings: Yandere themes, possessiveness, violence, mention of self harm, angst

a/n: I can make a part 2! I've been planning this for a while but I wanted people to want it, yk? Also this will be very self projected. Bone is mentioned!

Pt. 1

꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦

Jesse couldn't understand it. Why couldn't you just stay with him? Why did you have to befriend that delinquent of all people! He's tried so hard to show you how he isn't worth your time or attention. Your best friend is! He's supposed to be your number one! You know that… And yet you chose to be with that stupid idiot!

Jesse can't take this! He can't be without you. His heart aches. He needs you so much. More than that delinquent that's taking you from him! There's more than just jealousy within his heart. There's more than rejection. There's so much more, and he has no one to tell because his best friend is with his rival! The person that is ruining his life!

He's scrolling through his phone, reading messages you had sent. He's deliberately ignoring you. He can't take it, and you need to know he's suffering. It's not like he can tell you, but that's not his fault! You should just know that when he's without you, he's suffering. Not only that but he's afraid. Afraid the moment he reaches out, you'll have moved on. Afraid that you'll reject him every time he wants to talk to you.

Laying in the dark, he's moved on to looking at photos of you. Some he took with you, some he took of you, and some were secret snapshots but let's not talk about those. He's fighting tears. Fighting them and losing. Misty eyed as he finds a video of you laughing with him and being silly with each other. He can't take this!

He checks his notification seeing you posted a new video on your social media. It's just like the video he saw with him and you, but this time it's with that delinquent. Jesse's whole world is tumbling down. Now he's stalking your account and that dumb delinquent's, finding every single post you are in together while tears stream down his cheeks.

He makes no sounds. No sobs. Only shuddered breaths and shaky shoulders. Throwing his phone across the room and cracking his screen, his mind becomes a dark place. One of nightmares that he has tried so hard to keep locked away from you. All his insecurities, fears, and intrusive thoughts swirl. Hyperventilating. Panic. Nothing is making sense.

He grabs a plushie of his. One you gave to him. One that reminds him of you. The scent of you is still on it. It soothes him barely, but the panic attack has settled. A single thought screams within his mind.

“You're being replaced.”

“You're not their favorite anymore.”

His brain is lying to him. It must be! You wouldn't just replace him. You've known him for years! You're his best friend and he's yours. Nothing can just shatter a bond like that.

“Shut up.... you don't know! They love me... I'm still they're favorite!”

Jesse whispers to himself. To the thoughts. A sound barely brings him back to his reality.

Your ringtone.

His favorite song now sounding sour. He doesn't want to take your calls. He doesn't care if you're panicking. He's suffering! He's sobbing into the plushie and holding it for dear life. He can't care for anything other than the irrational worries.

A part of him wishes you would break into his room and hold him, another part loathing the idea of you seeing him like this. It's so close. The blades are so close. He's surrounded by them. He can't help but think about it. He can't help but think about hurting himself. Would you notice how much pain he's in then?

Before Jesse can even think about reaching for any sharp object in his room, the darkness is shrouded in the light of an open door. You. The light surrounding you like an angel.

His body stiffens. Your warmth. It felt like a distant memory. When has he been held like this by you? Do you hug your new friend like this? No. That thought doesn't matter right now.

Only you matter. His crying quiets down. His body melts against yours. No words needed to be exchanged. All that was needed was your arms around his and your touch on his skin. In a matter of minutes he's calmed down.

Snores replaced the tears. Jesse fell asleep against you. Something he used to do when the two of you were kids. He's never going to miss this. You're his best friend. He loves you so much. And right now, all the nightmares were replaced with sweet dreams of the two of you together.

꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦

Do not repost or translate without my explicit permission! Reblogs are welcome!

[ineffable-suffering]

The Jane Austen Ball and why it was never about Nina and Maggie

Otherwise known as (*takes a deep breath*): A completely inflated close-up look at various dialogues and events of Season 2 that prove that the Whickber Street Traders and Shopkeeper's Association Meeting Cotillion Ball was supposed to be Aziraphale's confession to Crowley

Look, the point's been made before but that's never kept me from making it myself again, still. In fact, even I made it before, at the end of one of my other metas. But I feel like it's absolutely worthy enough to get its own soppy, way-too-long post. And I do love it so very much to write ridiculously long essays on something that could easily be condensed into a short paragraph.

So, here we go! Snuggle up, get cozy, settle in and, most importantly:

(Word count: 3.177 | Reading time: ~13 minutes)

As I already said above, I laid out a similar case in my meta about why Aziraphale is somewhat of an unreliable narrator. I'll try and recycle it here briefly, so I can further make my point.

When Aziraphale arrives back in London from his Edinburgh journey, he seems oddly happy and giddy for the fact that he just had a rather odd and threatening encounter with Shax. I explain in my other meta that this is because he just spent the last hours of his drive reminiscing on the thrilling and romantic magic show adventure of 1941 and also the fact that he just found out that Crowley has been replaced by Shax and no longer works for Hell.

Ergo: We have a hopelessly lovesick Principality at our hands, who's practically swooning over his serpent who saved him, his books and his magic show all those years ago.

Ergo:

✨This✨

Realistically, Aziraphale should probably be a tad worried about the eery encounter with Shax, in which she definitely had the upper hand on him. But well, if you spend many-a hours driving across the serene countryside (Edinburgh is about an 8-hour drive from London), pondering on one of the craziest, sticky-sweet romantic adventures of your not-life life, well ... things tend to turn a little rosy around the edges. Head in the clouds and all that. Light shades of grey!

Alright, onwards: Once the angel, filled to the very brim with fond memories and butterflies, gets out of the Bentley, he's kindly met with a face full of verdant plants and a very in-character-grumpy Crowley.

Fhwack! Way to burst the rosy bubble.

Seriously, the absolute lightning speed with which Crowley storms out to vacate the bookshop the very second Aziraphale arrives makes me giggle every time.

Let's make a first small (who am I kidding) diversion into analysing the following conversation in unnecessary detail ...

... simply because I enjoy quoting dialogue as an accurate reference in my metas. I'll also highlight certain passages I want to comment on in individual colours so I can back up my thoughts with them below. Alright, their little chinwag goes as follows:

Crowley: "They you are! I was worried something might have happened to you." Aziraphale: "No, nothing happened to me. Very uneventful journey indeed. No strange things at all." Crowley: "Good. That's what we wanna hear." Aziraphale: "Um .. everything okay with- ah.." *nods to the bookshop* Crowley: "Oh, yeah, fine. He's singing to himself. I think he must have been asleep. I heard snoring coming from his bedroom–" Crowley, to the Bentley: "Did you miss me? I bet you did." Aziraphale: "... I'm sure it did." Crowley: "So, any more clues from the mystery of the missing archangel?" Aziraphale: "Not exactly. Or, if there are, I haven't yet cracked the case. But I'm certainly hot on the trail of something." Crowley: "I'm sure you are. Oh, by the way, the whole sudden rain and awning thing was a complete washout." Aziraphale: "Sorry?" Crowley: "You know, project making Nina fall in love with Maggie. I failed, it's your go." Aziraphale: "I see. Well then, Whickber Street Traders and Shopkeeper's Association Monthly Meeting, here we come!" Crowley: "You're really hosting the meeting?" Aziraphale: "Absolutely! And I can guarantee you, it will be a night to remember."

At first glance, this has little to do with the plot of this meta but actually, it folds into my point very nicely! However, it's not time for that yet, so we'll just state the facts as they are for now and then bring them back 'round later when we need them. That being said: For the love of Someone, will these two ever manage to simply tell each other the truth of what happened instead of thinking they can protect each other by lying about it all the time? Hrmpf. As a big fan of open communication myself, I'm close to developing a stomach ulcer with the amount of false truths being spewed here. (Then again – and yes, that is another, way larger meta I'm currently cooking up – it plays so very perfectly into the whole Jane-Austen-Pride-and-Prejudice tragic miscommunication theme that this entire Season has, so I understand the point of it.)

Very uneventful journey indeed, Aziraphale, except for the fact that you were ambushed by a demon who told you she was Crowley's successor, knows about the rumors of the two of you being an item as well as what went down in 1941 (that almost had both of you exposed) and also seems to have figured out where you and your demon boyfriend are hiding Gabriel, all in the span of about a minute. No strange things at all, nooo!

And Crowley's "Oh yeah, fine" is a total lie too. Again, we see him make an absolute run for it before Aziraphale can even enter the bookshop. After all, he just once again witnessed Jim have a Gabriel-flashback, speaking of the Second Coming, while Crowley was alone with him. As fumingly angry he is with the amnesiac archangel – he's also absolutely terrified of what might happen (to him and Aziraphale) should Jim regain his memories. So, no wonder he's quick to vacate the premises after witnessing Jim's rather eery memory flashback (and was, just like Aziraphale, threatened by Shax mere moments later, lol).

But no, nothing out of the ordinary happened to either of them. Tip-top. Absolutely tickety-fucking-boo.

Alright, let's get back on track with the actual topic of this meta. Certainly hot on the trail of something, hm? At first glance, it might seem like Aziraphale is talking about the fact that Gabriel was in company of someone whenever he went to the Resurrectionist Pub. (The clue!) However, I don't actually think he is talking about that. Why? Because, and this slipped my mind too at first, he never actually follows any of this information up, does he? Yes, sure, he went to Edinburgh, found the capital-c Clue and then returned to London. But what does he do with it? Nothing. He doesn't keep investigating this hot trail because that's not the important thing he realized during his journey. No, the more important clue Aziraphale found during his trip, is that Crowley no longer works for Hell and that he is also very much irrevocably in love with him and must confess this at the earliest given chance. (The latter part isn't necessarily a new discovery for Aziraphale, but it surely is fuelled by the fact that he just realized Crowley's out of a Hellish job and simply hasn't told him yet.)

This exchange just the perfect indicator for the fact that Aziraphale, at no point during his drive back, was thinking about the Maggie and Nina mission. He has no idea what Crowley is talking about once he mentions it and seems surprised, even, that he would. Even though they just talked about it on the phone when Aziraphale was still at the graveyard. Which is another important piece of evidence because it means that the last status update Aziraphale got of Mission Lovebirds, was that Crowley had sensed an opportunity to make them fall in love – and had then hung up on him. Why is this important? Because it means that until that very point of their conversation, Aziraphale did not know that Crowley's attempt had failed! There would have been just as much of a chance of Crowley's weather miracle actually working out and Maggie and Nina already having skipped into the sunset happily ever after.

So, riddle me this:

Why would Aziraphale spend the entire ride back from Edinburgh plotting "a night to remember" (because clearly, he already had the entire Ball planned out down to a T in his head since he goes into action right away after arriving) if he didn't even know yet that Crowley's attempt had failed?

To be very clear here: We're not talking about Aziraphale driving on the M1 to London, having a silly little idea for putting on some good music, miracle-ing Nina and Maggie to dance to it and watch them confess their love–

No.

He planned an entire actual Cotillion Ball with very particular location design that involves re-arranging the entire bookshop, specifically designed individual outfits for (almost) every single attendee, topped off with a live band, hors-d'œuvre, drinks and an actual choreographed group dance.

During one car ride.

Where's the party planner Aziraphale AU? I'm waiting!

Now, sure, we know that it's still quite important for Aziraphale to convince Heaven of the faux-reason they gave for their accidental ✨25-Lazarii miracle✨. But if we're all honest, this all seems to be a tad much just to make two random humans fall in love, even for that.

Glittery ball gowns and suits? Red and gold wall curtains? A modified language filter? Bloody vol-au-vents?

Talk about over the top ...

Once we start S2E5, Crowley is still surprised at the mere fact that Aziraphale is actually planning to organize the Monthly Meeting – and he doesn't even know yet that it's gonna be the most extravagant ball-boogaloo that the Whickber Street Community has ever seen! Aziraphale wanting to organize the meeting alone, is enough to render Crowley incredulous, because Aziraphale never mingles with the other shopkeepers. He usually actively avoids them and any sort of social encounters as much as he can because he doesn't care about the bloody Christmas lights, alright?

These things seem mundane and uninteresting to him, obviously, since all he really cares about is hoarding his book collection in peace like the little hedonist he is and drawing as little attention as possible to his none-business business.

Oh, right, speaking of books:

Let's take another unnecessarily detailed look at the whole Whickber Street invitation scene:

Aziraphale realizes very quickly that he's not the only one who's quite unenthusiastic about the blessed Chritsmas lights. And despite his very persuasive methods of temptation ...

... he has to take some more drastic measurements. And those are?

That's right: Giving away his books.

I'll repeat it again, slowly: Aziraphale is willingly (!) giving away or lending his books to pretty much complete strangers to, allegedly, make two other humans strangers fall in love.

Seriously, who is that angel and what has he done with our prim, fussy, hedonistic Aziraphale that protects his books with the vice grip of an eagle carrying his precious prey?

Believe in the importance of Mission Lovebirds as much as you will, but we're talking about Mr. A.Z. Fell here who, over the past millennia, has pretty much spent every day actively working out methods to stop people from purchasing as much as a single paperback from his holy shelves.

And yet: the 1965 September Dr. Who Annual? Given away. The first edition of Expert at the Card Table that was S. W. Erdnase's personal copy? Lent away to grubby human hands to fondle around with.

Let's do another coloured dialogue diversion (don't worry, it's not as extensive as the last one):

Crowley: "You just did what I think you did?" Aziraphale: "I'm not prepared to talk about it." Crowley: "You gave away a book." Aziraphale: "I had to! Maggie and Nina are depending on me. They just don't know it yet."

Crowley backs up my point: This is a huge deal. Aziraphale does not sell his books – let alone give them away for free. We're all shocked! Flabbergasted!

And the explanation Crowley and us get just ... doesn't satisfy. Something and someone sure is depending on this Ball and doesn't know it yet. But it's most definitely not Maggie and Nina, folks.

You know for whom Aziraphale would give away his books in the blink of an eye, though?

Mhm, that's right.

This pretty old serpent.

I want to take a minute to show you the reaction again that Aziraphale has upon entering the very same magic shop him and Crowley went to in 1941 to acquire the Bullet Catch:

You ... you need a minute there, angel? You're sure looking a little ... affected.

And I mean, well, no wonder. He reminisced about that very memory four hours last night. To him, this shop is where the most turbulent, ecstatic, adrenaline-fuelled and romantic night of his life began. And it shows.

I've made my point in my other meta series about how Aziraphale is an incredibly nostalgic character. He romanticizes so many things in his memories – especially the parts that feature Crowley. So, it doesn't surprise me in the slightest that he's once again willing to loosen the tight grip he has on his book collection to get the successor of Will Goldstone's Magic Shop, the shop that started it all for him, to come to his fancy Ball.

As we watch Aziraphale and his little lap dog demon pat around Soho, I'd like to take another second to point out that he goes to seven or more establishments before he even invites Nina.

... and he only does so because she starts talking to them on the street. Almost like he'd forgotten about it. Why not ask her at the very beginning? To establish whether or not he'd have to book-blackmail her too?

"Perfectly ordinary invitation with no hidden agenda of any kind", except that he's using you and Maggie as a pretence to resolve his own clusterfuck of a relationship-miscommunication Jane-Austen-style so that he can then hopefully confess his undying love to his demon not-boyfriend boyfriend.

Marvellous!

You'll forgive me another short diversion but my God, the whole exchange at the Marguerite's restaurant with Crowley literally cat-call-whistling Aziraphale over to him (and Aziraphale checking if he meant someone else first, I–)? I am weak. So, so weak and

However, this is also when we get a snippet of Crowley finally revealing the truth in place of his "Oh, he's fine"-lie earlier and telling Aziraphale that he's actually pretty scared Jim might turn back into Gabriel and smite him altogether. And Aziraphale's response is, in a cosmic sense, (remember the pink paragraph now) so hilarious:

"Have you thought of just talking to him?"

Yeah, have you? Have any of the two of you? Just thought about talking? To each other? About anything?

'pparently not. But hey, it's all good because remember what the ultimate remedy for star-crossed lovers simply misunderstanding each other is?

Bish, bash, bosh, problem solved!

Back at the ballroom bookshop, Aziraphale sends Crowley to invite Maggie in order to, in my opinion, not spoil the Ball-y surprise for him. (Inviting Maggie only now?! Wouldn't she be one of the only two guests who really should attend? Why the short notice? If she's really that important for the Ball you're planning, hm?)

On top of this, we see Nina almost not attending the Ball meeting after her partner broke up with her and Crowley being the one who coincidentally runs into her and ushers her into the bookshop before Shax and her "legion" of demons start creeping up on them. Again, if this hadn't happened by pure coincidence, Nina would have left to go home and this whole Ball would have taken place without her, rendering the apparent sole purpose of making her fall in love with Maggie useless.

Why doesn't Aziraphale care more for both of them to attend and be there? Why is he instead busy fussing over everything looking perfect and wonderful and doesn't even seem to notice that both Nina and Maggie are really late to the meeting?

Well. Well.

The answer's in the title, babes.

Alas, Crowley safely gets Maggie and Nina to join them, Mr. Brown is the only one who doesn't get a miracled outfit (fussy, petty angel, you just don't like him, do you?), Jimbriel stuns with glamour and flirt (and whatever sexually suggestive thing he does with his cheeks) and the Whickber Street Ball is a-go!

Sorry, I just had to chuck this in again because Crowley's face here absolutely kills me every time. He looks so confused, I am hollering.

And the heart eyes Aziraphale is making at Nina and Maggie now that they're actually here?

Oh, bless it, angel.

He's all like "Oh look, it's working! Jane was right! It's all going to be resolved, all the misunderstanding and quarrels! Crowley, where's Crowley–"

Ah yes, there he is.

Ladies and gentlemen, this is an angel who is not listening to a single word being said right now. No, in his head, Aziraphale is already down on one knee, pouring his heart out to Crowley after they just danced the night away.

Oh, yes, right. The dancing.

Parallel much?

But well, as marvellous and beautifully romantic as her stories tend to be, it turns out that Jane Austen isn't always right after all. Because before we know it, the perfect night shatters into many-a tiny pieces (literally).

And once again, fhwack:

... the rosy bubble bursts.

Let's take one more deep breath so I can make my final point:

In S2E2, Aziraphale explains to us very exactly what Jane's Balls (hrhr) used to be about: Solving miscommunication and confessing love to one another.

During his car journey back from Edinburgh, Aziraphale:

doesn't know Crowley's Mission Lovebirds had failed

remembers 1941 and just how badly he's in love with Crowley

and also realizes that they seem to have been wildly miscommunicating for quite some time now. (Crowley didn't even tell him he basically got let go!)

So, what does maddeningly strong love plus a want to resolve all the miscommunication equal? That's right: A night to remember! A Ball to change it all! A dance, a vol-au-vent, a confession. And, ideally, a happy ever after. Because:

“It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man angel in possession of a good fortune Jane Austen collection, must be in want of a wife demon husband.”

The Ball was never for Nina and Maggie. As a byproduct, maybe, yes. But the whole rest of the glimmer and glamour, the careful, romantic planning and set up of it all, the book-bating the other shopkeepers– that was for Crowley and Crowley only.

And oh, if only it were as easy as in the books.

*whispers* I'm sorry, I had to.

***

Your honour, the tinfoil-hat crackpot defence rests. Feel free to share thoughts (and prayers) if you want to!

Au revoir! 💗

[i-am-baechu]

・Title: Bad Boy

・Paring: Playboy! Yoongi x Namjoon’s little sister! Reader

・ Summary: Yoongi has been best friends with Namjoon since he was seven. He knew his little sister was always off limits but Yoongi never followed the rules.

・ Rating: Explicit (18+) 

・ Genre: Playboy! Yoongi, bad boy! Yoongi, best friend's little sister! reader, college! au, music major! Yoongi, Biology major! reader, fluff, romance, smut, and angst

・Playlist - Dandelions - Ruth B. and Heart like yours - Willamette Stone

・Authors Note: I worked so late yesterday that I didn't have time to post this or even finalize it. I really like how this turned out and it's kinda different for me. I hope you guys like it : )

“I guess sometimes you have to lie to find the truth...” – Scott Westerfeld....

She gasped breathlessly and gripped the black sheets in pleasure, “Yoongi! Please-Oh!” He plunged a finger deep inside of her after teasing her clit with his tongue for what seemed like hours. 

“Whiney little slut.” He spat as he smacked her thigh roughly and made his way back to her clit. 

“Another one!~” Her pleading echoed through the dark room and her fingers were tangled in his long dark locks. He chuckled softly and added another finger, pulling his tongue off of her clit to replace it with his thumb. He glanced outside of his window for a quick second to see the moon shining so bright against his pale skin. He should be used to the brightness of the moon but he isn’t. 

“Come for me. Hurry up, slut.” 

She glanced down at Yoongi and couldn’t stop herself from moaning when she saw his smirk. She arched her back and he felt her clenching around his fingers. Yoongi kept pumping his fingers and leaned down to lick at her clit. Before they could continue, Yoongi’s phone started ringing. He rolled his eyes and got off the bed leaving his hook up in a daze. He picked up his phone in annoyance, “What?” 

“Dude, where are you? We have that project due at midnight.”

Yoongi cursed under his breath and glanced at the girl on his bed. She was still in a daze and glanced back down at the floor, “Alright, I’ll be there in ten minutes.” 

“You fucking better be.” 

Yoongi picked up his shirt off the floor and put it on. He picked up the girl's dress and tossed it to her causing her to snap out of her daze, “Are you leaving?”

“What does it look like?” 

The girl scoffed and shook her head, “After fucking me, you're just going to leave me?” 

“That was the plan. You can have water from the fridge and make sure you lock the door when you leave.” 

Yoongi picked up his motorcycle keys and waved at the girl who was looking at him with a shocked expression. He was down the hallway when he heard the girl yell, “Min Yoongi! You are the worst man on this planet and I hope you get what's coming to you!” 

Yoongi chuckled at that and put his boots on, “Not the first time I heard that one.” 

Yoongi left his apartment, well it wasn’t really his apartment. It was his dad’s property that he used once in a while. That was the benefit of having a rich dad who felt bad for neglecting you. He always wanted to try with him and Yoongi wasn’t going to ignore the gifts or benefits. He put his helmet on and drove to Namjoon’s apartment. 

Yoongi met Namjoon by accident during grade school. They were partnered up for a poetry project and since then the two have been together. Namjoon had always understood Yoongi, regardless of how rough around the edges he was. Namjoon understood him. Namjoon was the first person he came to when his parents were getting divorced and he was the first person he went to when he got accepted to his dream college. Best friends forever they said. 

The drive there was quick and he was welcomed with the familiar smell of lavender when he closed the door. Namjoon always liked the smell of lavender. He said it calmed him down and it had benefits. Some shit like that. Yoongi placed his helmet on the table towards the front as he took off his jacket. He cracked his neck when he felt a presence.

He turned his head and saw Y/N standing there holding a tray of sweets. Y/N was three years younger than Namjoon and four years his junior. He saw her as a piece of glass. She was so sharp but one push and boom shattered. They didn’t really talk that much because she was always busy with her friends or school. He also didn’t know what to say to her. Like at this moment. 

She gave him a small smile and glanced down at the tray, “I got some pastries for your study session. I also started the coffee machine, you should have some soon. Hopefully.”  

Yoongi nodded his head and put his hair in a small ponytail, “Thanks Y/N.” 

He glanced at her and saw that she was in a simple white loungewear set with matching slippers. Her hair was braided and out of her face giving him the perfect view of her eyes. When they were younger, her eyes were like a doe. So wide and filled with hope. Now that she was older they matured with the sparkle of hope that never truly left her. Hoping that life wouldn’t hurt her and everything would turn out right for her. She had all the tools to make that happen and Yoongi knew this. 

Y/N glanced over her shoulder and then back at him, “Namjoon is waiting. He’s grumpy today, be patient with him.”

“Is it because of his girl?” 

“Heejin-unnie? Did they get into a fight?”

Yoongi let out a small chuckle and realized that Y/N had no idea about her brother’s love life, “I guess you can say that.” 

Y/N tilted her head at him, “Should I be worried? I just want to make sure he’s alright.”

Yoongi shook his head at this and put his hands in his pants pocket, “He’s alright. He’s a big boy.” 

Y/N nodded her head and smiled at him, “Plus, he has you in his life. Come in before Namjoon gets angrier.” 

Yoongi wanted to ask her what she meant by that but she walked away from him. There were moments where Yoongi found himself wanting to talk to her but he always stopped himself. She was always there but instead of being a wallflower, he saw her as the charming painting that could brighten up any house. Only a few can understand art and he was glad he could. 

He sighed to himself and walked into the living room to see Namjoon with his papers all over the place. His laptop shines bright against his face and the multiple energy drink cans can cause any doctor to write a note. Yoongi sighed and shook his head at his friend, “Dude, are you good?”

Namjoon looked up from his laptop and glared at him, “I told you to be here an hour ago! You were just sleeping with some random chick again, right?” 

“I lost track of time.” He glanced up and saw Y/N standing by the doorway with a frown on her face. A frown on her face didn’t look right, he wanted to see her smiling with her eyes sparkling. He bit his lip and looked away from her, again what would he say to her? 

“Of course, you lost track...sorry, I’m just stressed with this project and-”

“Heejin.”

Namjoon sighed and nodded his head, “Yeah, let’s just focus on the project.” 

Yoongi nodded his head and sat on the ground next to Namjoon. He glanced into the kitchen to see Y/N pouring coffee into a mug. He watched her push some hair back and he smiled to himself when he saw her pearl earring shining away. It matched her perfectly. She brought two mugs out and placed them on the table. She smiled at Yoongi and pushed the mug towards him, “Just like how you like it.” 

“Americano?”

“Of course, well...I added something to it. It’s my favorite sweetener. I hope you like it.”

Yoongi picked up the cup and brought it up to his lips. The dark liquid went down his throat and the taste of brown sugar became the main focus. It was good, it wasn’t too sweet. It was perfect. Of course, she liked brown sugar, it made sense for her. He put the mug down and saw her looking at him in anticipation. He held back a chuckle and nodded his head, “It’s good.” 

She smiled and looked at her brother, “Make sure you drink your coffee. Don’t stay up too late.”  

“I won’t Y/N. Go get some sleep, you have that test in the morning.” 

She nodded her head and she looked at Yoongi, “Goodnight.” 

Yoongi took another sip and nodded his head at her, “Goodnight.” 

He watched her leave the living room and before she went up the stairs, she glanced at him. She waved at him but he didn’t return it. He just smiled at her and he hoped that was enough for her. He listened to her footsteps until he heard her door closed. He could easily map out her room, he's always at Namjoon’s apartment. 

He turned towards Namjoon who was typing away and he sighed, “Dude, we just needed one more part. Why are you so stressed?” 

“I wanted to add more things.”

Yoongi raised his eyebrow at this and shook his head, “Professor Lee said it was perfect, what more can you do?”

“Make it more perfect, start reading.”

Yoongi rolled his eyes at this, It’s going to be a long night.

His eyes fluttered open when the smell of cinnamon hit his nose. He let out a low groan and rubbed his eyes. He sat up and realized he fell asleep on the floor. He glanced at the couch to see Namjoon snoring with the book covering his face. He took his phone off the charger and saw it was seven in the morning. He let out another groan but his eyes landed on the kitchen. 

Y/N had her hair up in a ponytail pouring oatmeal into a bowl. He saw the soft cotton cream sweater dress that made her look so small. He slowly got up and walked towards the kitchen. He leaned against the door frame and saw her washing the dishes she used. He couldn’t help but look her up and down. This was different though. He wasn’t looking at her as a quick hook-up, he was admiring the beautiful person that he had known his whole life. 

“Good morning Yoongi. I made you a bowl of oatmeal.” 

He quickly snapped out of his stare and gave her an awkward smile, “Thanks.” He walked into the kitchen to see the bowl of oatmeal with berries and cinnamon on top. He glanced next to the bow to see a tangerine and let out a small laugh, “Is that for you?”

“No, it’s for you. I know it's your favorite.” 

“Thanks, Y/N.”

“No problem...I’m sorry I woke you up.”

He turned towards her to see her leaning against the sink with a frown. He shook his head as he started to peel the tangerine, “No, I woke up because my ass was hurting from the floor.”

She let out a small laugh and shook her head, “Did you guys finish the project?” 

“Yeah, but Namjoon wanted to do extra credit.” This is the most I’ve spoken to her in a while...

“Of course he did.”

Yoongi took a slice of the tangerine and handed it towards her, “Here.” 

She glanced at the slice and then back at him, “Thank you...I have to go to class.”

He nodded his head and placed the tangerine in her hand. He felt the softness of her palm and the faint lines. It was a feeling he wasn’t used to but he liked it. Y/N took the tangerine and placed it in her mouth. She let out a small laugh and smiled, “It’s kinda sour. Bye, Yoongi.”

She waved at Yoongi and headed towards the door with Yoongi watching her. He saw the way her hair bounced with each step she took and saw a big white scrunchie holding her hair. He continued to watch her until the wall made her disappear and he heard the door closed. He sighed and leaned against the counter staring at the ceiling, Fuck. 

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

“Happy birthday, Y/N.”

She smiled at Yoongi and accepted the present. It was Y/N’s birthday party and she invited all her friends over (which wasn’t a lot). Yoongi was kind of shocked that he was invited but then he remembered he was her brother’s best friend. It made sense for him to be there. Every year Namjoon tried making Y/N’s birthday bigger, it was the least he could do since it was just them. Ever since their parents passed away, Namjoon tried his best to make everything perfect for her. 

She glanced down at the present and then back at him, “Thank you. Can I have a guess?” 

“No, that’s why you open it.” 

She rolled her eyes at him and set the box on the table with the other ones, “Thank you, do you want some cake or-”

“Y/N, it’s your birthday. You don’t have to serve me anything.” 

“But I want to...especially if it's you.” 

They stared at each other until she broke it. Glancing down at the floor and he was glad she broke it. He didn’t know what he would do if she continued to look at him like that. She looked back at him and went to say something but Namjoon entered the room.

“Neh, Y/N. Your friends want to do shots.”

Y/N nodded her head but she didn’t break her gaze. Yoongi let out a small cough and glanced down at his shoes, “Namjoon, you got beer?”

“Of course I do. Y/N likes those fruity drinks.”

Y/N scoffed and turned towards her brother, “You know, you drink them too.”

“Rarely.”

She rolled her eyes and went towards the kitchen while Namjoon laughed at her. Namjoon gave a bro hug to Yoongi and gave him a smile, “Thanks for coming over.”

“No problem. It’s wild that she’s twenty-four.”

Namjoon glanced over his shoulder and smiled seeing his sister laughing loudly with her friends, “Don’t remind me. What did you get her?” 

“It’s not for you. Why would I tell you?”

“So fucking annoying. Let’s get some beer.” 

They walked into the backyard and picked some beer out of the cooler. They sat in the chairs and stared at the sky together. Namjoon took a sip and sighed, “It’s been six years since our parents passed.” 

Yoongi nodded his head and watched the stars twinkling, “They’re always here. They would be proud of you.”

“You think so?”

“Yeah, studying to become a doctor and taking care of his little sister. Who wouldn’t be proud?”

Namjoon let out a small chuckle and shrugged his shoulders. He placed the beer next to him and looked at the sky, “Sometimes I wonder if I made the right decisions…but then I see Y/N smiling..and it makes the questions fade away.”

Yoongi smiled at this and glanced at Namjoon, “She loves you. You're her everything.”

“I wouldn’t say everything…”

The back door opened and they turned around to see Y/N with a wide smile. She walked towards Yoongi and leaned down, placing a kiss on his cheek, “I love it…thank you.”

“Yeah…”

She ran back in and he watched with a smile on his face. Namjoon raised his eyebrow and glanced at Yoongi, “What did you get her?”

“A mini vinyl player with her favorite songs.”

“Damn, that's a good gift. I just got her that biology book she wanted.” 

“I knew she liked music...I didn’t want to get her something that was school-related so...yeah.”  

It was later that night and everyone went home while Yoongi was crashing on the couch. He went up the stairs to go to the bathroom but before he entered he heard a soft melody. He glanced at Y/N’s door to see the door cracked open. He slowly walked towards the door and smiled at the sight before him. Y/N fell asleep with the mini vinyl playing the familiar melody. He quietly walked into her room and glanced down at her face. 

The moon was highlighting her features and her hair framed her face perfectly. Sure, she had drool on her chin but Yoongi didn’t care. It was Y/N, that's what matters. He pulled the blanket up to cover her but he felt a hand on his wrist. He slowly looked up to see Y/N giving him a sleepy smile, “Hey...”

He let out a small cough and nodded his head, “Hey...”

“I really liked your gift, it was my favorite...thank you.”

“I’m glad you liked it. Did you have a good birthday?” 

She snuggled closer to her pillow and let out a small groan, “I did...You made it better you know.”

He raised his eyebrow and looked at her, “How?” 

“Secret.”

He chuckled and carefully picked up the mini vinyl player. He placed it on her desk and turned back to see her eyes closed. He smiled to himself and pushed some hair back, “Happy birthday, Y/N.” 

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Yoongi sat in the club with all his friends around him. Namjoon just recently went on a break from his girl and Jungkook just wanted to go out. It was a great excuse to go out. It’s been a week since he spoke to Y/N. Sure he’s seen her around campus but he didn’t speak to her. He wanted to, but it was awkward for him to do so. 

He smashed his cigarette in the ashtray and leaned back against the dark purple couch. He cracked his neck and watched Jungkook flirt with a senior girl and Taehyung doing shots with a group of people. This is how the night usually goes. Yoongi stood up and leaned towards Hoseok, “I’m going to the bathroom, watch Namjoon real quick.” 

“He’ll be fine-”

“He’s getting drunk. Watch him.” 

“Okay.”

Yoongi walked away with his hands in his pockets. He looked around and saw everyone getting drunk. He was sure someone was fucking on the dance floor. He went into the hallway to the bathroom but stopped when he heard a familiar voice. The need to go to the bathroom left him and pure anger took over.

“Jun, leave me alone.” 

“I want you, Y/N. If we fucked once we can fucked again.” 

Yoongi’s eyebrows furrowed and walked towards the exit to see Y/N hugging herself. Clearly looking uncomfortable. Yoongi glared and walked towards them with anger in each step. He pushed Jun and stood in front of Y/N, “She said leave. You better leave.”

Jun looked at Yoongi with wide eyes, “Yo-Yoongi!?”

“Yeah, you know my name. Now get the fuck out before I force you. Leave.”

Jun glanced at Y/N and then back at Yoongi, “Fine, this isn’t over yet, Y/N.” 

Yoongi watched him leave and he sighed. He turned around to see Y/N avoiding his eyes, “Are you alright, Y/N?” She nodded her head and rubbed her arm in a nervous manner. Yoongi sighed and brought her into a tight hug as he rubbed her back, “It’s okay. I’ll protect you.”

“I’m sorry...”

“Don’t be sorry, it's his fault. What are you doing here?”

Yoongi let her go and Y/N leaned against the wall with a frown, “Isabella broke up with her boyfriend...we decided to come here to cheer her up.” 

Yoongi nodded his head and looked around, “Do you want to go home or stay?”

“I would like to go home...I was going to call a-”

“I’m taking you home. I want to make sure you get home safely.”

Y/N looked up and gave him a small smile, “Thank you Yoongi...let me get my things real quick.”

“Do you want me to go with you?” 

“No, I’ll be fine. It’s literally right there, it won’t be long.”

“I’ll be waiting here for you.” 

He watched her walk away and he noticed the simple short black dress she was in. It showed off her figure perfectly and he couldn’t help himself from biting his lip. He quickly looked away and shook his head, disappointed in himself that he looked at Y/N like that. Especially what just happened. He wasn’t better than that guy. 

“Yoongi are you alright?”

He looked back to see Y/N with worry in her eyes, “I was just thinking...”

“Thinking is dangerous.” 

“I should know. Are you ready?”

She nodded her head and walked towards him with this soft aura around her, “Thank you for doing this.” 

“No problem.” 

The two walked in the night with stars and street lights guiding their way. The leaves underneath them remember their footwear and the wind pushing them forward. He glanced to his side to see her shivering a bit. He quickly took off his jacket and tapped her arm, “Take it.” 

She glanced at the leather jacket and then at his face, “You’ll get cold though.”

“I’ll be fine. You won’t though.” 

She let out a small laugh and shook her head, “Very confident, Yoongi.” 

“Have to be.” Especially around you.

He gently draped his jacket around her shoulders and he watched her snuggle into it, “It’s very warm. A good contrast from this cold.” 

“It’s fall. What did you expect?” 

“Touchee.” 

The two continued to walk on the sidewalk and the winds kept pushing him towards her. He stood his ground against it but that didn’t stop him from glancing at her. They stopped when he was in front of his car and he opened the door for her, “Here.”

“Yoongi, thank you again for this.” 

“Stop saying thank you, it's weird.” 

She shrugged her shoulders and entered his car but Yoongi placed his hand on top of her head to make sure she didn’t hit it. She glanced at him but he ignored it. He closed the door and let out a deep sigh with his eyes closed before he headed to his side. He started the car and the drive was filled with stolen glances. 

During the halfway point, curiosity killed the cat, “So...why was that Jun dude bothering you?” 

She glanced away from the window to give him her full attention, “I slept with him once and I said never again.”

“Was he that bad?”

She rolled her eyes and shook her head, “No, I just felt lonely and it wasn’t right to do that to someone. Even if they're horrible like Jun.”

“You're too nice.” 

“You’re not the first person that told me that. Why were you at the club?” 

He wasn’t sure if he should outed Namjoon so he just shrugged his shoulders, “It was a Saturday. Nothing else to do.” 

She nodded her head and glanced back out the window, “You go to the club often?” 

“Eh...it depends.” 

“That doesn’t sound fun...then again that’s just me.” 

It’s not fun but I do it because I’m lonely too...

He stopped the car in front of the familiar yellow paint and unlocked the doors, “There you are.”

She smiled and handed him back his jacket, “I appreciate this...don’t tell Namjoon what happened tonight?” 

“Sure.”

She got out of the car and he followed. He leaned against his door and watched her go up to the door. She glanced over her shoulder and he thought it was funny to see her confused, “Why are you still here?” 

“I want to make sure you get in.”

She stared at him for a second longer and it made him feel warm but he pushed it down. She unlocked the door and turned towards him. He waved at him and they didn't break eye contact until she closed the door. He ran his fingers through his hair and took out a cigarette. He watched the smoke go up into the dark sky to touch the stars. He wondered if the stars understood his feelings at this moment. He watched one of the stars twinkle and he shook his head looking down at the pavement. That would be a yes. The next step was just going home and that’s when the sky decided to cry. 

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

“Yoongi, why did you do it?” 

Yoongi didn’t say anything and continued to watch Y/N patching his hands as he sat on the nurse's bed. Y/N was annoyed with Yoongi and it was clear to him. Yoongi hated that she was annoyed with him but this was different. Yoongi hissed in pain and he watched her roll her eyes, “Y/N-”

“No, Yoongi. Why do you put yourself in harm's way all the time?” 

An hour ago 

Yoongi and Namjoon were walking to their class. It was a simple day, art and music. Yoongi’s favorite classes. Seokjin came out of nowhere and was out of breath looking at them with wide eyes. Yoongi glanced at him and then at Namjoon with a confused face, “Dude are you good?” 

“Y/N needs help.” 

Yoongi’s eyes widened at this and he dropped his bag in a rush, “Where?” 

“Lunch-”

Yoongi didn’t let him finish his sentence and he ran towards the lunch court. He felt eyes on him but they didn’t matter. He slammed open the door and ran towards the group of people in the middle of the room. He pushed people out of the way to see Jun yelling at Y/N who was frightened. He didn’t even know why Jun was yelling at her but he didn’t care. Y/N was scared. That’s all he saw. 

He pushed Jun to the floor and he started to punch Jun with all his strength. All his anger came forward and Jun was going to regret it, “I told you to stay away from her!” He kept at it until he felt a soft touch on his shoulder. He stopped and slowly turned around to see Y/N with tears going down her face. He shot up and went straight towards her, “Y/N are you okay?” 

She didn’t say anything and slowly picked his hand up to analyze them. She frowned, “You’re hurt...let me fix you up.” 

She grabbed his wrist and walked out of the lunch court with pure silence following them. The silence was killing Yoongi. He was so used to hearing her voice lately that the silence was hurting him now. He would do anything to hear her voice, mad or happy. 

“Yoongi, why did you do it?” 

Yoongi didn’t say anything and continued to watch Y/N patching his hands as he sat on the nurse's bed. Y/N was annoyed with Yoongi and it was clear to him. Yoongi hated that she was annoyed with him but this was different. Yoongi hissed in pain and he watched her roll her eyes, “Y/N-”

“No, Yoongi. Why do you put yourself in harm's way all the time?”

Yoongi shrugged his shoulders and looked away from her gaze. She shook her head at this and put the final bandage on his finger, “People care about you-”

“I don’t care about what others think.”

She looked up and stared into his eyes (it felt like he could melt from the intensity), “Fine. I care about you Yoongi. Every time I hear you got into a fight, I worry for you. You have to know I care about you.”

“Y/N-”

“Yoongi, I care about you so much...can’t you believe me? I care about you.” Yoongi had heard his father say he cared about him shit, he heard Namjoon say it to him but this right here was different. The way that she was looking at him was something he had never experienced before. She reached over to cup his face and he flinched a little at the sudden touch. He glanced at her hands and then at her face with a confused look. She licked her lips and took a deep breath. She leaned forward to take his face into her hands and she closed her eyes, gently kissing him. 

His mind went blank at her lips. He stood there unresponsive staring at her face now that she was so close. It was clear that she wasn’t giving up because she stayed kissing his lips. After a moment to comprehend, he closed his eyes and started kissing back. 

Her hands brushed along his biceps and she wrapped her arms around his neck to pull him closer. He groaned at the feeling and of having her pressed against him. He slowly brought her down on her back with the soft white cotton giving her comfort. He rolled on top of her and he didn’t want this moment to end. Without thinking he brushed his tongue against her lips and he felt her smile. She opened her mouth to let him roam around her mouth as she brought her hands against his chest and he started to kiss his neck, “Yoongi...” 

He loved this feeling but deep down he knew this was wrong. This was Namjoon’s little sister. His everything and he was clear that she was off limits. He couldn’t love her. How could a heart like hers like him? This couldn’t happen...she deserved better. 

“Shit.” He pulled away, getting off of her. As he sat on the edge of the bed with his jaw tense. She frowned at this and sat up with a worried expression, “Yoongi? Are you okay?”

The door opened and Y/N stood up quickly to see Namjoon coming in with a cold soda in his hand. He glanced at Yoongi and frowned, “Dude, you alright? I heard you were fighting Jun...he deserved it.” 

Yoongi looked up at Namjoon and stayed silent. He didn’t know what to say to him. He was just kissing his little sister. How could he do that? He felt his hand being pried open and felt two small objects in his palm. He glanced down to see two motrin. He looked up to see Y/N giving him a small smile, “That should help. I’m going to the library, get better.”  

He watches her give him a final smile and gives Namjoon a small rub of a shoulder. He looked away and listened to the door closing. Namjoon looked down at his hands and shook his head, “Did Y/N patch you up?”

“Yeah...”

“Thank you for beating the crap out of him. No one messes with my sister and gets away from it.” 

“Yeah...” 

That night Yoongi found himself at the club alone with a whiskey in his hand. His mind kept going back to the kiss. That kiss made his heart beat so fast and his pale skin turned red. It made him feel and he knew having feelings, especially these ones are only trouble. He chugged his whiskey and ran his fingers through his hair roughly. The dim lights of the club helped his hazed out mind but he knew it wasn’t enough. 

He felt a touch on his arm and he glanced to see a girl looking at him. It was a look he was used to and he knew it would help him right now, “Hey Yoongi.”

“Hey....” 

She leaned towards him and the smell of alcohol made him want to get sick. She gave him a smile with a head tilt, “I’m Sarah. We have music class together.”

“That’s cool.” 

She placed her hand on top of his and winked at him, “Do you want to leave here?” 

“Sure.” 

She stood up from the chair and Yoongi followed her out of the club. She kept talking about something but Yoongi wasn’t really paying attention to her. His mind kept going back to how Y/N looked at him. They went inside her car and they started to kiss. The kiss couldn’t even come close to the kiss he had with Y/N. This kiss was filled with loneliness and with Y/N it was liquid fire. 

He watched her take off her top and he was thankful the light from outside was covering her. The feeling of guilt was eating at him but he had to let Y/N go. This was Namjoon’s little sister. She didn’t deserve him. Why did this hurt so much? 

He grabs a tit and a moan echoes through the empty car. He felt her fingers going through his hair and his mind kept flashing back to Y/N. He shook his head at this and lifted up her thigh making it easier for him to sneak between her legs. When his cock entered, she couldn’t help but moan out loud. He groaned when he felt her clenching and he felt how wet she was. She arched her back and he ran his hand against her stomach to her chest. He pinched her nipple and she couldn’t help but quiver. She felt her orgasm coming and the clenching made Yoongi ready to burst. The faster this is done, the faster he can drink away the guilt.

“Gonna cum, get off.”

She nodded her head and got off him. She leaned towards him to suck him off and Yoongi didn’t stop her. He grabbed a fist full of hair and started to push her down causing her to gag at his cock. He leaned his head back and let out a moan but his mind couldn’t stop him, “Y-Y/N.”

When she licked her lips she glanced at him, “Do you want to go back to my place?” 

“No...”

He tucked himself back in his pants and got out of the car without another word. He didn’t even care if she was hurt at the moment. He didn’t care about much. 

The next morning, he sat in his room as his mind nagged him. He had to talk to Y/N and he had no idea how he was going to address things. That kiss that happened was the greatest thing that happened to him but it could never be repeated. She was already changing him and he hated that. 

He walked towards the library knowing she was going to be there. He walked up to the fifth floor to see Y/N studying biology with her classmate. She was dressed in a light pink cardigan and simple dark blue skinny jeans. Her pink cardigan and his leather jacket were a clear indication of how opposite they were. It was cliche but it was true. She could never love him. He wouldn’t let her. 

“Can we talk?”

Y/N turned around and he watched a wide smile appear on her face, “Yeah, I’ll be right back, Joy.” 

The pair walked away and he glanced over his shoulder to see her looking down at the ground with shyness. They walked until they were at the end of the room and they were hidden by the bookshelves. They were silent and she glanced at his face and then towards the ground, “Are you mad at me?” 

“No...I just wanted to talk.” 

“Was it about yesterday?” 

He sighed and crossed his arms over his chest, “What happened yesterday can’t happen again.”

“What?”

“I said it can’t happen again.” 

She glared at him and she placed her hands on her hips, “What made you decide?”

Yoongi felt his jaw tense and stared at the books behind her, “This shit, it’s not going to work.”

She raised her eyebrow at this and shook her head, “You kissed back...I want you to be honest with me right now, Yoongi.”

“You think I’m lying!” 

“I know you are. You’re scared-”

“I’m not scared!” He knew that was bullshit but she couldn’t know the truth. He watched her look away from him and he was nervous that she was going to cry. One tear and it was over for him. He would do anything to keep that tear away. 

“Yoongi, I want you,” she whispered a shout in his face causing his face to flush. That’s what he always wanted to hear from her but he couldn’t do it. It just couldn’t happen. 

“I’m Namjoon’s best friend-”

“I don’t give a damn. He can get over it...can’t you just give me a chance?”

He looked back at her and saw the determination on her face. This was the most honest he has ever seen Y/N. He couldn’t help but glance down at her lips and then back at her eyes. She shook her head and then she closed the gap between them. He was taken back but her lips against his felt right. His mind was telling him to push her off but his heart couldn’t agree with him. He started to kiss back and he ignored his thoughts for a minute. 

She let out a small gasp when she felt his tongue but quickly granted access. He pulled her body closer (if that was possible). He felt her arms around his neck and he pushed her against the bookshelves. He moved down to her neck and started nipping at the soft skin. She brushed her hands through his hair and she kissed the top of his head. His hands started to travel and when he reached her ass, he couldn’t help himself to give it a squeeze. She gasped out loud and seeing this, he brought his lips back to hers. He reached underneath the back of her cardigan but quickly set her down gently when he heard voices.

“Fuck.”

She looked up at him with that same dazed expression she had yesterday, “I won’t back down.”

He looked into her eyes and realized he had matched his match with stubbornness. He looked away from her gaze, “Fine. Do what you want.” He narrowed his eyes at her while he placed his hands against the shelves, trapping her. 

She bit her lower lip and wrapped her arms around his neck while they stared at each other. She kissed his cheek and whispered in his ear, “I will.” 

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

“Yoongi, are you sure you should be doing this?”

“My dad wants it. He said it's urgent.” 

Namjoon sighed and leaned against his couch, “It’s raining though-”

“I won’t take my motorcycle. I have my car.”

“What’s going on?”

Yoongi turned his head and saw Y/N looking at him with a worried look. She was in her pajamas and she was leaning against the wall staring at Yoongi. He sighed and glanced down at the floor, “Nothing-”

“His dad wants him to deliver this box to him but it's pouring rain. I told him he shouldn’t go but his dad needs it.” 

She glanced at her brother and then back at Yoongi, “Are you sure it’s all right to go alone?” 

“Y/N, I’ll be fine okay? Don’t worry.”

She sighed at this and looked away from him, “Just be careful...”

Namjoon sighed and stood up from the couch, “I gotta call Heejin. She keeps texting me, Yoongi, just be careful. Text me when you get there.” 

Yoongi nodded his head and watched Namjoon walk away in disappointment. He knew Namjoon was angry at his decision but Namjoon knew he couldn’t control him. Yoongi was also the type of man that if he said he was going to do something, he was going to do it. Regardless of what it was. 

Yoongi listened for the door to close and he turned towards Y/N looking at him with softness, “I’ll be going.”

“Come back safe. It’s raining really hard.”

He nodded his head at this and the way she cared for him was making him feel safe. His instincts were telling him to act on his feelings. He walked up towards her to see her eyes looking at him with confusion but he leaned in and kissed her. She closed her eyes and wrapped her arms around his neck to pull him closer. He wrapped his arms around her waist and let his heart do the talking. It was clear she was nervous about this trip and he hoped the kiss would make her feel better. 

When they pulled away he looked into her eyes and smiled, “It will be okay.”

“Okay...make sure you text Namjoon.”

He gave her a teasing smile, “You don’t want me to text you?”

“If you want. I don’t want to force you.” 

“I’ll text you too. Bye.”

“Bye.” 

He opened the door and turned around to give her a small wave. She returned it with a smile. He closed the door and let out a small sigh. He glanced forward and saw the rain was causing small flooding but his dad needed the package. He would help him especially since he was paying for his college. 

The drive there was slow and the rain wasn’t stopping at any time. He took a sip of his coffee as he stopped at the stop light. It wasn’t busy out which makes sense because of the weather. He was thankful for that. The light turned green and he pulled up to go. Out of nowhere, a person came on the other side and with the rain, they couldn’t stop. He saw the headlights and then darkness. 

“Namjoon, let me see him!” 

“Y/N he’s-”

“Let me see him. Now.”

Yoongi groaned at the sound and slowly sat up. Under his palms, he felt softness and he realized he was in a bed. He turned his head to see that he was in a hospital. He was confused but he didn’t care, he heard how distressed Y/N sounded, “Y-Y/N?”

The curtains were ripped open and he saw Y/N’s eyes red, “Yoongi? Oh my god, you made me so worried.” 

She walked towards his bedside table and went to pour water into a cup for him. Yoongi glanced at her and noticed that her hands were shaking. He reached over and grabbed her wrist, “I’m okay...”

He watched her stand there until tears started to fall down her cheeks. He knew had to do something. He carefully pulled her towards him on the bed as she cried into his gown. He looked up to see Namjoon talking to his dad, he had some time with her, “Don’t cry.” He started to rub her back gently.

“I can’t help it. I told you before, I care about you, Yoongi.” Y/N suddenly took his hand into hers, placing a kiss on his knuckle, “I care so much.” 

The curtains opened and Y/N slowly got up from the bed to see the doctor come in. He smiled at Yoongi and glanced at his clipboard, “You were lucky Mr. Min. Your previous shoulder injury wasn’t affected by this accident. Minor bruises and soreness. You can leave in the morning.” 

“Thank you, doctor.” 

He gave one final smile and left the room. Yoongi turned his head towards Y/N to see her already looking at him. He gave her a smile and nodded his head, “Told you I was fine.”

She let out a laugh and shook her head, “shut up.”

Namjoon and Yoongi’s dad entered looking at him with worry. Yoongi’s dad sat down on the bed and frowned, “I’m sorry Yoongi. I made my own son risk his life for a package.”

“Dad, it’s fine. I was the one that said I would do it. It’s my fault. I ignored Namjoon and Y/N.”

Namjoon sighed and shook his head, “At least your shoulder didn’t fucked up again.” 

“I know, I'm grateful. I can leave tomorrow morning.”

Y/N smiled and took a step forward, “I’ll help you around your apartment.” 

He glanced at her with a raised eyebrow, “What about school?” 

“Most of my assignments can be sent online. It’s fine.”

He looked at Namjoon who shrugged his shoulders, “Are you okay with that Yoongi?”

“Yeah, I am.” 

He watched her gather the dishes and head out of his bedroom. It’s been a couple of hours since he’s been home and Y/N didn’t want to leave his side. Yoongi’s dad drove them home with Y/N sitting in the back with Yoongi. As they drove, Y/N placed her hand on his thigh and she placed her head on his shoulder. It was very domestic and he didn’t want to fight her anymore. 

He was lying down in his bed as he waited for her to come back up. He was falling asleep due to the painkillers but he wanted to stay awake for her to come back. She quietly made her way over and sat on the bed, “You can go to sleep. I’ll be downstairs.”

“No, I want you here with me.”

She carefully leaned down, giving him a gentle kiss on his lips, “Go to sleep.”

“Stay with me.” 

They were staring into each other’s eyes with soft smiles on their faces. They both leaned in and closed the gap between them. He slowly brushed his hand through her hair as she glided her tongue over his bottom lip. She trailed her fingers against his chest as his free hand brushed along her knee. He leaned forward to press his lips a bit harder but had to pull back, “Damn.”

“Are you alright?” 

“Wrong movement.” 

She let out a small laugh and shook her head, “Go to sleep, Yoon.” 

“Stay with me.”

“Okay.” 

Three days of Y/N being by his side and everything has been perfect. Today, he asked Y/N to get some fast food because he wanted to talk to Namjoon. This was going to change the course of their friendship, it can go good or bad. He heard footsteps coming up and he took a deep breath. Namjoon opened the door and smiled at him, “How are you doing?” 

“I’m feeling better...it’s all thanks to Y/N.”

“Yeah, she’s a good nurse.” Namjoon sat on the bed carefully and noticed Yoongi was nervous. He turned his body towards him and gave him a worried look, “Are you good?” 

“Can I talk to you about something?”

Namjoon raised his eyebrow and nodded his head, “Sure.”

Yoongi took a deep breath and rubbed his neck nervously, “Y/N-”

“You like my sister, right?” 

Yoongi’s eyes widened at this and he wanted to leave the room, “W-What?”

Namjoon let out a small laugh and looked away from Yoongi, “I saw the way she looked at you...it was clear she had a crush but I don’t think it's just a crush anymore. I didn’t know you liked her until her birthday...I heard you in her bedroom that night. I saw the way you looked at her too. It wasn’t hard to figure out.”

Yoongi glanced down at his lap and sighed, “I’m sorry. I know she’s your sister and I didn’t want-”

“Yoongi, that would be lying to yourself. I wouldn’t want her with anybody else.”

“But she’s your little sister and I'm your best friend.” 

Namjoon sighed and turned back to Yoongi, “I want her to be happy and I also want you to be happy. If you two want to be together, then go for it.”

“Are you sure?” 

“Yeah, I’m sure. Don’t hurt her or I will kill you.”

“I expected that.” 

Yoongi entered the bedroom and she smiled when she saw Namjoon, “Oppa, why are you here?”

Namjoon smiled at her, “I was visiting Yoongi.” 

“He looks better, doesn’t he?”

“He does. Are you coming back home tomorrow or the next day?”

She placed the food next to Yoongi and smiled at him, “The next day, is that okay?”

“It’s fine. I do miss you though.” 

She let out a small laugh and sat on the bed next to Yoongi, “I miss you too but Yoongi needs me.” 

Namjoon smirked at this and glanced at Yoongi with a teasing smile, “Yeah he does.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Nighttime came by fast and Y/N was brushing her hair in Yoongi’s mirror. He watched from his bed with a smile, “You know, only Namjoon has been in my apartment.” 

She raised her eyebrow and turned around in the chair to look at him, “Really? You haven’t brought your hookups here?” 

He rolled his eyes and shook his head, “I would never bring them here.”

“I guess I’m special.” 

“You are special, especially to me.” 

Her eyes widened at this and she smiled at this, “Am I?” 

He watched her put her brush back on the table and make her way to him. She climbed onto the bed with that teasing smile he loved, “You are special to me. You're my girl.” 

He pulled her onto his lap and she raised her eyebrow, “I’m your girl?”

“If you want?” 

She leaned down and kissed him. He deepened the kiss sliding his hands to her waist to her thighs. His fingertips were enjoying her soft skin and she gasped at the touch. He wanted her. Ever since he told her that he was not in pain anymore, his mind started to wander. She moved her hands up his pajama shirt and started to unbutton it. He pulled back a little and raised his eyebrow. She didn’t say anything but she leaned forward to meet his lips again. 

After finishing his shirt, he pushed it down his shoulder letting her fingertips touch his pale skin. She moved her hands upwards and gently rubbed his shoulder. He held onto her waist and moved her shirt up to touch her skin. He moved to the hem of her top, slowly pulling the fabric upwards. Once he saw her in her bra, his heart stopped. She cupped his face and placed her lips on his. Their tongues twirling around each other. 

His hands moved towards the back of her bra, unclasping the white lace. She tossed the bra to the sound and she looked at him with readiness. His hands replaced the fabric and she moaned, as she arched her back towards him. He smiled to himself when he saw that her breasts fit perfectly into his large hands. He rubbed his thumb over her right nipple, “Oh, Yoon.”

She felt his tongue on her sensitive numb while feeling his hands were feeling her up. He held back a groan hearing her say his name like that. It made him feel hard. He switched over to her other breast, giving it the same treatment. She held him close to her chest as if he was going to disappear.  Their naked chests fully touched each other and they stared at each other. She smiled at him and he returned it. Kissing each other was the greatest discovery they both made. 

He trailed his tongue between her breasts until he reached the top of her bottoms. His hand brushed her bare sides and he watched the bumps appear on her skin. He removed the piece of clothing and was met with her white lace. It’s amazing how white lace was the perfect thing to describe her. So innocent and gentle, that’s his Y/N. 

“Yoon...” 

He took off the underwear and he leaned down kissing her neck. She suddenly bucked against his hand when she felt him cupping her, “I want to take my time with you.” 

She couldn’t respond when she felt his middle finger along her wet silt. She placed her hands on his shoulders, “Yoon, please.” 

They slowly kissed but a gasp escaped when she felt a finger getting inserted, “Yoongi, I want you now, please.” 

“Is that what you want?” 

“Yes...but we need protection.”

He nodded his head and leaned forward to his nightstand to grab a condom. He took off his pants and placed the condom on as Y/N watched. She wrapped her legs around him and nodded her head at him. He looked into her eyes before entering and she gasped at the new feeling. His thrusts were slow and she noticed how tense he was. She leaned forward kissing the tip of his nose, “Don’t hold back, I want you Yoongi.” 

He nodded his head and he started to quicken his pace. She had her eyes closed with her mouth parted due to the pleasure. Her moans echoed through the room and it created a song with the rain hitting the window. He moved his hand down and started to rub at her clit causing a loud moan to escape. He leaned down and kissed her lips as she moaned into his mouth. When their orgasms hit them both, time stopped. It was only them and the rain. She trailed her fingers down his back and kissed his shoulder. 

“What are you smiling for?” 

She smiled and cuddled into his chest, “I finally got my bad boy...”

Taglist:

@hoseokteardrop

[silly-honeybee]

Arcane characters; how they scoop the butter

🐝 ~ Take these unserious headcanons of how I think the Arcane characters would scoop the butter from its container🧈 I hate when people— especially little kids POKE the butter😭

Fic includes: the scooping of butter💀

Warnings: none

Genre: crack, unserious headcanons

Characters: Vi, Caitlyn, Jinx, Jayce, Viktor, Mel

♡ ~ not an x reader post, just for funsies

Vi - normal, tries her best

- She scoops the butter with a clean knife, it’s not perfectly flat on the surface— but it’s definitely a pretty nice looking butter.

- 9/10, would eat👍

Caitlyn - perfection

- The butter has a perfectly smooth surface, no crumbs or unnecessary pokes by the knife. She uses a new knife every time she goes to scoop the butter.

- 10/10, would feel safe eating the butter from Cait’s kitchen👌

Jinx - uh..

- Eats the whole butter stick.

- 0/10, you would not get any butter😔

Jayce - 💀

- As a professional Jayce hater, I’m giving the worst headcanons possible for him (that me and a friend made together🤭)

- He pokes the butter. Looks like a cat clawed at the butter— dirt, crumbs and even JAM is IN the butter!!

- Uses the same knife for butter and jam.. and LICKS the knife “clean” before sticking it back into the butter container💀

- He scoops out the mold if he sees any.. and then continues to use that same butter.

- Negative 999999/10, would get poisoned. And die. And puke.👎

Viktor - very sterile

- Washes his dishes as if he is prepping them for surgery

- Knife and butter are 100% clean👍

- Throws out the butter and replaces it with a new one if it has a speck of mold (as you should)

- 100/10, you will definitely not get poisoned🙌

Mel - 💰💵🤑🤑💸💸

- The butter knife along with all of her kitchen utensils are all 4 carat gold.. and are decorated with pretty gems

- The utensils are more dripped out than you or I will ever be😔

- Even the butter container is gold.

- The BUTTER is basically edible sheets of gold😭

- ???/10 I don’t know how I feel about gold butter

If you’re new here, here are links to my—

Masterlist + rules for requesting & Intro