#I could be wrong but nothing's set in stone

[aquarius-cookie-jar]

// CRK SPOILERS

My thoughts on BY ep 8. What I think about Pure Vanilla and Shadow Milk.

Spoilers: I don't ship them, and I kinda doubt I will after witnessing their story. So uh yeah, shippers you've been warned ig. 😶

⚠️ TW / CW // There will be discussions of abusive dynamics in relation to the story (Beast Yeast Episode 7-8). ⚠️

God I LOVE Shadow Milk and Pure Vanilla's dynamic. But it's honestly why I'll never ship them together. Their stories are so heavily intertwined and woven together quite well. But it's a story where Shadow Milk attempts to break and destroy whatever agency Pure Vanilla has.

I loved episode 8 so much because it's a story about breaking the cycle of pain and misery and finding the strength to move on and be happier.

Shadow Milk's so broken, so desperate to find someone, ANYONE, who could understand. So much so he's willing to force, breakdown, manipulate and hurt the only person who can truly understand just so that they'll never leave him. He's been alone for so long, having no one who knows the true extent of what he's experienced. Of what he's gone through.

He's desperate for a connection. A shoulder to lean on. A friend.

And yet, he can't show any form of compassion or empathy to the one who can understand him. So much so that he's willing to kill innocent children if it means that Pure Vanilla would finally give up and break, ensuring that he stays by his side for eternity.

But he can't accept the truth of the situation at hand. He can't accept that the soul jam will never align with him again. That it rejects him.

Pure Vanilla, even though he completely understands where Shadow Milk comes from, rejects his ideals and philosophy, choosing instead to embrace all of who he (PV) is. All his flaws and imperfections. All the mistakes and hardships he's ever come across. Pure Vanilla chose kindness and compassion overall, wanting to help Shadow Milk understand everything as well.

But Shadow Milk, even though he's so desperate for someone to stay by him, is enraged that Pure Vanilla dare defy him. He refuses to accept the truth laid before him. He rejects his offer of friendship because maybe, just maybe, his own circle of friends have drifted far apart it's a wonder if they even still consider themselves as friends.

(I know the producers said that the beasts are friends in a way, but I mean it in a sense that there's something disingenuine that lingers with them. They're no longer the same as they once were).

This isn't love, it's an obsession of being unable to let go of something because of how hurt you are, you begin to hurt others around you that only want to help.

Pure Vanilla was able to overcome his pain (or is on the journey of healing), and Shadow Milk wasn't (rejecting the offer of help because he must've been afraid. The fact he despises the thought of kindness- being kind to others or when it's offered to him- is highly telling).

Their story is beautiful, and I genuinely love these characters.

Maybe it's because I'm on the aroace spectrum, but I genuinely could not see the whole "I'm yours" scene as romantic. Not after witnessing Gingerbrave, Strawberry and Wizard almost die.

And yes, I am aware Pure Vanilla was saying stuff like that to trick Shadow Milk into lowering his guard, but honestly, when I saw that scene I interpreted it as the appease/fawn response.

Fawn refers to the body’s stress response to try to please someone to avoid conflict, where one actively attempts to descalate a situation by playing into what the person in power wants.

Honesty, my heart broke when I heard Pure Vanilla say those words, and this was where my first thoughts ran to. I genuinely felt like crying when I heard Pure Vanilla's screams of agony and Shadow Milk laughing at his face (their korean voice actor is AMAZING btw).

But then again, like I said, maybe I'm interpreting the situation differently because I struggle to pick up on romantic cues. I could be wrong about this part though.

Anyway, those are my thoughts about what I think of them. I'm so happy that Pure Vanilla is getting the spotlight he deserves.

But I'm also pissed because the heck you mean he kicked Dark Cacao out of the arena meta?!? 😭😭😭😭😭😭

[kiyzukiy]

Cat distribution system

Sypnosis: Life is hard as it is, so all we all wish for is some comfort in a furry friend. No one accounted for life playing funny tricks so what would happen if you find Caleb in a trash dumpster?

Tags: reader x Caleb, fluff, Cat!Caleb, crack?, funny (hopefully)

A/N: I got inspired by another fic I found on here with a similar flow. If anybody knows what I'm talking about please tag that person. I don't want to disregard any original ideas! >.<

As always, if I missed any tags please tell me.

Word count: 4.8k

I hope you enjoy <3

Divider by me

You groan as you stretch yourself out. Sitting too long is always such a hassle. Tired bones and you felt like your muscles have calcified. If you wouldn't have moved now someone could have mistaken you for a stone statue the way you were perched at your work desk and scrolled endlessly through files. 

Doesn't matter now though. The clock finally releasing you from your workload. Tomorrow was also a day and the files wouldn't suddenly grow legs and run away. No need to do overtime today. 

You rubbed your face. Trying to shake off your exhaustion and slowly blinking the dryness in your eyes away. One more stretch that let out a satisfying crack in your back and you stood up. Packing your things together and making sure that this time you also took your thermal mug with you. Waving your coworkers goodbye you made your way home. Head already in the clouds with your game. Planning your time out of doing your dailies and just admiring your favourite fictional man. A pity that they don’t build men like that in real life.

The chill evening air hitting your face made you shiver the first step you took outside. Cuddling up in your coat and wrapping your scarf up just a tad higher you began your track home. 

Fuck it's cold, you think to yourself. When would spring arrive and you didn't have to be out in this freezing weather anymore? Don't get me wrong, winter is something beautiful and when the snow hits the landscape it was akin to a fairy tale setting. The sunsets even more stunning with the low light and making everything glisten. Colours spreading over the horizon in deep violet and heartwarming orange. Frozen over roads just a bit slippery which made your way to work a small adventure when you played the game “do I land on my bum today or not?”. But enough was enough. 

You wanted the sun back in your days having had your fill with this gloomy grey cloudscape. Waking up when it was still dark out and going home when night greets you again was draining more of your energy than you liked to admit. What made matters worse wasn't even that it didn’t affect only you, but that the melancholic and cold atmosphere was spreading slowly over to the people around you. It was in the way minor inconveniences would grate the nerves of your colleagues or the small tick of the jaw of your boss. The forced smile in service people who normally would make it seem genuine. Point was: everyone was fed up and ready for the seasons to change. When was the last time you saw the sun actually? Was it last October? Two weeks ago? You don't remember anymore. Just- just a long time ago. Pretty sure. Maybe you were a bit dramatic but all you wanted was to feel the warmth again and getting your vitamin D in. 

A rustle next to you snapped you out of your self-pitying lament. Confused you turned your head to the right. Nothing. Just a dark alley. A car passed you by on your left, shortly illuminating a sliver of said alley. A dumpster could be made out but nothing exciting. You shrugged your shoulders and took one step, but another rustle stopped you once more. A sigh left you. Would you really go investigate? You swore this is how the stupid character out of a horror movie always died. This exact way but the curiosity in your mind and veins tried their very best to lure you into that alley to go look. One peak wouldn't hurt right? A man who wanted to drag you into it would have done it by now. There wouldn't be a more perfect chance than right now. The way you stood there like a fine lady in bewilderment. 

This is what you get when you forget the one time your headphones at home. If it would be any other day, you would have continued on. Having passed this particular alley countless times and in daylight it wouldn’t be as scary as it was in this instance. Hopping from one foot to the other, you were uncertain. Would you really? You also could just…leave. Never finding out and always wondering. Spending sleepless nights wondering what could have been in this very alley that made these rustling noises. Or you would forget about it as soon as tomorrow morning came. Maybe it was just the wind that blew over a leaf or bag. On the other hand this could be a cool story you could tell your friends about. Or you could get mugged. 

Alright fuck it. You go. Otherwise you would stand out here in the cold for the next ten minutes pondering about if this decision will have negative consequences on your life. 

Tentatively you took one step into the alley. Instantly your common sense kicked in and pressed adrenaline into your veins. My god, this is the way you would die. Mentally have written your testament and who you would leave behind what you took another step. 

“Hello?”, you asked hesitantly into the night. Frustrated with yourself you grunted. Naturally a serial killer would answer you out of the alley with “yes, behind this dark corner. I made sandwiches, you want one?”. 

You had half a mind just turning back around again, but as if on cue another rustle. This time followed with a bang out of the dumpster. You let out a breath of relief. Oh by the gods, it was just a stray animal…or was it? Nevertheless the strong grip of fear that held your breathing back let a bit loose and you made your way to the dumpster with sure steps. 

Your heart clenched in your chest at the thought that maybe an unlucky racoon got trapped in the dumpster and would meet an unsightly end in one of the waste disposal sites. Without a second thought you opened it and peered inside. Barely enough light from the street lights flooded one side of the dumpster and you saw- nothing. It was pitch black. Quickly you patted your pockets. First coat and then your pant pockets for your phone. One hand fished for it and rather clumsy you unlocked it to get to your flashlight. Now with your weapon of light you peered inside once more and this time you saw- trash. At first. A lot of it, nothing out of the ordinary for a dumpster in a lived in neighborhood. Out of the corner of your eye you saw movement and following it was your hand with your phone. 

“Naaww you poor guy. How did you end up in here?”, you cooed after you spotted a brown cat that had a completely black right arm. Its fluffy fur was completely damped and it looked very dirty. Also something you could expect of a stray cat. Slowly and cautiously you held out your hand to it as to not scare the cat away. 

“Come here. Let me help you”, you said in a low voice. The cat looked at you, then at your hand, rather unimpressed. In true cat manner it seemed like it wanted to say “I don't need your help puny little human”. You giggled. 

“Come on. I don't bite and as soon as you are out of the dumpster I leave you alone. What do you say?”, you tried to reason with the cat as if it could understand you. To your astonishment it acted like it did. Suspicious of your hand the cat sniffed it first. Deeming you not an immediate threat it rose up from its position and stepped closer to your hand and yourself. Slowly you dragged your hand to a spot where you could easily grab the cat and lift it out. 

“Alright buddy. I’m going to grab you now so don't make me regret it by scratching me”, you spoke more to yourself than the cat. You really didn't want to go to the next doctor and get a tetanus vaccine in. The cat still unimpressed with you followed your movement though. Securely you wrapped one hand around its ribcage and the other, after putting your phone away, beneath its hind paws and scooped it up and over the dumpster back on the ground. 

“There ya go”, you smiled down at the cat. “Didn’t even hurt.” 

The cat looked up at you and only then do you notice its blue eyes that really dipped into a deep violet. A splatter of yellowish green accompanied the irises. For such a beautiful cat to be a stray, you almost didn't believe it. 

Also, the cat didn't move. You fully expected it to dash away as soon as its paws were back on the ground but it just stood in front of you. Almost like it was waiting for something. 

“Go on now. Go home”, you crouched down and offered your hand again. “Or don't you have a home? Such a beautiful cat as yourself.” 

The cat once more went to your hand. Starting to purr as it rubbed its head against your hand. Demanding pats. 

“Yes”, you giggled. “Such a handsome cat. And friendly too. You must have a home, right?” 

The cat meowed as if it tried to answer you. Your heart broke a bit. For sure this handsome fellow had a home. As you absentmindedly patted the cat all over you looked around. You felt no collar around the cat’s neck and wondered who it could belong to. Thinking about what to do next, the cat started to rub itself around you. Bumping into you and almost pushing you out of balance. 

“Alright, alright”, you began patting it in earnest again. 

“So, how about I take you home with me for now and then just put up missing posters, hm? Is that a plan?”, you asked the cat. Meowing back at you, you took it as a yes to your plan. Inwardly you celebrated. The cat distribution system finally chose you! Maybe not for long but you now were in the possession of a new cuddly friend. You might not have anything at home but that could be easily fixed. This beautiful fellow also might not stick around for long but for however long you swore you would take the best care of him. Her? It? Right, you never ascertained which gender the cat had. Eh, whatever. As long as you didn't get attached to it and without much pain could give it away again, all was good. Right. Right? 

Future you will hate you for this decision. 

The cat stretched, walking around you once more and then pawing at your knees as if to beg to get picked up again. Opening your coat and scooping it up from the ground, you fulfilled the cat’s wishes. 

“My god. You are really friendly”, you mused to yourself and scratched the cat's head to which in return it purred even louder. 

Together you made your way out of the alley. The dumpster forgotten and your way home just a bit warmer. 

“Don’t run away, okay?”, you said softly to the cat before untangling it from your torso. On your track home it made itself very comfortable on you while you carried it. Its head often flitting from one place to another. You blamed the new height of perspective for the cat's behaviour. Couldn’t blame it, really. Imagine yourself getting hoisted up five times your own height and then carried around places that you never seen before. Now that would be an adventure. For the most part the breathing was calm so you didn’t worry that much. More surprised at the fact how the cat didn’t struggle once to get free. Just enjoying the free ride. 

Cat on the ground in front of the door of your apartment you dove one hand into your bag, trying to find your keys that you carelessly flung inside. With half an eye on the cat all the time. Not that it would decide in the last moment to make a run for it. Granted that it wouldn’t come far or could cats push open an apartment complex door? Probably not or the coincidence would just be big enough that one of your neighbors decided to go out in that exact moment as well. 

You shook your head off these thoughts. Cat was still on the ground and eyeing your door expectantly. Seemingly cat wasn’t even thinking about going anywhere but inside your apartment and here you were already thinking about all the different possible scenarios that would ensue when it ran away. Silly you. 

Key victoriously between your fingers you finally unlocked your home and cat dashed inside like the devil was after it. Puzzled you stood at your door for a bit. 

“Alright? Well…make yourself at home, I guess”, slowly trudging you went after it into your own four walls. Serotonin tingling your brain with the happiness that cat was very excited to explore its new home. 

Exhaustion slowly made itself apparent. Clawing at you and dragging your already tired body. Exhaustion and hunger but motivation wasn’t nowhere near you to make yourself food instantly. Cat on the other hand was curiously looking around. Taking in its new environment. Sniffing, patting around and jumping on shelves to get a better view. 

“Don’t throw it down, I swear to god”, you warned as you spotted cat near a vase with flowers inside. Body despite the sluggish feeling ready to jump to save the vase from its crashing end. Expertly the cat avoided the glass and danced around anything that was not stable. You let out a breath of relief. Automatically your body carried to your couch in the living room on which you rather unceremoniously slumped down on. Ah, finally home. 

_____

How the fuck did he get here? One moment he was in the deepspace tunnel, conducting a new mission and the next he had four paws. Trash surrounded him, it was fucking dark too. He could make out the sound of cars passing by and people walking on the street. Where was he? To his own surprise he wasn’t that cold until he realised that he had fur as well and when he tried to speak only a meow came out. In no way in hell did he turn into a cat, did he? No. What? 

In his moment of utter disorientation, a lid opened and a beautiful face peered down to him. Down? Ah, right. The cat thing. 

Caleb watched you fumble for your phone only to be blinded the very next moment by the harsh light of a phone flashlight. It took several blinks to get his bearing again. You reached out your hand to him. Now this was getting ridiculous. “Poor guy”? “How did he end up here”? Sweetheart, that's what he should be asking. Who the fuck are you anyway and why did you open up this-? Where was he? Is this a trash dumpster? Oh his fucking gods. If he could sigh in annoyance, he would. 

Caleb eyed your hand suspiciously. The smart move would be to take it. Considering everything, he couldn’t get out of this dumpster alone and what could be worse is that, tomorrow the dumpster could be emptied. Nor did he trust humanity enough that another friendly soul would come and pick him up or at least get him out. You were his only shot right now, even if he didn’t want to admit it. So? He sniffed you. Creepy in his own mind but he was a cat now. The least he could do was to make it look convincing. 

You pulled your hand closer to yourself as if to lure him out of his corner. As if he wouldn’t just go to you willingly. How long would he need to put up with this act? Irritation flared up within him. This is so beneath him. 

Scratch you? Yeah, why not actually? Instead he let him get picked up gently. Now was not the time to bite the hand that was feeding him.

The moment was faster over than he could comprehend. Swoop- and he was back on the ground. Caleb looked around. Alright, an alley and- you. In your full glory. Black pants, hair tied up, thick scarf around your neck, an open hanging coat and warm looking boots. Beautiful, pretty and cozy looking. Not a threat. A quick scan and he was certain you carried no gun. Not his worst choice, he thought. 

Let's make a run for it. What do cats normally do to get pity? Humans usually die to pet them. Swallowing his pride he went to you. Did he like to get touched? Sensitive question. If it would be his childhood friend, he wouldn’t mind but a complete stranger? In this form no less? God, that needed willpower and he was already running low because of this situation. Please let this all be a dream and he would wake up in a few moments in Skyhaven. 

“A home?”, yeah in the arms of someone else but that was not here. Just where in heaven sake was he? Get this over with, woman and just take him with you. 

Please, he meowed. Inwardly he sighed. Good lord…

Mercy was shown and you actually picked him up. Giddy and a happy smile on your face you wrapped him up in your coat. It was warm and against his own doing he began to purr at the sensation. Okay so maybe this wasn’t as bad as he imagined. Distracted a bit and sleep pulling at him, he let himself enjoy this small reprieve for a bit. 

Lights flitted by behind his eyelids and he looked around. First fact? This is not Linkon nor Skyhaven. Second, he didn’t recognise anything. If this was in fact a dream, his subconsciousness was running wild today. The only thing grounding him was you. Your warmth, your soothing touch and your somewhat familiar scent that he confused with that of MC. It wasn’t as overwhelming or confusing when he could nuzzle up to you for now. Just shortly, only for a bit. To get his mind back on track, you know? 

The walk you both took, well- you took with him being carried, was not long lived. You said something but he didn’t pay any attention. Something something not running away something something. Where would he go anyway? For christ sake he was a cat right now. First thing he needs to get rid off anyway. Second thing was to get back home. Like home. Once more begging to the skies above that this was a dream. A very vivid one. Caleb couldn't decide if this was a nightmare or not. Was he maybe more exhausted than he wanted to admit? Did he have an accident on his expedition and was now in a coma? Please let it be just that. Maybe also just cognitive training done by Ever. What does he know? 

He heard keys jiggling, a soft clicking of a lock falling back and then a door opening. The ash-brown haired man…uh cat made a run for it. Into the apartment! He stopped in his tracks to get everything in. Analysing your furniture and layout. There was one floor length window that opened up to a small, cozy balcony. A couch in an open space that he guessed was your living room. With a TV mounted to the opposite side of the couch. A lengthy cupboard underneath. On it a few nick-nacks: a charger cable connected to a tablet, a switch console and a bunch of books. The couch itself was decorated with plushies and cushions rounded up with a throw blanket. Some of the walls accented by warm pastel colours to widen the otherwise small space. He peered down one corridor and made out two doors. Guessing one of them was a bathroom and the other your own. 

Caleb inspected your walls. The one on the far end and left of the couch was more bookshelf than wall. Filled up almost to the brim but he spotted also there nick-nacks in between. He jumped on the couch arm and continued on another shelf. Slowly getting closer to your kitchen area. Once more he heard you say something. Bla bla not throwing down something. He had half a mind to fuck with you, but again not the opportunity to bite the hand that feeds him. Curious what you meant in the first place he looked back and felt the vase against his body. God it was so weird to see his fluffy legs and a tail too. Dirt clung to the fur and he wondered what he did before he regained his consciousness in that dumpster. But better not test what it would take to make you throw him out back on the street. For all he could know, you could be the one with answers. If not, he could still leave. 

Rustling and then a dull thumb. Caleb once more looked back. You all but collapsed on your couch and let out a sigh. Tiredness was written all over your face. Your body practically radiated exhaustion. The ash-brown cat didn’t notice before but how could he? Way too immersed in his own problems. Nonetheless were you kind enough to pick him up. Brave enough to go into that spooky alley. Hell, he wouldn’t have. Not without a gun at least. You also were nice enough to carry him here. Not once complaining. If he dares to say, happy to have him with you. Just as warm as he was. Disregarding that he smelled like the trash he lay in.

Suddenly you moved, like you just remembered something important. As if possessed you scrambled up and reached for your tablet. Okay? 

Back to discovering your place he left you to your own devices. 

Noises sprung from your tablet. An interesting melody and a woman singing. Just what were you doing? Playing a game? Well, he was done looking at your kitchen that was, well what could be interesting about a kitchen? It was a kitchen. Jumping from the counter to your table and back on the ground he tapped over to you. One last jump on the couch right next to you. What he saw next made his breath hitch. 

There she was. His childhood friend. On the screen…with another guy? Did you just took pictures of her with another man? Who was he? Some dude with white hair and a pose slung around his childhood friend. They looked happy together. Frozen in time for the picture. What is going on? Did you know her? How could you do this? How- what? How did you take pictures of her? Switching her poses like that? But why did it look so much like a game? Like a 3D rendering of her? What was going on? 

But as soon as he needed to process what he saw, your fingers deftly moved over the screen and collected some rewards in an…event? What? Huh? 

“Is it a new bug? Why can’t I select Caleb?”, you mumbled to yourself. Completely oblivious to the distress ball that he was right now. To your own confusion you couldn’t do anything with Caleb in your game besides recalling the memories you have obtained of him. 

The head of just mentioned man reared. What was happening? Did you know him? What was this game? Who are you? What is happening?! 

Enough, he jumped on your tablet. 

“What the- ey!”, you exclaimed and he just meowed back. That's what he wanted to yell right now. What was going on?! Answer him! 

“You can’t just- get off!”, you giggled. Not taking his jumbling, confusing emotions and obvious distress seriously. 

Okay, different approach. He quickly needed a different approach. Before he could come up with anything you picked him up once more and placed him beside you. Damn him right now for being nothing but an eight pound raging ball of fur. Take him seriously, god damn it! Caleb began to meow again and cursed inside his thoughts. One paw on your tablet, but you giggled again. 

“What is it? You also want to play?”, you smiled at him, picked him up. Again. Woman, do it one more time and he is going to forget his rational part about him and would really bite you. He needed answers and not pats. Oh- okay. You placed him on your lap. The tablet on your knees so he could have a good view of it. 

“Should I explain it to you?”, you continued on and began showing him everything the game had to offer. Beginning with talking with four different men, battling wanderers in bounty hunting or abyssal chaos up to the “main story”, as you called it, until the memories you collected of said four men. Him included as the fifth. What? Without thinking he raised his paw on “falling for you” and selecting himself. Not half a fuck given that he gave himself away, that he was, in fact, not a cat. That's the whole point though, wasn't it? He was a man! Not a damn cat! He was stuck here. God knows where and you! You just playing with her life, with his! With his life like it was a game?! 

These were…all his, well some of them anyway, memories he had with MC. The childhood friend he tried to protect at all costs. Given that his methods weren’t always as pure as he wanted them to be but more often than not necessary. All splayed out for your eyes to see and…rekindle them? Watch them over and over? Relive them?

“Do you like him?”, you asked in a soft voice and he turned to look at you. Totally not caring that he, a cat, was patting on your tablet with human like intelligence. Were you that tired? Half asleep already? 

Like him? He was him! How could he tell you that? So that you would explain further. Maybe he could figure out this way how he got here. Wrecking his brain he tried to come up with anything. Fuck it. Fucking dip this cat shit. Even more so than he already has. How blaringly obvious did he need to be? For your rather slow mind to comprehend what he means. 

Trying to figure out how to show you, tell you or rather scream at you that this 3D rendering of him was he, he put a paw on his image and then on his furry body. As well as he could at least. Which in result was him patting his image then getting up, sitting on his hind legs and putting his paw on his torso area. Caleb begged to the skies above that you understood his message but to his dismay you looked at him puzzled. Oh his fucking gods…

Alright. Different approach. This was taking all of his patience and he barely had none. 

Once more he put one paw on his image that beneath showed a short video out of the perspective of what he only could guess was MC. He didn’t want to think too long about it. Focus. Again he raised his other paw and put it on his chest. This time though he meowed and looked at you imploringly. Please, please let this be enough so you put two and two together. But even he realised that this was rather far-fetched and if this same thing would happen to him, neither would he understand what a cat would try to tell him. 

“What is it? Why-”, and then you looked at the screen that froze over the memory. “Hm?”

Oh my god, did you understand? Please! 

You looked past his small frame and he could see the thoughts behind your eyes. Yes, yes, yes. Yeah, he was Caleb! Come on. Give him answers!

“Nah”, you giggled. Not knowing what you might have said he just nodded with his head. 

“His name is Caleb, should I call you that as well?”, you thought out loud and stroked down from his head to his back. 

No! Yes, his name was Caleb but no! God fucking damn it. Just how was he supposed to tell you that Caleb was well- him. He was Caleb. The same man, now a cat in this universe, that you saw on that screen. Distraught, he wrecked his brain. Unfortunate for him there was no book or briefing or training he could have done to prepare him for playing charades as a cat. “How weird would it be if I named you after a otome game video character?”, you sighed. “God, I must be very lonely to even be considering that.” Maybe, but not the point here, woman. You could question your terrible life choices another time but right now, he needed you to figure out his image riddle!

~~~*~~~*.~~~*~~~*~~~*.~~~*~~~*~~~*.~~~*~~~*~~~*.~~~*~~~*~~~*.~~~*

Henlo, to everybody that made it all the way down here! I plan on making this a multi part story, so stay tunned! If anybody has some cat involved stuff and want to see it here, don't be too shy to tell me about it <3

Thank you for reading, beautiful soul

[everybodyknows-everybodydies]

The dragon was not always a dragon. It was—something else, first, a long, long time ago; it doesn’t remember, now, being as it has animated these colossal bones for much more time than even it could name. When the wizard with the gleaming eyes had bound it, it had fought, at first. It no longer understands why: the dragon is as much its own shape as anything else it might imagine for itself, the chasmal skull and arching ribcage a fine home.

It has stood as a test to many other wizard-aspirants after that first. Many have met a fitting end in its jaws, under its talons. Some summoned armies of daedra to stand against it—some spun themselves cloaks of storm and called hellish rains of fire out of nothing—some whispered words that made it believe it could not bear to harm ones so dear to it, though they had never come to it before—but it has never seen one approach it like this.

The mage has a light over her shoulder, her voice sweeping across the smooth walls, chasing after one of the fleeting little echoes that lives here. The echo flits to a halt before the dragon in terror and vanishes: the mage stops so fast she nearly throws herself backwards.

With a rumble, the dragon shapes its bones into order, spreads its useless wings in magnificent display that scrapes its eroded wingtips across the far stone walls. It has been a long time since someone came to it. To come unprepared makes for poor sport.

The mage puts out her light, mouth moving but the language meaningless to the dragon. A spark of memory—the last straggling cluster of challengers spoke an unfamiliar tongue as well.

A shiver that should not be stirs its bones. It is the bones that understand when the deep itself sibilates, thin and soft, Who are you?

The mage hits the ground with a sound of surprise, hands thrown out to catch herself, the pulse of magicka from her abruptly cut short. The dragon lowers its head to bring its empty eyewells level with the mage scrabbling at the broken stones—it could trace the space of her gone dim unmoving instead, but it finds its own shape more impressive in these coiling configurations, and it retains some vanity yet.

Child of Malacath, the dragon observes, and tilts the skull to show its many fine teeth, tall as a man, taller than that first wizard—though it has lost more than it would like, by now.

I know you are here. The sound is less a sound than an impulse that seizes the bones—travels up the spine and swings its head high without its allowance, tears an impossible roar from its voiceless throat. The dragon swats a set of talons before itself, sweeping in a wide arc. It meets only familiar rubble. Stone tears loose, thunders to the walls of its weathered vault. What creeping little beetle comes to me in the dark?

The dragon—the bones—the thing that lives in the bones of the dragon strings itself tighter inside the osseous hollows, clinging. Something else is clinging, too, inside the ribs it has made its own.

It claws at its ribcage as the mage, braced along a rib and clutching an open book in one hand and the edge of a vertebra in the other—pulls—

Nothing. Nothing. These are its bones. This is its yawning cavern. It lurches, throws itself against a wall, snaps its jaws; it can’t reach inside itself. The mage rattles like a pebble from rib to rib, the book flying free as she throws her arms around its spine, digs her heels between its vertebrae. With vicious triumph, it spikes a claw through the center of the book. The sucking whisper ripped the magicka from the mage; the book, then, must—

It is unwinding. The bones feel heavy, too tangible, itself too diaphanous, for just a moment. It—drops—it shakes itself together—it hurls itself onto its back, hears the mage cry out. Wrong, and wrong, and it pitches the great skull around, throws out the spiny flightless wings, snaps the tail thunderously against the ground; there is no tell-tale pulse of magicka, but the mage, burning, has wedged some bit of herself yet between it and the bones.

A vertebra shifts under her heels.

The dragon falls away from itself with a deafening, dusty thunder.

For a fragmented moment it hangs, suspended, over the bones—sees every hairline crack along the surface, every shameful smear of dirt and long-rotted blood of wizard-aspirants past, every pit and pockmark; sees the mage, coughing and retching in the billowing dust clouds under its fallen ribs, tremblingly shoving her way out again.

Are you finished so soon, pretender?

[eddiediazismyhusband]

louis! what are your thoughts post-interview? :)

not many tbh

i mean like i figured the interview wasn’t really anything… just the same generic stuff we’ve heard over and over

i do think jeff exaggerated the “thoughtful and compassionate” wording about rg’s answer to the question about buddie… it wasn’t anything special or different from anything he’s said before and if anything it tells us that he views it as a straight man and queer man platonic friendship and nothing more- which has seemed to consistently be his view of them since 704

the wording when he said “if i woke up tomorrow and was told i would no longer be playing this character i would be happy with where he’s at” (paraphrasing ofc) gave me pause, especially with the whole “eddie goes through a lot of big changes” and “he would do anything for his kid” and if they’re attempting to play his move to texas as the noble “right thing to do” (which i have already explained why i disagree w that previously) it still makes me wonder if this is the soft launch of eddie’s departure, and they still want to keep it under wraps for as long as possible (not saying that it 100% is and like i said i hope im proven wrong, but we still have to wait and see) i think the fact we also did not get a definitive “eddie isn’t moving permanently” is a little suspect if he truly is meant to be fully coming back at some point, but i concede that that could just be them trying to keep things under wraps- whichever way it goes

as for where i stand… i still personally doubt we’re actually getting buddie. i think tim knows he won’t ever be held accountable for queerbaiting, and he has shown time and time again that he is absolutely willing to engage in it unapologetically, and considering rg’s very “two bros chilling in a hot tub” answer that he’s consistently been giving since eddie’s original 7b storyline got scrapped, i severely doubt that we are gonna be getting what we want unfortunately. as i said before, i hope im wrong, but i have no proof of the contrary to really think anything other than that.

i feel like a lot of the random backlash and death threats rg was receiving about a year ago, as well as the constant public harassment over his sexuality online, it is absolutely plausible for him to have backed down from agreeing initially and while it’s disappointing, i would not blame him if that were the case- i just find it disappointing and kind of ironic that by wanting someone so badly, the fandom have possibly ruined our chances by acting fools online… but life is full of disappointments and unfortunately, if something is set in stone we can do nothing to change it :/

i don’t intend to being anyone down or discourage anyone from still engaging in buddie content- i will certainly still be readind and publishing fanfiction until long after the show is over when it inevitably ends, but i’m not going to shy away from my opinion

<3 <3 <3

[pixelatedraindrops]

Sorry but I gotta do this for science.

[mira0000000-blog]

Ugh..narrator...

[kameyyy]

#recs

this didn’t fit anymore lmao😭

try again

part 0.11. HERE TO STAY

“on the other side of the wall, she’s listening to her client with a smile on her face. she’s a professional; she’s been trained to multitask and take notes while still listening and providing feedback to her clients. right now, she’s clicking off a tab back to the one filled with bullet points on things her client has said. she always knows when he arrives. she hears the left door open, which she knows because it squeaks more than the one on the right. he always uses the left door (she thinks it has something to do with the fact that more people touch the handle of the right door on their way in) and his paces are always steady down the creaky hallway. her last sign that he's here is the chair he sits in every time, the one right next to the door into her rooms. the legs are the slightest bit uneven and the back of the chair will lightly tap against the wall as its way of letting her know of her welcome guest. she already has her queue of songs up. she’s always hated her thin walls until he started coming in. a lot has changed in her life since he's come back, hasn't it?"

content warnings: the big finale which isn't that dramatic! i'm sorry for my bad writing! y/n dad reveal! breaking news: her dad is an asshole! tad bit of violence, one mention of blood and also just cursing and abusive fathers </3

he insists on paying and she doesn’t argue with him about it for long; she’ll have countless more opportunities to steal the check from him, she hopes.

she feels better when she's finally eaten after a day of nervous nausea and time spent anxiously bouncing her knee. on top of that, she’d been with him for the majority of the day, distracting her from what had happened in the morning. he even listened to her issues, and she’s finally starting to believe the promise that he’s here to stay. 

they’ve just stepped off the train, and her apartment building is only a few minutes away. he walks alongside her the entire time, their arms brushing each other ever so often. whether it’s on purpose or not, neither of them will fess up.

he’s only distracted from his time spent mindlessly reaching his arm out just the slightest bit more to hit hers ever so often when he feels a buzz in his pocket. he slips out his phone quickly to check its screen:

akaashi’s a moment too late, because they’ve just made it up the stairs to her floor.

she’s already seen him, and he’s already seen her.

she wants to puke. 

he’s there, arguing with iwaizumi outside their door. his sunken eyes and gaunt face make her stomach twist with guilt, but a brush from omi’s knuckles reminds her where she is again. it’s not her job to take care of him. it never was, and it never will be.

"you," the man is pointing a finger towards her, stumbling forward and she immediately shrinks back like a shriveling flower, losing her confidence. omi's already standing in front of her without even thinking about it, putting a barrier between the two.

the old man keeps talking as if he can see right through him, though “you’re a disrespectful worthless piece of shit, you know that? can’t ever in your life put even a single person about yourself. here you are living with a bunch of boys. what are you, a whore? do you suck them off so they’ll keep the bad guys away? they’re doing a shit job at it. i’m standing here after, all, aren’t i?”

“it’s not like that,” her voice is quiet and weak, and she’s not even sure it makes it to the man’s ears.

“you can’t think about anyone else. you're too selfish. you won’t even answer your own father’s calls much less say anything to him at all–”

“i told you to back off!” her voice comes out loud this time, louder than she means for it to, “i’ve told you to back off so many times but you just don’t listen,” she steps out from behind omi, standing next to him instead while the man in front of them stops at the sound of her voice, “these are my roommates and my closest friends. i'm living with them because they genuinely care about me and aren't using me for any purpose, something you can't even dream about. the only reason you’re still standing here is that they have enough self-control and respect for me that they won't beat up the man i regrettably call my father.”

omi’s gaze slides over to hers, trying to see if she’ll meet his eyes. he’s simultaneously trying to communicate how proud of her he is and let her know that he'll support her no matter what happens. 

“take that back,” her father spits, starting to curl his fingers into a fist. she stays silent, and his face begins to flush an angry red. “you’re only proving my point. you’re just an ungreatful little girl who thinks she no longer has to care about anyone else because she's older. i took care of you your whole life and i will not have you ignoring me for the rest of my fucking life!” the smell of beer invades her senses as he steps closer.

“you did jackshit in my life! you never helped me with anything I asked you to. never bought me anything i needed, you've never cared about me. i’ve grown up and moved out. i can do whatever i damn please and i told you to leave me alone. maybe if you respected me i wouldn't ignore you, but that's impossible for you,” she retorts, standing her ground.

“don’t you fucking talk to me like that–” he nears her, only a few steps between them and she starts to feel the panic in her chest, “your stubbornness is the reason your mother left–”

“my stubbornness?” she can’t help but fight back. that’s what separates her from her past self. her younger self ran away, left home as soon as she could to live on her own, but now she’s grown into who she is today, and she won’t let him ruin that. “you treated your wife like shit and refused to change no matter how many times she screamed and argued with you right in front of me about how horrible you were. you've never fixed anything because you’re so stuck up and think you’re so high and mighty that she decided to pack up her bags and leave–”

“then why did she leave you behind too?” 

it’s like her heart stops beating for a second. her blood runs cold before her vision is a blur and the face of the man is crushed right in front of her, sending him to the ground groaning. his hand is covering his nose, preventing her from seeing how badly damaged it is, but she can’t find it in her to care.

“don’t blame her for your faults. grow up and take responsibility for your shit. she deserved better than either of you,” omi is talking down on the man now, and she looks up from her father’s body to the fist of the boy beside her, bruised and a little red.

he’s been by her side since day one, and maybe he disappeared for a section of it, but now he’s back. they're back together, and she stands proudly beside him, “she left me too, but i can’t be mad at her for being sick of you. or us. whatever it is, you’re both selfish and her absence nor yours is something i’m mourning over. i’m happy to have left you too and for the last time, i never want to see you again”

iwaizumi has joined them, standing above the man, no trace of sympathy in his eyes despite the blood that's streaking down her father's face. he tries to get up, only for iwaizumi to keep him down on the ground with a foot on his shoulder, “you heard her. don’t ever show your fucking face around here again. i’ll kill you the moment i lay eyes on you.” iwaizumi’s olive eyes move from the ground to meet hers, slightly softening when he sees her, “are you done with him? i’ll make sure he gets out of here and stays away for good.”

omi’s words from the diner rush back to her head, and she doesn’t feel so bad for relying on her friend. she believes he's willing to help her, and she won’t let her father’s words get to her head. she’s cared for others, unlike him, and developed relationships that she’s earned by giving out her own love. “yeah, i’m done,” her voice is quiet again as she keeps looking at her friend, searching his eyes for any sort of annoyance. but she can’t find any, and she smiles, walking towards him, wrapping her arms around him. “thank you, iwaizumi.”

he has an arm around her shoulders, his foot still resting on her father. “always,” he replies simply before she leaves him embrace, gesturing for omi to follow her. “i’m going to take care of his fist, now.”

iwaizumi only nods, turning his attention back to the man on the ground omi following his gaze as he passes by. iwaizumi will do more than a good enough job at keeping his word, he knows that, but he feels like he should have some part in taking care of the man whose plagued the girl in front of him for her entire life.

but she hasn’t asked him to take care of the man in front of her, and he knows its not his place. she knows she does not resent the man to the point that she wishes harm upon him, she simply wishes that he would leave her alone. and iwaizumi will make sure that wish is honored, and omi should be satisfied with the hit he landed on the man’s nose.

before her hand can even reach the knob of the door, it swings open and she’s pulled inside by the arms of a black-haired man who he recognizes to be akaashi. kita is standing beside him, a hand on [y/n]’s shoulder as they both check on her for any injuries or harm.

he hasn’t seen kita since his days in high school when he was the captain of inarizaki; atsumu told him he had moved out to the countryside but he must have come back after some time. he feels like a weight is lifted off his chest at the sight of her in the arms of his roomates, and he knows that she is cared for. that she has found her people, just like he told her earlier that night, and he hopes that she’s starting to accept his words as the truth.

he’s happy just watching her from afar, but she breaks apart from akaashi’s hug to gesture him in, and kita shuts the door behind him. “omi, this way,” she says with a smile on her face, beckoning him with a hand.

it’s the first time she’s called him by that old name since high school, and he thinks he’s falling even harder for her if that’s possible. she makes him sit on a stool in the kitchen while she searches her cabinets and a nearby closet for medical supplies. she’s begun to apply an ointment to his hand when he opens his mouth, “i can’t believe you think your roomates would ever leave you. look at how they all came to make sure you were okay. mine are one fight away from starting to vote people to kick out of the apartment nearly every week.”

she laughs at his comment, unwrapping a roll of bandages, “i’m sure no one would ever vote for you if that happened, but i guess you’re right, they’re pretty good, aren’t they?”

he nods, watching her face while she’s focused on his hand, “are you doing okay?”

she hums back in response, “yeah. the thing about my mom leaving me behind too kind of stung, but i don’t think life would’ve been any better with her, so it shouldn’t really hurt that bad. i’ll be okay. what you said at the diner really helped, you know. i feel like I can trust myself to say what i'm thinking rather than being scared i'm wrong or selfish. i can trust that it's not egotistical to believe my roomates don’t actually hate me. and that you don’t hate me. so i feel like i’ve finally escaped the weight of my dad’s words always crushing me and playing down anything i do.”

he reaches a hand up with his uninjured hand to wipe away tears from her face she didn't even realize were falling. and then he keeps his hand there, caressing the side of her face. “i don’t hate you, i never have. this entire time…how i feel about you is quite the opposite,” the words are slightly too intimate for him and as soon as they escape his mouth, it becomes hard to swallow and his face feels a little hot, but he doesn’t remove the hand from her cheek. he opts to say something more neutral next, “you did well, talking back down to him. i think you could’ve taken him down yourself.”

she chuckles at that, tying a knot to finish his bandage, “that’s what you think, but i’m sure i’d break my thumb or something. and if i have a hot man to defend me? i’m not lifting a finger.”

“you think i’m hot?” he says with a smile.

her cheeks grow warm under his hand, but she can’t look or move away from him, “i’m pretty sure thousands of people think so. it’s like a fact; newspapers can make money off of just having your face on the front page even if they barely mention you or don’t focus on sports at all.”

“well none of that matters,” he’s smiling softly now, and she’s still looking into his dark-colored eyes, hands holding his wrapped hand, “it just matters what you think.”

“what i think?” she repeats. and maybe it’s the adrenaline from the encounter they just had, or his boldness rubbing off on her in this current moment, but her next words come out clear and confident, “i think i love you, and i have for years. even when you left, i never stopped loving you.”

“i’m gonna make up for those years, you know,” he whispers back, pulling her by the sides to stand between his legs, bringing her closer. “i know i love you. i’d be a fool not to. and i loved you back then in high school too, even if i didn’t know it. i swear, losing you made me realize how much i took you for granted and everything became clear. letting you disappear was the worst mistake i ever made. i’ll make up for that lost time. make it up to you to the the point that you’re sick of me and you forget we were ever even separated for a time in our lives.”

“oh? and how are you gonna do that?” there’s a breathless feeling growing inside of her chest, where her heart beating fast with his confession and the way she's allowing him to pull her face close to this.

“starting with this,” his breath is hot against her lips before he closes the gap between them, and she’s kissing him back. she doesn't mourn or wish for the past, or for anything to change. he's come back and that's all that matters. she's happy with the word again. she likes it better than a phrase like "we fell in love at first sight." instead, she can say, "we met again. we fell in love again.

"we tried again."

it sounds like a story that reminds people endings aren't set in stone. she likes it.

.

.

.

“by the way, have you been playing songs for me in your lounge room when i’m waiting for you?”

“oh, you noticed?”

.

.

.

"the more you love your friends the more their features start to blur until all you remember is a pair of warm, welcoming eyes and laughter that feels like home."

prev. | m.list

extras <3

this is the end! thank you for reading try again <3

that last little quote is something i should've included like two chapters ago but it got lost in my gallery so here it is now <3

y/n's a good therapist i swear!!! she takes like one second to hit a play on a spotify playlist she's not playing games on her computer for entire sessions 😭

this is all i have tbh! i hope you enjoyed a little bit of this story <3 thank you so so much for being along on this ride w me!!

taglist: @eggyrocks @wyrcan @guitarstringed-scars @strawberryuri @violetesensou @kakeru-eem @glmge @heytheredemonsss @mollyrolls @bemebiu @daszy @snail-squasher @0moonii @thiisisntlovely @todorokiskitten @rory-cakes @iiwaijime @iatethemochi @yuminako @savemebrazilhinata @kismyscars @bokutoko @nobodybutnnoorr @wolffmaiden @daisy-room @softpia @lees-chaotic-brain @v3nusplanetofluv @crispchocolates @phoenix-eclipses @hhoneyhan @encrypta @rockleeisbaeeee @cr4yolaas @zombriesworld @localgaytrainwreck @moucheslove @hibernatinghamster @notverymarley @certaindreampost @akaakeis @ciderscape @lucien-luna @strawbrinkofdeath @wave2mia @samuel1004 @01trickster10 @dazqa @cosmiicdust @chemiru

[jiminrings]

anything

pairing: yoongi x reader

wordcount: 10k

glimpse: yoongi doesn't want to move on from his ex because she's everything he's ever known, whereas you want to move on from him because he's everything you've ever loved.

alternatively, yoongi's your best friend and you've been in love with him your whole life.

[ angst, fluff, friends to Not Friends to lovers, pitiful amounts of Yearning And Pining, emotional constipation, second lead taehyung being unbearable And delicious somehow, jealousy, the harrowing argument of what it means to seek growth n seek comfort, VINDICATION!!!, redemption ]

notes: because i've decided that i will never become sick of writing lovers who are doomed but not really, here we are 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️ to get the full experience, pls listen to the song that was the inspo behind this!!

as always, lmk what you think <3 send in feedback n love to my askbox anytime!! 

Yoongi's only ever been with one woman his entire life.

Ever since he turned old enough to introduce someone to his parents without them mistaking it for puppy love, which in his case was at seventeen years old, Yoongi quickly realized that he doesn’t ever want to introduce anyone other than Haein.

Yoongi, at his fresh age of seventeen, made a pact to himself to never bring someone home again if it’s not Haein, because bothering a nineteen-year old you for your own house slippers to lend to his girlfriend (he didn’t want to spend his allowance buying a nice pair when he could just sacrifice his dignity by groveling at your feet for it) was too much of a hassle.

He didn’t like the fuss that came with forming crushes. Yoongi’s spent countless nights scrutinizing his first love’s actions during recess and microanalyzing her tone towards him from the morning earlier— he doesn’t want to go through any of that again. 

He doesn’t want the grown-up equivalent of it either, because all throughout high school and some bits of college wherein he and Haein were together and totally not broken up in a perpetual on-off cycle as usual, Yoongi thought that he was set for life with her.

Unlike you, he hasn’t had his share of multiple first kisses. Yoongi, not even once, stepped into a bar with wandering eyes and a hopeful perk to his tone. He hasn’t worried about making first impressions again, nor has he ever had to ask how many people came into the picture before him.

In Yoongi’s eyes, it’s only been Haein the entire time. There’s no before, during, and after her, even if the last phase in time is just something he hopes for and is not set into stone. 

It’s still Haein for him, the kind, starry-eyed girl that wore your house slippers when she stepped foot into his childhood home for the first time to meet his parents, and it’s been her ever since.

It’s still her, because she never knew that the slippers she wore was actually yours, which made it her one and only designated pair, so much so that she even took it with her when she moved in with Yoongi in their shared apartment.

It’s still her, because you’ve gone through multiple pairs ever since, and so did the boyfriends you took home to meet your family.

It’s still Haein, because Yoongi hasn’t moved on from her even if they broke up for good (or atleast that’s what you’ve heard in verbatim and what Yoongi refuses to confirm) a year ago.

"There's nothing wrong with being with someone new," you snort, your tone bordering on condescending to which Yoongi predicted correctly, simply because you’ve had this conversation a million times already. 

You told him that in your attempt to comfort him when Haein broke up with him back on the second semester of their first year in college, wherein he found himself wailing against your sheets at your dorm.

You told him that in your attempt to appease him when he broke up with her during their junior year, wherein he had to wipe at his tears furiously before fixing his tie because it was only hours before your graduation and both your parents downstairs are calling for a picture.

You tell it to him now too, in your attempt to convince both Yoongi and yourself, as he starfishes on your couch while reminiscing what could’ve been another anniversary (albeit choppy and not at all continuous) of the first time they held hands.

"Yes there is," he groans, his emotions maturing enough not to cry helplessly unlike the past breakups, but not enough to stop glomming onto you. “I don't want to talk about my favorite color again. I don't want to answer how many siblings I have. I don't want to be asked the extremely quirky question of whether I think pineapple belongs on pizza or not, again!"

"It's only normal to introduce yourself again and again until you find the right one for you!" you laugh, your self-built amusement keeping the entire situation light for you because if you don’t find a way to distract yourself from Yoongi holding onto Haein pathetically, just like how you do so with him, you’d be as devastated as him.

You’d be devastated too if you realize that there’s little to no chance of earning back the only person you’ve ever truly loved, if not more— except you’re not Yoongi, and he’s not Haein.

What you have to go through is more devastating because Yoongi’s never really been yours in the first place.

"But I want Haein to be right for me," he whines, his eyes sleepy from all the fatigue that comes with driving all the way to your place, just so he could be miserable around you and not apart from you. “Even if she's not, I want it to be her."

You’re quiet for awhile, and Yoongi doubts your silence because you’ve only ever chewed his ear off whenever he started moping about Haein. He’s noticed it ever since you were young; you’d never let a single second pass without overwhelming him with your words whenever he thought too deeply, too lowly about anything. You didn’t give him a break to even think when it comes to times like these, so Yoongi grows even more concerned when you give him a break.

He’s used to the noise that is you trying to distract him from everything that pains him.

"For the record, you already did those things twice in your life,” you murmur after some time, looking up from the glass of wine that Yoongi poured you and bought for your collection before he made the decision of crashing out over Haein in your living room.

"Oh my god, did I kiss someone while I was drunk? When you dragged me out for drinks last week? When-… when it was, uh, when it was the anniversary of me and her moving in and-…”

"No, you monogamous asshole," you interrupt, rolling your eyes. "You did it with Haein."

"What are you talking about?" Yoongi tilts his head, his eyebrows furrowed as he tries to comprehend what you’re saying.

You still look annoyed at him, as you’ve always done whenever he comes to you crying about her, but now, you look more subdued; like you’re a little more melancholic for god knows what reason (Yoongi knows it’s definitely not about him and Haein’s breakup), and a little less agitated at having to have this conversation for the nth time.

"I knew you first, Yoongi," you remind faintly, shoulders offering a weak shrug. "You had to do it all over again for Haein when she came into your life, but I don't see you complaining."

Yoongi hits pause on his agony to frown slightly, sitting up on your couch in order to nudge you with his shoulder. ”But that's different because I grew up knowing you. It's only natural for you to know me this way.”

The snort that leaves you borders on offensive, and Yoongi automatically narrows his eyes when he senses the hint of sarcasm in your smirk.

”You mean know you as intimately as your one and only girlfriend did? Maybe even more than Haein actually does know you?"

"If you put it that way it sounds weird, but yeah," Yoongi scoffs defensively, crossing his arms on his chest before looking up at the high ceilings of your apartment in surrender. “Aren't just close friends basically lovers without the formalities?"

Yoongi’s only ever been with one woman his entire life.

You figure it’s because of that so he doesn’t know what he’s saying. 

You figure it’s because of Haein’s monopoly on his feelings and experiences that you convince yourself that Yoongi hasn’t been kicked around enough, to realize that what he’s saying is enough for you to assume a higher, closer place in his life.

You figure that Yoongi only knows love because of Haein and not love itself, enough for him to tell you that being close friends with him is the equivalent of loving him in that light, only without the coveted crown that comes with being his first and only love that Haein still possesses.

"You're right," you mutter, downing the rest of your wine and the assumption that Yoongi knows it’s him whom your hearts yearns for. "It does sound weird when you put it that way."

( ♡ ) 

Yoongi’s a manny. 

More specifically and less confusingly, Yoongi’s a male nanny and he enjoys the job.

When you graduated two years earlier than he did, all he talked about was how happy and envious he was for you over being born earlier than him. He told you that you were unfair (and so were your parents) by bringing you to the world earlier and not as the same time as him, even detailing how he wants to be just a day older than you instead of you being ahead by two full birthdays.

When you graduated two years earlier than him, proving just how lucky you were (even if Yoongi argues that it’s your sheer intellect and not something as silly as luck) by landing a coveted job, all Yoongi could talk about was how he wanted to follow in your footsteps.

He’s not in the place where you are now, and although neither of you are bitter about it, some part of Yoongi still thinks what could’ve been.

“I should’ve never brought it up,” you apologize sincerely, nudging him with your knee to get the point across because you didn’t really mean to throw him into a loop.

You’re sure that Taehyung, your colleague who’s one year your junior and knew both you and Yoongi from college, didn’t really mean to offend the latter either, or atleast that’s what you think. 

You only opened up about your brush-up with Taehyung in the elevator because it was your first time bumping into each other having worked in the same company for so long, and you thought (read: thought) that Yoongi would be amused about the interaction too.

You thought that Yoongi would be amused about your encounter with Taehyung because the third question he asks you (the first asking how you were doing and the second asking if you were single) ventures straight to Yoongi and what he was up to. 

You thought he’d be amused that Taehyung still remembers how the both of you were attached to the hip despite being apart in year levels, but with the way Yoongi scowls (even for just the briefest second), you knew that you hit a sore spot. 

“Nah. It’s okay,” Yoongi exhales, glossing over the random question of Taehyung asking if you were taken before willing himself to forget it completely, and moving onto the facet that you thought offended him. “It pays well, honestly. I didn’t think I would ever score a job like this.”

“Me neither,” you shrug lightly, being relieved when you see the playful roll of Yoongi’s eyes.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he whines, throwing his head back in faux annoyance, to which he may or may not attribute to Hwayoung’s (one of the children he looks after) tendencies.

“I don’t mean it in a bad way, Yoongs. It’s just that, well, I pictured that you’d be this hotshot data analyst, or I.T, or something equally as technical and now-…” you trail off, the smile in your face genuine. “You’re a hotshot nanny.”

“This wasn’t my dream. You knew that,” he snorts, asserting his point by once again bringing up your extensive knowledge about him. “But I was just strapped for cash this one time, and I was behind on rent and my stupid, complicated job at my old company didn’t pay on time– then you already knew about my neighbors being these newlyweds with twin babies and before I knew it, I was looking after them! I was making bank by staying up like I’ve always done, and I get an audience when I’m talking to myself!”

Yoongi doesn’t overestimate your familiarity for him, and neither does he overestimate your sincerity towards his decisions. You judge him, sure (you’ve never made your annoyance for his weakness for Haein and his affinity for their backwards-moving relationship a secret), but you’ve never actually discouraged him from anything.

You didn’t talk him out of getting back with Haein all those breakups ago.

You didn’t talk him out of applying for unrelated jobs outside of his degree.

You don’t talk Yoongi out of anything, even anyone, that’s capable of bringing him joy.

“You love what you’re doing and you’re earning a shit ton. You don’t have to be affected by what an old classmate is asking.”

“That old classmate is working in the same Fortune Global 500 company as you are,” he chuckles just a little bit bitterly, making you nudge his knee a little harder this time. “But still,” he deadpans. “It’s okay. I’ll get over it. I can consider this as practice anyway.”

“You’re… opening up a babysitting company…?”

“Stupid,” Yoongi snickers, squeezing your knee tightly before his hold disappears. “No! I mean practice before I have a family in the future!” he laughs, shaking his head at you as if it wasn’t the most obvious thing in the world; as if his optimism for a future with Haein isn’t persistent. “I don’t know what’s Haein’s take on working if we ever do have children, but either way, it’s nice to know that I already have the basics mastered.”

Whenever you least expect it, even if you should know by now after spending so much of your life with Yoongi, he reminds you of your place.

“You and Haein aren’t even together now,” you mutter, keeping your gaze low.

“Can you shut up?” Yoongi groans, slouching in his seat. “I’m not saying we’re gonna have a family now. I’m saying maybe we’ll have one in the future.”

“But you’ve been broken up for years.”

“Again, Y/N,” Yoongi rolls his eyes, the playfulness between the two of you slowly but surely dissipating. “I need you to be quiet.”

( ♡ ) 

Your parents like throwing thanksgiving parties for you and your siblings.

It’s quite literally the joint event for all seasons because your parents don’t even dare to set out cake for anyone outside of your family to eat when the holidays come, promising to make the party they excessively fuss about to be an umbrella for the rest that they miss throughout the year.

It’s an event that none of you really asked for but your parents insist on anyway; mostly to celebrate their accomplished children, and just a tiny bit more to brag about the lives they’ve managed to cultivate.

Yoongi, like for every other thanksgiving party that your parents have thrown, shows up in his most prized suit. It’s his most expensive and cleanest one to date, and it’s a suit that he reserves only for your parents’ shenanigans; not for a relative’s wedding, and not for a rich friend’s event either — he wears it just for you.

“I’d hate to be your unemployed cousin during this time of the year,” he jokes, being unable to look around the room without locking eyes with atleast one of your relatives or mutual friends and waving at them, yet Yoongi’s not really peeved about it at all.

“Yeah, that side of the family hates us,” you laugh, the tension in your shoulders loosening when you realize that you have nothing to be anxious about, especially when you’re just across the person who knows you the most.

You have your fun in these thanksgiving parties, and Yoongi has his own. Your definition of fun means owning up to your achievements and not attributing them to luck, poking fun at your siblings behind their backs, and maybe striking up a conversation or two with a family friend that you forgot was more handsome than you thought he’d be.

Yoongi’s fun on the other hand, only ever revolved around you and Haein when it comes to these parties. Now that the latter wasn’t invited this year and he’s not capable of trailing after her like a puppy, feeling like an outcast amongst a sea of accomplished individuals, Yoongi can now trail after you, feeling like he belongs.

“Look at my parents. They keep boasting about you so much, you’d think they gave birth to you,” he nods his head to them, talking your aunt’s ear off as they keep gesturing to you, grinning when you catch their gaze.

“I don’t look at you as a brother. Gross!” your nose scrunches, making Yoongi roll his eyes and subsequently kick you lightly in the shin.

The two of you, thankfully, are okay. The awkward conversation that transpired about Taehyung’s curiosity and Yoongi’s own insistence of a future with Haein seems to never have sprung up in the first place.

You’ve known each other for a lifetime; it only felt appropriate, nevermind unhealthy, to let familiarity take its toll to make the two of you complacent enough to not apologize to each other and still be okay by the next day.

“My parents didn’t graduate college, but you knew that already,” Yoongi talks, gaze still holding out to his parents from a distance like it’s a stare he can’t break off because his eyes feel too comfortable. “They found a lot of things– a lot of people annoying because they made them feel inferior, but we never felt that way with your family, y’know?”

You’re not one to deny the distance between you and Yoongi; everything from your age difference, to how your childhood house overlooked his, and even to the feelings you share and don’t share, there’s an imbalance the two of you would never be able to tip.

“Your parents are genuine, close friends with my own, and your family never pitied ours,” he smiles, eyes crinkling in gratitude as he does so.

“I know that,” you return the sincerity, eyes set on his while his gaze is directed elsewhere. “But where’s all this coming from?”

“I see the way you look at me,” Yoongi shrugs, the second that it takes him to turn his attention to you making you falter.

You don’t know if you’re more scared or relieved at the possibility of Yoongi knowing about your feelings.

“And how do I look at you?” you test the waters, tilting at your head to try and closely gauge the tiny smile on his lips, but you come up empty.

“I can’t tell exactly, but you always look at me with some sort of guilt.”

“Why would I look at you with guilt?” a breathless laugh escapes you, the ease plastered on his face making you more and more pressured.

“I don’t know either! You tell me,” Yoongi laughs brightly, slinging an arm across your shoulder to which no one bats an eye to, because although they don’t know the two of you as well as you know each other, they have a semblance of it.

They know how you and Yoongi are friends; how you and Yoongi are close friends who are basically lovers without the formalities.

“We’ve known each other for a lifetime, Y/N. There’s nothing about one another that could surprise us anymore.”

“That sounds so boring,” you mutter, the words slipping out of you before you could even control them, effectively dampening the sentimental mood that Yoongi’s in.

“Excuse me?” he asks, a little bit offended but a lot more hurt over your comment.

“We’re not always gonna be the same, Yoongi,” you continue, staring at your feet with your voice low because it’s not like you can retract your words anymore; they’re as out there as you are when it comes to loving Yoongi silently.

“Do you… not want to be friends with me anymore?” he whispers, arm suddenly stalling as he tries to deduct whatever the hell you could possibly mean.

“Where did that come from?”

Yoongi chuckles uneasily, almost regretful he even said that outloud in fear of manifesting it. 

“I don’t– I-I don’t know! It’s just weird with the way you’re talking. Like you purposely want us to change.”

“You don’t?”

“No, I don’t,” he emphasizes. “If you’re already comfortable with the life that you have now, you don’t need to change,” Yoongi blinks slowly, unfamiliar with the way your eyes lack emotion. “I have you. I have the manny job. I have Haein.”

You’re quiet as you let Yoongi think and simmer in whatever he had to say, and he hates it.

“Is this life not enough for you yet?” he asks hesitantly, the premature scoff that leaves his throat making the bitterness linger for the slightest second. “What more could you want?”

You want to say it’s only him whom you lack, but you stay quiet.

You give Yoongi both the silence and the space to think, and he realizes that he’s never wanted to be overwhelmed by you more.

( ♡ ) 

Things have been awkward between you and Yoongi.

You didn’t mean to sound beyond ungrateful and out of touch, but simply (and maybe even arrogantly) put, Yoongi just didn’t get it. 

He didn’t get where you were coming from because he’s only stayed in one place long enough to call her his future. He didn’t get what you could be possibly going through because Yoongi only longs for comfort and not change because the latter wouldn’t benefit him in any way.

He’s right about him having the manny job makes him happy because he gets a heavy check and a learning experience. He’s also right, even if he’s rarely accurate when faced with her, about having Haein because you figure that if you were in his position, you wouldn’t ask for anything more.

If you were anything like Yoongi by having had the privilege of harboring the person you love and the life-long burden of having to yearn for her, you would be satisfied too.

It’s been a full week since the two of you talked and it’s the longest you ever went without any communication. There’s no texts coming from your end, but there had been plenty of it coming from Yoongi’s.

Yoongi, your best friend, knows that you didn’t end your thanksgiving party in the happiest note because he happened. He felt apologetic about it ever since because he didn’t mean to sound self-absorbed to the point of projecting his selfishness onto you; painting you as the villain would be the last thing he’ll ever do because he knew that between the two of you, you were the stronger one.

You’re the more rational, focused one who studied the same degree as he did, yet actually amounted to something infinitely more even if he’s the younger one who had more opportunities than you ever did.

You’re the more unyielding one between the two of you, because you can stomach ignoring him for a week while he’s about to lose his mind.

Yoongi could send a hundred more texts wherein he pretends to have mistakenly sent a discreet, low-lying sorry to you (because the two of you barely ever apologized to each other) instead of another person. He could react to a message of yours from two months ago just to try and see if you would comment on it.

He could even call you by Haein’s name just to purposely piss you off because he’d settle for anything if it meant breaking you out of your silent treatment, yet you don’t even move an inch whether he calls you on your phone or lingers in the coffee shop you frequent at in your workplace.

Yoongi can pull a hundred different reasons with most of them involving how he’s running errands with the children he looks after. He can say that Hwayoung knows your name (and he’s not lying about it either) and that she asked where you worked, and the both of them just happened to be in the area during their morning walk. He can say every excuse under the sun just to try and get you to talk to him, but you won’t budge.

Yoongi doesn’t like change but he likes the days wherein you rant to him about your day and ask how his went, just like every week before this one. He doesn’t like growth in the guise of everything he’s comfortable with being stripped away, but he likes the nights wherein he could call you and ask you to look after the children in the living room while he goes to the bathroom, when really, he’s just standing from a distance to look at you coo at them.

So when Yoongi got the call from your brother, asking him for a favor to look after your nephew if only he was free for the day (he wasn’t, but he made it work nonetheless), he immediately jumped at the chance of maybe, just maybe seeing you drop by at your family’s home.

“You’ve been ignoring me,” he says under his breath when he locks eyes with you in the nursery, your presence only being a surprise to him alone because he didn’t think you were staying with your parents the entire week when normally, you’d be a little high-strung staying with them after three consecutive days.

“Just been busy. Sorry,” you reply quietly, your apology only being an afterthought because you’re unsure who’s at fault.

“Me too,” Yoongi clears his throat, bouncing your sleeping nephew on his arms as he indiscreetly makes his way to you. “I’m sorry too, I mean.”

It’s weird for the both of you to apologize to each other.

It’s weird for you to see Yoongi in your childhood house and have no one question his presence, because the scene of him cradling your brother’s baby with a cloth strewn over his shoulder and your sister’s headband on his head to keep his hair away from his face, only looks right.

It’s weird for Yoongi to see you so torn up over him, and it’s even weirder that all the anger he had towards you for ignoring him just immediately dissipated.

Yoongi puts your nephew down on his crib with a precise gentleness to him, his hands cramping up not because he spent so long trying to get him to calm down, but because he doesn’t ever know what to do with them whenever you face him.

“You didn’t have to do this for my brother, y’know? You shouldn’t feel pressured to say yes just because he asked,” you clear your throat, filling the silence in with your voice that Yoongi has missed so badly.

“What are you talking about? I’m not on the clock right now,” Yoongi furrows his brows, the frown on his face evident. “I’m not here as a manny. I’m here as an uncle.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh,” he snorts, the snarky expression from him cutting through the tension between you. You could just throw your head back out of relief, knowing that Yoongi’s not that mad at you, but the both of you know you’re far from the clear.

You’re far from the clear when you don’t make a single move to come towards him across the room, even if it’s the only thing you wanted to do the past week.

You know you’re far from the clear and even further from moving on when it’s Yoongi who comes to you, his pace slow yet definitive, his fists unclenched for once as he practically leaps towards you in the end.

It takes one, two seconds for you to realize that although it’s Yoongi who made the first move to get close to you, it’s you who puts your hands on his cheeks, forehead rested against his with your eyes closed, tightly. Painfully.

Yoongi opens his eyes when you do, staying in your grasp even if he realizes that you almost kissed.

“You can read my mind, Yoongi, right?” you whisper, pulling apart briefly to look up at him, yet close nonetheless because you could still practically hear his heart beating out of his chest.

“Yeah,” he swallows the lump in his throat, the hand he has around your waist loosening for just a fraction of a second, yet you don’t need it— you don’t need him to unravel further to confirm what you’ve always known.

“So I don’t need to say it out loud,” you smile tightly, the shaky sigh that leaves you making Yoongi’s lips purse out of guilt. “So I don’t need to say it out loud that I love you,” you say in your mind, eyes already stinging even if Yoongi hasn’t let go of you yet.

“You don’t,” he affirms, his voice hoarse as his hand on your waist still doesn’t budge, the other cradling your wrist because he can’t decipher if it’s him wanting to keep your hand on his face, or if it’s him keeping you away. “You can read my mind too, right?”

You nod earnestly, the smile that he gives you even being tighter than yours.

“Right,” he clears his throat. “So I can’t— I-I don’t have to say it either,” he whispers. “I don’t need to say out loud that the feeling isn’t mutual,” you read in his mind, the silent admission effectively relieving you of the weight you’ve carried ever since you knew him.

Yoongi’s phone ringing is the only thing that snaps the both of you from your daze, your immediate composure being shaky despite having prepared for this for so long because you knew it anyway.

You know that no matter how much Yoongi looks like he belongs to you, your life, and everything in between, you still won’t stand a chance against the person who’d make him drop everything new for the promise of coming home to everything he’s familiar with.

“It’s uhm— it’s Haein,” he explains, the nervous grin he has on face being infectious despite your very own appearing for a much different reason. “She wants to talk about things.”

“You don’t have to let me know,” you shake your head, shoving your hands into your pockets. “Go, Yoongi.”

.

.

.

You’re not ignoring Yoongi anymore.

Apropos of nothing, Yoongi and Haein are talking again.

They’re not together, yet, but you know how it always ends between them anyway, so you steel yourself for the worst despite it being Yoongi’s best.

( ♡ ) 

You badly want to change.

You badly want to change and although it’s not Yoongi’s fault, the way he hovers around you makes you feel otherwise.

You already made well on your promise of not shutting him out whenever things get tough for you, but even then, no part of the way you’ve been acting recently ever appeases Yoongi.

He’s accustomed to you growing like you always have been, yet he didn’t even think that you changing bit by bit could ever impact him this greatly, Sure, Yoongi’s happy that you’re no longer ignoring him intentionally, but his stomach still turns every time you do reply to him at an ungodly hour and he’s reminded of your little joke (he hopes it is) that you’re more active at that time of night because of your extracurriculars.

Yoongi’s happy that you still turn to him, but a large part of him, if not the entirety, grows bitter when he sees you looking happier nowadays and he can’t tell if it’s because of something you’ve already told him or if it’s because of something totally unrelated and how he could never know, because the one thing that he made you promise is for you to keep being his friend.

You’re still Yoongi’s friend before, during, and after your confession, and he doesn’t know if that placates him.

Yoongi doesn’t want to amount to anything less than a friend to you but he doesn’t want to be your family either. He wants to be whatever it is in your life that knows why you’re smiling so much and why you barely rant to him.

He wants to be whatever, whoever, it is your life in order to know that you’re seeing Taehyung right from your mouth and not from your brother’s like he’s a jaded suitor that’s been anticipating bad news.

Yoongi wants to matter enough, as if he already doesn’t, to know about you having a boyfriend.

“You have a boyfriend and you didn’t tell me?” he spits, the way he barrels into your apartment with his own keycard being unceremonious. 

Yoongi knows today’s your rest day and he knows that by this time, you’d be on a call with him to ask about his day and entertain Hwayoung who keeps butting into your conversation. By this time, it would’ve still been you and him, whether or not Haein and Taehyung were in the picture.

“You’re hooking up with the guy that talked shit about me, and you didn’t bother telling me?”

“Taehyung didn’t talk shit about you,” you scoff, closing the door after him as you follow him into your living room.

Yoongi’s eyes widen comically, heart clenching when he realizes that you have no comeback for anything else he’s said, jaw clenching as he points a finger at you.

“He fucking looked down on me-…”

“He was just shocked!” 

“Are you seriously defending him instead of being on my side?!” he exclaims, the sarcastic chuckle that leaves his lips rubbing you wrong because for any other person and any other instance, you’d laugh with him too.

“Do you not expect me to?” you snarl. “You’re dragging my boyfriend’s name to an argument that you started, and you don’t expect me to defend him?”

“You’re being a hypocrite,” he grits, nostrils flaring in sheer anger.

“And if I am, then what about it?!” you throw your hands into the air, poking your finger at his chest yet he refuses to get out of your face. “Have you not ever been a hypocrite when it comes to defending the person you love?”

It’s not your glare that gets him to back off.

It’s not your hostile, defensive nature towards Yoongi, in defense of Taehyung, that makes him deadly silent.

It’s you, holding up a mirror for the same blind defensiveness that he’d always carry whenever your words just barely graze Haein’s honor.

You’re guilty of judging Yoongi, but not of dissuading him from pursuing Haein like he’s always done — Yoongi, however, can’t say the same for himself.

“I hope Taehyung’s worth it,” he spits. “I hope he’s worth treating me like this, because not once have I ever made you less of a priority even when Haein was still in the picture.”

The use of was makes you pause, the past tense making you blink owlishly and finally take a step back from Yoongi as if it’s just your proximity to him that was the raging problem.

“Haein was my girlfriend but I never, never turned my back on you. I never made things awkward for us. I never stopped showing up for you, even if it costed me with her. I never made you feel the way you’re making me feel now,” Yoongi heaves, jaw clenching from how hard he’s ignoring the lump in his throat.

You chuckle sarcastically, the briefest glimpse you have of yourself in Yoongi’s words making you feel utterly pathetic. “Yeah? And how am I making you feel now?”

“Like we haven’t known each other our whole lives.”

( ♡ ) 

It’s been months since you and Yoongi properly talked to each other.

Life got in the way between the two of you and as much as Yoongi didn’t want to push, you didn’t want to grow out of the comfort that you already had with Taehyung either.

There were still texts and calls, but in between Yoongi getting whisked away for his employers’ vacation for a change and you being content with your job and your boyfriend as your comfort, neither of you made any drastic moves after your fight.

The only apology that Yoongi could get out of you after storming off from your apartment was you asking if he had already eaten dinner two nights after your fight, while the only apology that your close friend could ever give to you was that he hadn’t (even if he actually did), just to get your conversation rolling.

You feel guilty reserving parts of you from Yoongi, namely Taehyung and how he fits into your life, even if it’s always been established that there’s no use hiding. You know a terrible lot of information about how Yoongi and Haein are in bed against your will, and Yoongi has an awful amount of knowledge about your preference for condoms and how you like your men. 

There’s guilt in your chest and you don’t think it would ever disappear for as long as Yoongi’s still in your life. Being defensive about anyone outside of your family and Yoongi, specifically because neither are synonymous no matter how much Yoongi keeps recurring from your family’s mouths, is something entirely brand new.

Taehyung is new to your system, just as Yoongi was all those years ago, and it scares him more than it scares you.

The concept of lagging behind someone who had just been a casual topic of interest (more specifically because he had seemingly offended you and him) then became your boyfriend overnight feels like a giant slap on the face because Yoongi, not once, has ever entertained the possibility that you’d be as lovesick as him.

He didn’t think that you were also capable of being defensive about a loved one who isn’t him, just like he is over Haein. 

He didn’t think about how angry and offended he’d feel seeing you become so protective of someone who doesn’t know you like he does, because in Yoongi’s defense, Taehyung doesn’t know shit about you.

Taehyung does not and will never know you like he does, because he never trailed after you and idolized you in everything that you do, so much so that he only pursued his degree because you did before him.

Unlike Yoongi, Taehyung never had to be taught by you how to drive and what it means to have his family’s manual transmission car stall right after the stoplight turned green, because it meant you having to comfort Yoongi who was in tears after being honked at, and you lying straight through your teeth to his parents by saying that he was excellent and should definitely be trusted with driving the car alone with Haein to take her on dates.

Unlike the person you know the most, Taehyung never had to have the conversation with your dad about looking after you in college despite being younger, yet puffing his chest out nonetheless to agree because he made it his personal mission.

Taehyung will never be Yoongi and the latter takes pride in it, except now, he feels that Taehyung doesn’t ever want to be in his position—

Why would Taehyung vie for his position when it’s clear that he’s at an advantage?

Yoongi ignores his feelings and grievances the best that he can, yet unlike the old him who could endure so much shit because it meant having you to lean on, he can’t help but explode now that it’s you whom he can’t see eye to eye with.

“Taehyung and I were thinking of eloping,” you say out of the blue, your admission feeling appropriate (in your eyes, atleast) because you and Yoongi have so much to catch up on after being apart and he strayed the topic towards your sister who’s expecting her first child.

You thought it was your turn to say something equally as life-changing, because with the way Yoongi hasn’t talked about Haein once and you assuming that it’s because they were back together and he was just shy to talk about it, you bit the bullet first.

You thought wrong, clearly, because the happiness completely drains away from Yoongi the moment you finished your sentence.

“What?” he asks. “Don’t be stupid.”

“Excuse me?”

“I said, don’t be stupid,” he repeats, eyes narrowing at you in anger. “You’ve only been in a relationship with him for months-…”

“I’ve known him for years-…”

“And that still doesn’t justify you marrying him just because you feel like it,” he spits, your revelation far from making him happy like you thought it would. “Stop being stupid, Y/N. You’re not marrying Taehyung just because you’re in another one of your impulsive moods.”

Your mouth falls open at that, scoffing in disbelief because Yoongi isn’t letting up in the slightest with the way there’s no hint of his outburst just being a sick joke.

“I’m not being impulsive. I really do want to marry him!”

“Oh yeah? How’s married life going to work out for you when-…”

“I only told you because I wanted to let you know. I wasn’t asking you to weigh in, Yoongi,” you snap, crossing your arms in defense while Yoongi only steps towards you.

The thought of eloping with Taehyung crossed your mind once after a weird dream, and you thought nothing about it at first so you texted him and went right back to sleep. What you didn’t expect was that he didn’t hate the idea at all (in fact, he was even happy that you thought about it), and Taehyung’s confirmation for something unlike you, for something that resembled to settling and being comfortable, changed you completely.

“You don’t expect me to interfere when you tell me you’re going to make the biggest mistake of your life?” Yoongi huffs, his eyes widening over your seeming indifference. 

“Who the fuck are you to tell me that getting married to Taehyung would be the biggest mistake I’ll ever make?”

“I’m your closest friend! I know you better than you know yourself and-…”

“You don’t,” you retort. “Clearly, you don’t know me at all or even respect me when you think the worst of Taehyung when you barely even know him!”

“I could know Taehyung for a decade and still think the fucking worst of him!” Yoongi raises his voice, laughing humorlessly as he runs his hand through his hair. “I could know Taehyung or any other guy for a lifetime and still think that they won’t ever be good enough for you!”

The laugh that escapes you is offensive.

It’s as offensive as Yoongi making your graduation about him by crying to your sheets because Haein broke up with him, and it’s as offensive as you scoffing to his face when he said that having his job serves as his practice for a future with her.

“What, because you’re in love with me?” you spit, trying to trigger something in him just so he could leave you be, for good, because everything that’s he’s saying to now– with the defensiveness you’ve only heard from yourself whenever he rationalized trying to get back with his first love — takes you right back to your previous pining.

Yoongi’s only silent, trusting that you could read his mind, and you’ve never hated knowing him as much as you do than now.

“You’re telling me that you’re in love with me, right when I decided I was sick of loving you my whole life?” you whisper, the tears stinging from the corner of your eyes making your heart clench. You’ve been called too stubborn. Too calculating and too heartless, even by your own family, and for you to unfold in front of Yoongi this easily makes you wail. “Are you shitting me, Yoongi? Are you— are you out of your goddamn mind to tell me this?”

Yoongi looks down in shame, the truth of him being over his first love not relieving the weight on his shoulders like he foolishly expected, because everything he falls short when he sees you crying.

“I didn’t want to get back to Haein with something weighing so heavily on my chest,” he whispers. “I didn’t want to get back with her because you just ignoring me for a fucking week hurt more than any breakup I’ve had with her.” 

Yoongi, vividly, can remember how distraught he was. He can remember how he can’t recall a time wherein he didn’t have you to depend on, as if he didn’t ever outgrow the phase of him idolizing you and following you wherever you went.

As if he’s still the seventeen year old him asking to borrow your slippers for Haein, while deep down seeking your approval for her because he didn’t want to do anything without you beaming at him.

“I-I felt… I felt like I was losing my mind, Y/N.”

“Can you read my mind right now?” you ask, shakily exhaling as you look down on the floor.

“That’s a really stupid thing to bring up right now,” Yoongi breathlessly chuckles, letting his hair brush past his eyes because he’s a little terrified of looking how distraught, how disappointed, you are. “But no.”

“Do you not want to say it out loud?” he asks, making you laugh silently as you gathered the strength to sit next to him, yet not as close as you always did. “Whatever it is, it’s not like I’m going to give up now,” he mumbles, looking down on your hand that’s rested on the cushion, your pinky finger just centimeters away from his, yet he can’t move to hold you like he wants to.

You wanted Yoongi and he wants you, and there’s only so much points where you could intersect until you say what’s been lingering in your mind, just like every other apology the both of you have passed up.

“We need some time apart, Yoongi. We need space,” you mumble. “We need to figure it out on our own before we figure it out together because-…”

Yoongi finishes your thought for you, head tilted down and hand outstretched with the hope that comes with being a little too late for someone who’s waited a little too long.

“Because we’ve known each other our whole lives.”

Yoongi refuses to break even if he comprehends exactly what you’re saying, because there’s no point in it when he knows he’ll never be angry at you. You can defend him and you can hurt him all at once, yet he’ll never curse you, simply because there’s no point picking at wounds he’ll keep on licking anyway.

“Do we just-…” he shrugs lightly, pinky finger painfully close to yours until he makes the heavy move of lifting it, just enough to to cover yours. “Do we find our way back to each other? Is that it?”

“That’s the plan, hopefully,” you smile, sucking in a breath you never thought would be this heavy. “I’ll find you if you find me.”

“I’ll find you when you find me,” Yoongi corrects. “We’ll find our way back to each other.”

You resent comfort and Yoongi abhors change, but there’s only so much the both of you could take until you realize that the only thing constant in your lives is each other, no matter how many seasons pass you by.

For Yoongi, it’s you.

Despite everything, it’s still you.

( ♡ ) 

The year that you spend with Yoongi flitting every once in awhile like he’s only a friend, and not the man you’ve first loved, is a year you didn’t think you’d ever spend.

Despite you and Taehyung separating amicably, he still took with him the love that you sincerely invested. He wasn’t the first boyfriend you’ve ever had, and although you were no stranger to heartbreak, he still imprinted a large chunk of him onto you.

At one point in your life, you did want to marry him; and at several points in your life after him that you don’t even think of denying, you really thought it would be him if not for the life that you led.

You don’t resent Yoongi for loving you a little too late because there’s no point in it, as much as Taehyung doesn’t even hate you in the slightest for letting him let you go in pursuit of the change that the both of you badly needed.

Yoongi could never bring himself to hate you either, even if being apart from you gnawed at him from the inside. Making something out of himself had been his biggest plan outside of pursuing you from a distance, because as soon he tendered in his resignation letter to his employers and cried right in front of the children he looked after, Yoongi won’t ever lie and say that he wasn’t scared.

Yoongi resents change even if you’re someone who yearns for it, and even with the terror that wracks his bones of starting new without you being there for him as his safety net, Yoongi does it scared anyway.

He does it scared with one eye closed as he puts the degree he’s only learned to love because of you to work, developing an app for families to look for certified, trustworthy nannies.

He does it scared anyway with his heart barely into himself and fully into you when he shows up a full night early before your family’s thanksgiving party, donning his reserved suit as he clutches a new pair of house slippers, which again, like always and just like he is, is only for you.

For you, it’s Yoongi.

Despite everything, it’s still Yoongi.

[rizzanon]

Batdad brainrot

a bruce wayne and daughter! reader oneshot | m.list

Summary: your estranged father tries to connect with you in ways you didn’t expect him to

The argument had started as something small.

Bruce didn’t even remember what it was about. A minor disagreement, an offhand comment, something inconsequential in the grand scheme of things. It shouldn’t have escalated.

But it had.

And now, you weren’t speaking to him.

Well—not exactly. You weren’t avoiding him outright. You still responded when necessary, still showed up when he called, still acknowledged his presence. But it was different.

It was distant.

Mechanical.

Gone were the casual conversations, the random observations you used to share just to fill the silence. Gone were the moments when you’d tell him about something you found interesting, even when you knew he probably wouldn’t have much to say in response. Gone were the little efforts you made to connect—because no matter how much he had failed to meet you halfway, you had always tried.

And now you weren’t.

At first, Bruce Wayne had told himself it didn’t matter. That it was fine. He wasn’t someone who needed constant conversation, who thrived on interaction. He was used to silence. Preferred it, even.

But this wasn’t silence.

This was absence.

And it made something in him itch with discomfort.

Because suddenly, the manor felt empty in a way it never had before.

Bruce had never been good at fixing things that weren’t tangible.

A broken bone could be set. A wound could be stitched. A case could be solved, an enemy could be defeated, a mission could be completed. But this? This was different. There was no direct solution, no simple fix.

And he hated that.

Because every time Bruce saw you, he saw the way your shoulders stiffened. The way your expression remained carefully neutral, the way you answered only when necessary. The way you no longer sought him out, no longer attempted to start conversations, no longer tried—and the worst part was knowing that it was his fault.

He had spent so much time thinking he was protecting you by keeping his distance, by not indulging in sentimentality, by maintaining the walls he had built so carefully over the years. But all he had done was push you away.

And now, he was left with nothing but silence.

He thought about it more than he wanted to admit.

During patrol, during Justice League meetings, even when reviewing case files in the Batcave, his mind kept drifting back to the argument. Kept replaying it over and over, picking apart every word, every moment, trying to pinpoint the exact second he had gone wrong.

Bruce had always believed himself to be a man who thrived in silence. It was in silence that he observed, that he planned, that he found control.

But now, this silence—your silence—was unbearable.

He hadn’t realized just how much you filled the manor with your presence until it was gone. The absent chatter, the missing quips at the dinner table, the lack of commentary whenever you sat next to him in the Batcave, pretending to work while obviously keeping him company. You were avoiding him. Not just in passing, but with intent. And Bruce wasn’t used to that.

Bruce Wayne was many things, but when it came to being a father, he was painfully aware that he wasn’t the best. And now, that awareness was staring him in the face every time you walked past him without a word.

He didn’t realize how lost in thought he was until he felt someone watching him.

Bruce glanced up from the Batcomputer, already knowing who it was before he saw him.

Dick was leaning against the cave’s stone wall, arms crossed, brow raised. He had that look on his face—the one that meant he had been standing there for a while, the one that meant he was waiting for Bruce to acknowledge him first.

Bruce exhaled slowly. “Something you need?”

“I was about to ask you the same thing,” Dick said, pushing off the wall and walking toward him. “You’ve been staring at the same screen for the past twenty minutes. Either you’re trying to solve the world’s hardest crime, or you’re brooding.”

Bruce frowned. “I don’t brood.”

Dick snorted. “Right. And Gotham is a peaceful city with low crime rates.”

Bruce ignored that.

There was a beat of silence before Dick leaned against the Batcomputer, tilting his head slightly. “So? What’s up?”

Bruce hesitated.

For a moment, he considered brushing it off. Telling him it was nothing. That he was just tired, or distracted, or caught up in work. But even as the thought crossed his mind, he knew Dick wouldn’t buy it.

And… maybe a part of him didn’t want to brush it off.

So, with some reluctance, he told him.

And by the time he was done, Dick was looking at him like he was the biggest idiot in the world.

“So, let me get this straight,” Dick said, arms crossed as he leaned against the Batcomputer. “You and (Name) got into an argument. She’s now giving you the silent treatment. And you’re freaking out.”

Bruce gave him a look. “I’m not—”

“Bruce,” he said slowly, “do you hear yourself right now?”

Bruce frowned. “…Yes?”

Dick exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face. “You’re overthinking this.”

“I’m aware that’s what I do.”

“Yeah, with cases. Not with your daughter.”

Bruce didn’t respond, but the way his jaw tightened must have said enough, because Dick sighed and shook his head.

“There you go again,” he muttered. “Overanalyzing, scrutinizing, looking for some grand strategy when there isn’t one. She’s not you, Bruce. She doesn’t think like you, doesn’t work like you. So stop putting on the whole ‘Bruce Wayne’ act and trying to figure this out like it’s just another mission. Instead of thinking about how you would approach this, think about how she would.”

Bruce went still.

And just like that, his mind started turning again.

But this time, it wasn’t in the way he usually did.

This time, he wasn’t analyzing things from his own perspective—he was trying to see it from yours.

And that… changed things.

Over the next few days, Bruce found himself researching in a way he never had before.

He had read entire psychological profiles on some of the most complex minds in history. He had deciphered alien languages. He had cracked codes that entire intelligence agencies had failed to solve.

And yet nothing—nothing—prepared him for this.

It started with subtle observations. He paid closer attention to the things you watched, the things you laughed at, the things you scrolled through on your phone. He noted the words and phrases you used, the memes you sent in group chats (not that he snooped—he just happened to see them in passing), the trends you occasionally mentioned in conversation with your brothers and sister.

Then came the actual research.

Bruce Wayne was a detective. A strategist. A man who could crack the most encrypted codes, uncover the deepest secrets, solve the most impossible mysteries.

So surely, surely, understanding Gen Z slang couldn’t be that difficult.

He was wrong.

At first, it was just simple terminology. He started with the basics—words like “rizz,” “mid,” “slay,” and “delulu.” But then he found himself spiraling into deeper territory, encountering phrases that made absolutely no logical sense. “Ate and left no crumbs”? “Touching grass”? “Gyatt”?

What the hell was a “skibidi toilet”? Why was “no cap” a thing? Why did “mid” sound like an insult? What was the difference between “based” and “cringe”? Why did some of these phrases feel like they were meant to be grammatically incorrect?

He had never felt older in his entire life.

But Bruce wasn’t deterred. If anything, the confusion only made him more determined.

So, he studied. He took notes. He tried to analyze sentence structures, context, and usage patterns. He even ventured onto TikTok, only to be immediately bombarded with an overwhelming amount of fast-paced videos, most of which he did not understand.

But he persisted.

His first attempt at incorporating this newfound knowledge into conversation came during dinner.

The table was mostly silent—just the occasional clink of silverware, the occasional page turn from Tim’s book, the occasional soft exhale from Cassandra.

You were sitting across from Bruce, scrolling through your phone, expression unreadable.

And Bruce, in a desperate attempt to bridge the gap that had grown between you, cleared his throat and said, “So… I hear that a lot of things are… bussin’ nowadays.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

Tim looked up from his book, squinting in suspicion. Damian paused mid-bite, staring as if Bruce had grown a second head.

And you?

You just slowly lifted your eyes from your phone, staring at your father with the most deadpan, unreadable expression he had ever seen.

“…What?” you asked flatly.

Bruce maintained his composure. “I was simply acknowledging that many things these days are… as you would say, based….?”

Your stare somehow became more bewildered.

“Father,” Damian said, voice wary. “Are you feeling unwell?”

Tim looked vaguely concerned. “Did you hit your head during patrol?”

Bruce frowned. “No. I—”

But before he could even attempt to recover, you sighed, shook your head, and went right back to your phone.

Bruce realized, then and there, that his first attempt had been a complete failure

So, he regrouped.

His second attempt happened in the Batcave.

You had come downstairs to grab something, and that’s when you saw it—Bruce sitting at the Batcomputer, scrolling.

At first, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Until you got closer.

And realized that your father was—oh god—scrolling through TikTok.

“…Dad.” you said slowly.

Bruce stiffened.

When he turned, there was a brief moment where he looked like he was debating whether or not to close the tab. But then, after a second of hesitation, he exhaled and faced you fully.

“There’s something I wanted to ask you,” he said seriously.

You raised a brow. “Okay?”

Bruce turned back to the screen.

“Why,” he starts, “do so many of these… influencers believe that Batman is an alpha male?”

You blinked.

He gestured toward the screen, where a video was paused on some random guy in sunglasses talking about “how Batman embodies the peak sigma mindset.”

“They claim that I—he—operates on some kind of grindset mentality,” Bruce continued, sounding vaguely irritated. “That the reason Batman fights crime is due to some misguided sense of superiority rather than a moral obligation. Some of them even say he ‘gives off major red pill energy.’”

You cringed.

Bruce’s frown deepened. “I don’t even know what that means.”

“Oh my god,” you muttered, pinching the bridge of your nose. “B, please stop scrolling on that side of TikTok.”

“I didn’t intend to,” Bruce said. “It just happened to appear on my feed while I was doing research.”

“…Research?”

“For… communication purposes.”

Your eyes narrowed. “What kind of communication purposes?”

Bruce hesitated.

And then, in what was possibly the most botched attempt at Gen Z slang to ever exist, he slowly said, “I’m just trying to… get that W… and not be an L father. No cap.”

Silence.

Pure, unfiltered, incomprehensible silence.

You stared at him, utterly speechless.

Bruce held your gaze, waiting.

Tim, who had just entered the cave, immediately turned around and left.

It took a full ten seconds for you to finally find your voice.

“…What the actual fuck did you just say?”

“Language.”

You were baffled. Was your father hearing what he was saying??

Before you could respond, an alert suddenly blared through the Batcomputer, signaling an Arkham breakout.

And just like that, he was saved by the bell.

Bruce quickly turned back to the screen, scanning the situation, already shifting into mission mode. But before he left, he spared you one last glance.

And, in what was perhaps his most disastrous attempt yet, he said,

“Stay woke.”

Then, without another word, he swept out of the cave.

Leaving you standing there, completely and utterly at a loss for words.

You had no idea what the hell just happened.

And honestly? You weren’t sure you wanted to know.

But the next day, Bruce made one last attempt.

Bruce Wayne had faced some of the most dangerous criminals in the world. He had been thrown through walls, stabbed, shot at, and even died once (technically). He had outmaneuvered gods, masterminds, and creatures of the night.

And yet, standing outside your bedroom door, debating whether or not to knock, he found himself hesitating.

This was ridiculous.

He shouldn’t feel hesitant about this. He was your father. He had faced literal apocalypses without flinching—why was it so difficult to face you?

Was it because of his failed attempts at getting through to you these past few days?

Probably.

But he had committed to this. He wasn’t going to back down now.

So he took a deep breath, steeled himself, and knocked on your door.

A pause.

Then—“Come in.”

He opened the door, stepping inside with careful, measured movements. His eyes swept over the room instinctively, cataloging every detail—your posture, your expression, the way your fingers curled slightly where they rested on your crossed arms.

You were stiff, but not defensive. Guarded, but not hostile.

Not angry. Not anymore.

But you were distant. And that was worse.

Bruce had always relied on presence—on being there, on the sheer weight of existence as a means of maintaining connection. But now he understood that presence wasn’t the same as attention.

He hadn’t given you that. Not the way you had given it to him. Not the way you deserved.

Bruce cleared his throat, trying to find the words. “I…. would like to formally apologize for being the… goat of bad parenting. That was not very…. rizz of me.”

You blinked.

What?

A slow, deliberate blink, your expression frozen in something between shock and utter disbelief.

Bruce noted the way your brows twitched slightly, the way your lips parted just enough to indicate that you had words but were currently incapable of forming them.

Good. That meant you were listening.

He continued, tone steady. “I have, in fact, been caught in 4K being a cringe father. And that’s on me. Major L.”

The silence that followed was excruciating.

You tilted your head ever so slightly, like you were trying to determine if this was some elaborate joke.

Maybe it did seem like that to you.

Bruce pressed forward. “No cap, I have been acting incredibly mid. Probably even giga-mid.”

Still silence.

The twitch in your eye was microscopic but noticeable. The corner of your mouth jerked—barely, almost imperceptibly, but Bruce caught it.

He nodded, as if steeling himself, mentally adjusting his approach. “This whole situation has been, dare I say… a ratio.”

That was what did it.

You snorted.

A small sound, abrupt, barely audible—but it was real.

Encouraging. He could work with this.

“I have realized,” he said solemnly, “that I have been lacking fatherly rizz. A skill issue, if you will.”

Your entire body curled inward as you let out a strangled, disbelieving laugh, hands flying to cover your face as if that would somehow make this entire situation less insane.

Bruce analyzed every detail—the way your shoulders shook, the way your hands trembled slightly as you pressed them against your face, the way you leaned just a fraction forward, no longer so closed off.

Progress.

Finally, gasping for breath, you looked at him with pure horror. “Dad. Please tell me you’re not serious.”

“I am always serious,” Bruce said gravely. “This is an earnest attempt at slayful parenting.”

You made a sound that could only be described as a dying gremlin noise.

Bruce noted the way you hunched further over, like your body was physically rejecting what was happening, and yet—you were still laughing.

You peeked up again, eyes shining with barely restrained mirth. “Dad, what the hell are you saying?”

He furrowed his brows. “Am I not eating right now?”

You lost it again.

Bruce waited patiently as you continued to laugh into your hands.

Finally, wiping at your eyes, you shook your head. “Oh my god, Dad. What is this. Did Alfred put you up to this?”

“No,” Bruce said. “This was all Dick’s idea, somewhat.”

“Of course it was,” you groaned, still grinning. “I knew he was behind this somehow.”

Bruce hesitated, then walked over, sitting at the edge of your bed.

He saw it in the way you met his eyes, in the way your posture was looser, in the way you were actually looking at him now, rather than through him.

“I’m sorry.”

Your smile dimmed, just slightly. “…For what?”

“For the argument, for not listening. And for not being as emotionally available as I should be.”

You searched his face.

Bruce let you.

You studied him, guarded again. But then—softer, you asked, “Why are you trying now?”

“Because you tried first,” Bruce admitted. “And I never met you halfway.”

That got you.

He saw it in the flicker of your expression, in the way your fingers twitched slightly, in the way your gaze softened just enough for him to catch it.

Then, after a long moment, you huffed. “…Is that why you were acting so weird these past few days?”

Bruce nodded. “I will admit… it was incredibly painful.”

You laughed again, but it was softer now. Easier.

Bruce felt something in his chest loosen.

You sighed, stretching your arms behind your head. “…Fine. I forgive you. But please—never say fatherly rizz again.”

Bruce placed a hand on his chest. “I make no promises.”

You groaned dramatically, flopping onto your bed.

But you were smiling.

And for Bruce, that was more than enough.

literally based off my parents trying to act like they understand gen z slang infront of me and my sister LOL 😭 hope you guys enjoyed this 🫶

taglist (open): @k1arar3 @kingshitonly @rainnyydaysworld @ceridwyn3 @darkfaethedestroyer @blueiones @strwberryglass @lithiumval @thephantomdanny @eli-mayhaveatencats @rockyeatrock @dreaming-of-the-reality @shirp-collector-of-fixations @gneepgnorpsneepsnorp @skerbablo | ask to be added <3

[suiana]

thinking about a yandere who was cursed by the gods (something similar to medusa), not because he did anything wrong, but because they found him too beautiful and too tempting.

what was once a god of a man was now but... still a handsome man, just with cursed eyes. with eyes that turn anyone into stone the second he gazes upon them. everyone who he once knew were now nothing more than mere statues, having glanced upon his beautiful eyes that now bring death.

he has chosen to live in solitude, away from everyon- well, not really. it's just that the once lively place he lived in.... wasn't so lively after all. i mean, they all turned into stone 💀

anyway, he shut everyone out because #1 they were all dead and #2 he didn't want to lose another person that he loved. what better way than to just... not interact with society and become a social hermit?

enter, you.

little ol' you who accidentally wandered into his place. he was flabbergasted and terrified. shit, he didn't want to kill an innocent person! so he tried to scare you away by making weird noises and blockign off your path while simultaneously not showing his eyes.

but wow, you just kept coming closer and closer!

"stay back! i'm warning you! you'll regret it!"

he tried to cover his eyes, tears threatening to spill from them as he absolutely majestiv form trembled on the spot. man, was he really about to take the life of another innocent person who didn't deserve to get turned into stone??

then you told him you were blind and he felt the fear leave his body as fast as it came.

from then on, the two of you chatted daily, talking about your different lives and such. it helped him regain a sense of... normalcy that he thought he'd forgotten. it was nice having you around.

so much so that he actually started to develop feelings for you. feelings that were so deep and obsessive that others would've probably ran away. not you though, never you. you were the only one to stay by his side despite his unusal predicament. perhaps the gods were sorry for playing such a cruel fate on him and decided to give him a blessing?

wrong.

"sweetheart! sweetheart! it's a miracle!"

your voice snaps him out of his daze, filling him with a giddy feeling that he's come to love and crave. oh you are just so delightful! he swears he could just lock you up to coddle you in hugs and kisses for the rest of his miserable little life!

"darling? what miracle?"

he pauses, feeling his heart drop into his stomach the second you enter his room without your usual glasses on. wait... what are you-

"i've regained my sight! bless the heavens above i-"

"no! no! no! don't look!"

but it was all for naught. you had already turned to stone.

"fuck! why did this happen?! no no no.... please wake up. please, you can't leave me too!"

the beautiful man sobs, cradling you in his arms as his salty tears fall onto your now stone cold cheeks. he cries and begs, voice growing softer and softer as the sun begins to set. how could the gods be so cruel? what had he done so wrong for them to subject him to such a fate? fine! take away his friends! take away his family! but why did they have to take you too?

"please come back...."

things were only made worse because today was the day when he'd finally decided to ask you to spend the rest of your lives together.

[deadsetobsessions]

It takes a lot to break a ghost. After all, even death didn’t keep them down for long, not in any way that mattered.

There is, however, a sure fire way to utterly crush a ghost’s core without even touching it.

Find their grave, and defile it.

It is the height of cruelty. It is the ultimate act of disrespect. It is violation, of the deepest kind, an act that can never, ever be allowed to go unpunished.

As Danny stared at the remains of the toppled over rock tower that Tucker and Sam had made for him all those years ago, to honor his death, he wasn’t sure if he could survive this.

——

Please.

Zatanna looked around. The magician knew better than to write off the sound as a trick of her mind.

You have to help him. Please. He’s just a child.

“Who? What’s wrong?” Zatanna asked, heart aching for the grieving whispers of the young voice.

My brother. His grave. It’s been destroyed. Please.

Zatanna’s hair stood on ends. “What’s his name? Where is it?”

Amity Park. His name is Phantom. Please. Hurry.

Her heart skipped a beat. Phantom. The name of the Infinite Realm’s Champion, the future king.

“Shit. I’m on my way. Can you lead me there?”

I can’t. I won’t be here for much longer. Tell him Jazz sent you. Please. Help him. Help him.

“I will.”

When Zatanna portals out of her dressing room, she catches a flash of red hair.

——

“CONSTANTINE!”

“Gah! Zatanna?” John Constantine fell out of his chair, legs slipping from their place propped onto the table.

“Emergency! Infinite Realms level. Someone destroyed Phantom’s grave.”

Constantine scrambled upwards, pulling on his coat as his mind all but bleated like a highland goat at the sound of “Infinite Realms” and “Phantom’s grave.” Destroying a ghost’s grave might destroy the ghost, but if they survive the initial splintering, right before their final death, they’ll explode in a ball of fury. Normally, it would be slightly less of a problem. Normally, it wouldn’t be the most powerful ghost in the Infinite Realms. Normally, this wouldn’t happen. Normally, even if it did, it wouldn’t risk a war none of the universes would win. The Infinite Realms loves prince Phantom. Their grief over this… even if he survives, the consequences would be unimaginable.

“You contact the League. I have to go fix this, right now.”

John doesn’t bother going for his hottle, because he unfortunately needed to do this sober.

“Go, go!”

——

Danny doesn’t turn even as he hears the crunch of grass blades. He sits, staring blankly at what used to be his grave marker.

“Hi, there,” it’s a woman. She sounds sad. Danny understands, because all he feels is a whistling hole where his heart used to be. “Are you Phantom?”

Danny sighs, ice crackling at his lungs. He knows, when this is over, he’ll find it in himself to rage. If he doesn’t shatter from this, he knows he’ll take Amity out. Perhaps he’d spare this one. It’s been a long time since anyone bothered visiting or even knew about his grave.

“Your highness…your sister sent me. Jazz?”

That got Danny’s attention. Glowing green eyes peeked from the curled ball of ghost to stare Zatanna down.

She swallowed.

“She… had red hair?”

“Why are you here?” Why did she send you? He doesn’t say. Zatanna seems to understand anyways.

“To help. Please, will you let me help?”

Danny looks down at the ice freezing her feet to the ground and thinks of the kind set of her eyes, the steel backing her spine, the carefully nonthreatening posture. Yes, Jazz would send this kind of person to help him.

The ice melts.

“Thank you.”

Danny watches as she approaches his destroyed grave. She glances back for his permission. He shrugs. It’s destroyed. Nothing would ever bring it back.

And then, he was proven wrong.

Zatanna’s eyes glow, and the stones began melding itself back together- no, it was reversing the damage and zooming back to its proper place.

“Oh.”

The damage to his core was still there. But… he won’t kill this one at all.

Or her friends, who stand at the edge of the clearing with the soul-torn one standing at the helm.

“Is this… alright, your highness?”

Danny stares at Zatanna. His voice is hoarse but… but it’s not on the verge of insanity anymore.

“Do you always come to graves without an offering?”

He knows he’s being rude. He’s past the point of caring. Zatanna’s response is to pull a bouquet of lilies from behind her back.

——

Phantom’s face is so young, and it’s even younger when he smiles.

“Not always,” Zatanna replies, rolling her eyes. But when she settles the flowers down, they’re gently placed.

“Can you magic clovers around it?” Phantom asks, that note of painful hope cracking her own heart. She wonders how old he was when he died.

“Of course.”

A field of clovers surrounds the rock tower, and Zatanna adds four layers of heavy wards around the area when she grows them. Phantom notices, and looks up at her with… trust.

“I am Zatanna. Your sister, Jazz, sent me.”

“Okay. You can call me Phantom.”

——

“I want their heads.” Danny says.

“We don’t kill.”

“Then hand them over to us, for they have hurt the Great One. They will answer for their crimes.” Frostbite settles a hand on Danny’s shoulder.

“Alright.”

“Constantine.”

Constantine somehow manages to drag Batman away to hiss in his ears.

“Shit in a hole, Batsy, I’m not fucking with the Infinite Realms. My demons won’t fuck with the Infinite Realms. Destroying a ghost’s grave is an act of war, and an act of complete violation, and we’re lucky Phantom liked Zee enough not to completely bring ruin to our universe. So shut up, and get the bastards that did this.”

“Hm.”

——

Zatanna sits in the visitors chair, Batman’s and Constantine’s disgruntled selves standing behind her.

“How old are you, Phantom?”

“Hm?” The future King looks exhausted, understandably. “Oh, sixteen.”

“You’re… sixteen? That’s how old you look, right?”

She’s hoping that he’s older, that he’s a millennia and a half years old. Because if he wasn’t, whoever broke Phantom’s grave, broke the grave of a child.

“No, I’m sixteen. My body looks fourteen. I died when I was fourteen.”

Constantine swears.

Batman straightens and walks out, fists clenched.

Zatanna eases the hum of hunting magic at her finger tips and smiles at Phantom until he sleeps.

Then, she gets up, and hunts.

[buckyalpine]

Chicken nuggies.

Crack thought with all the fluff. ALL the fluff. Maybe a tiny dash of angst at the start but it's to set the plot.

Everything that could have possibly gone wrong went sideways as soon as the mission started. The team was ambushed. Bucky was separated from everyone else. His trigger words blared through the speakers and there was nothing anyone could do to stop the soldier from awakening.

Worst of all, you were badly injured. Steve groaned in pain, struggling to pull himself up when he saw the solider lock his eyes on your limp form, taking long strides towards you with purpose.

That wasn't good.

"Tony-I-I need back up, y/n is-what the hell"

Steve blinked watching his friend pick you up with the utmost care, holding you securely in his arms. A hydra agent attempted to order him, only to be silenced with a knife thrown to the throat. The soldier made his way towards the exit with you along with a limping Steve trailing behind him.

"Buck-

"Быстрее" [move] he ordered, carrying you close to his chest and sitting in his designated on the spot on the jet. He didn't say a word as the others filed in, growling when Tony didn't start the engine up fast enough. No one dared look in your direction, not wanting to make the wrong move and happy that Bucky had busied himself with looking over your injuries, mumbling in Russian while letting his hand brush over your cheek.

As soon as the jet touched the ground, he was on his feet and carrying you over to the medbay, refusing to set you down until he saw a doctor ready to help. While it wasn't exactly protocol to have him in the operating room while the doctors worked, no one was interested in arguing back with him when he placed himself in a corner, watching intently. His blue eyes which were normally filled with warmth and softness were now stone cold, eyeing every single movement of what was being done to you, his gaze relaxing when the surgeon gave him a shaky thumbs up.

He sat by your side the entire time, gear still strapped to his body, watching the steady beep of your heart monitor while you slept, the rest of the team quietly waiting outside. Sam peered in, quickly retreating back when Bucky glowered at him, getting up and closing the door so you could rest. He and Steve continued to peep through the little glass window, immediately ducking when they could feel steel blue eyes watching him.

"Do we try and help or-

"I don't want to die yet, also based on what I'm seeing, y/n in the safest place she could be"

You sighed happily as you blinked awake, feeling hazy as if you were floating upon the softest of clouds. The room was bright and clean, you could have been in heaven for all you knew.

Or you were just high as a kite from all the pain killers.

Then you saw him beside you.

Such a gorgeous man.

Handsome.

One who gave you butterflies with shy smiles.

"Soldat" You giggled, reaching over to stroke his scruffy cheek, brushing your thumb over the scowl on his lips, "Hi" You admired his sharp jaw, idly tracing over his features while his mouth twitched into something of a smile, all his muscles finally relaxing seeing you awake.

You yawned, stretching yourself out like a kitten out before rolling over with a flop to face the very pretty man who was sitting at your bedside. Your admiration was cut short with the rumble of your tummy.

There was only one thing you wanted now.

"Soldat, I want chicken nuggies" You demanded, the growl of your stomach solidifying your request. He simply nodded, getting up and out of his seat, making his way over to the one place he knew you'd want your "nuggies" from.

"H-how may I h-help you" The Mc Donald's cashier stared at the numerous guns and knifes strapped to the infamous soldier, his metal arm pointing to a kids meal combo that came with a 6 piece nugget.

A little red box was placed in front of him at lightening speed but that wasn't good enough. He peered into the bag, frowning when he saw a toy that you already had. He grabbed it and placed it back onto the counter, staring at the trembling employee while they rummaged to find a new one, grabbing fistfuls and stuffing into the bag instead. The soldier nodded when he was given one you didn't have before, making his way back to ensure you were fed.

It didn't take long for the news outlets to catch on that the Winter Soldier was out buying Happy Meals.

*Tony's suit, Thors hammer, Steve's now broken shield and some gentle deprogramming later*

"Still want more nuggies" You murmured against Bucky's chest, still a little hazy while he chuckled, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

"I'll always get you chicken nuggies, doll"

[beloveds-embrace]

Can we please get that Duke König with the neglected Reader please Noona I am begging

The sun was beginning to set, painting the garden in hues of gold and pink. You sat alone on the stone bench you’d started occupying often, the cloak König had draped over your shoulders still providing its comforting weight. He had been here again today, as he often was now, seeking reasons to remain in the duchy far longer than any diplomatic duty you knew required.

He never came empty-handed, of course: a carefully chosen book, a delicately wrapped sweet, or today, a small bundle of lavender tied with a ribbon. Simple, yet thought out gifts. Gifts with you in mind.

König’s approach was always quiet, unobtrusive. He never demanded, never insisted, always leaving space for you to breathe, to speak if you wished- or to remain silent if you didn’t. His presence was unlike the others you were familiar with: gentle, steady, unhurried. You felt at peace around him, pressure not pressing down on your shoulders.

Today, he had sat beside you, his massive frame hunched to match your height, the soft timbre of his voice like a balm. “The Lavendel,” he’d started. “is for peace of mind. It helped my mother when her days felt too heavy. She would place it under her pillow.”

You hadn’t spoken much, but the corner of your lips had twitched upward, just slightly. That alone seemed to light his face with a kind of hope you hadn’t seen in years.

Inside the manor, the atmosphere was tense. John stood at the window, watching the garden from a distance. Kyle leaned against the wall, arms crossed, jaw tight. Johnny sat stiffly on the armrest of Simon’s chair, and the latter simoly stared at the crackling fire.

“She smiled at him today,” Kyle muttered, his voice heavy with bitterness and sorrow. “… Haven’t seen her smile like that in months.”

Johnny ran a hand through his hair, his throat working as he swallowed. “An’ he’s the one who gets it. Him.”

“He’s a better man than we’ve been,” Simon said bluntly, tone cutting and sharp, but not wrong. “And she deserves better.”

John turned from the window, ashen. “It doesn’t matter what we think. What matters is what she chooses.”

“And what if she chooses him?” Kyle asked, his voice sharp, though the anger wasn’t directed at John alone. “What then?” The rumors would be dangerous…

None of them had an answer.

Days slowly turned into weeks, and König’s presence became as steady as the rising sun even as you began recovering more. He never pushed, but he was always there- when you wandered the garden paths, when you sat by the fire in the library, even once when you’d stood on the balcony, staring out at the horizon as though searching for something you couldn’t name.

It wasn’t grand gestures that softened you, truthfully, but his quiet consistency. The way he listened, the way he treated you as though you were more than a shadow. The way he looked at you, not with pity, but with reverence. You were not an afterthought to him; you… existed. Really, trully, existed within his eyes and he treated you as such.

And slowly, against all odds, you began to bloom again. A soft laugh here, a tentative question there. König never rushed you, only offered his steady patience and a safe space for you and only you.

They could only watch from the distant edges, the weight of their regrets pressing down on them like suffocating fog.

They tried to tell themselves it wasn’t too late, that they could still fix this. But every time they saw you smile at König, every time you turned to him instead of them, the truth became harder to ignore. They had chances once- countless chances- to reach out to you. To make things right. And they had squandered every single one and now there was just… nothing left.

And König? He was just waiting to finish this deplomatic meetings so he could take you with him to his nation. The divorce process should be easy to deal with, and he’d finally free you from this miserable life.

You would want for nothing with him, and he will ensure not a single rumor of your unhappiness will ever spread again.

[2crtz]

𖤐⭒๋࣭ ⭑ TEMPTATIONS, DESIRES, AND IMPULSE.

CHARACTERS: capitano x f!readers

WARNINGS: mdni. arranged marriage. virgin reader. breast fondling. capitano has a big dick. probably ooc capitano. SYNOPSIS: after your recovery, you expected your relationship to change with your husband. however, it changed into something you could only dream of.

WORD COUNT:  2.830 A/N: i haven't written smut in so long so i hope i don't disappoint. this is part two. can be read as a standalone but i highly recommend reading part one.

Months have passed since the initial injury. Improvements have been made in your footing, yet not in your marriage. Capitano had been nothing but helpful during your recovery, but since healing, he's gone back to being distant.

You worried that you had said something wrong or been too demanding in your requests.

Maybe I've asked for an abundance of food or denied his company.

No matter the case, you prayed that things will be smooth sailing from there, but the gods did not answer you.

Capitano sat in his office most days, buried in work from the Tsarista. He never has a moments rest. Recently, he was sent off in Inazuma to aid a comrade whom lost an ancient relic. You have never seen a person's seething attitude fill up a room like his.

During his absents, you devoted your time in maintaining the garden, vigorously cleaning its stones and tending it with care. The garden became a safe haven, a place where you could run off to and soak in its beauty.

And when your husband came back from his travels, he headed straight to his office.

You never understood the allure of his office. Why did he choose it as his refuge instead of the comfort of his chambers? Lacking the courage to step foot into that space, its secrets remained a mystery.

────

Capitano looked out the grand window and viewed the meticulously tended garden. A stir of frustration flickered in him as he realized you have pushed yourself to keep the grounds beautiful, despite recovering.

Even if it had been months since the fall.

Yet, with a pained feeling in his heart, he found himself battling the tides of thoughts. Months have slipped passed-- months spent avoiding your presence, months where he sought refuge to his calloused, rough hands. Still, those vivid images of you lingered in his mind, taunting him.

Capitano considered himself a coward for succumbing to lustful thought of his wife. The flame of carnal desires coursed through his veins, causing it to be exceedingly difficult to maintain and keep his composure whenever he is near your being.

However, we he did find the courage, one look into those bright and pure eyes, his mind betrayed him and he found himself avoiding you once again.

It wasn't until a knock on his office door rang him out of his thoughts.

Never once have you shown a passing interest in Capitano's line of work, nor dared to interrupted him during his paper work. So why was this evening unlike any other?

As Capitano rose from his chair and opened the heavy wooden door, his eyes fell on you holding up a silver tray of dinner you prepared earlier.

Once realizing the time, he undoubtedly missed dinnertime.

Capitano side-stepped to allow you into his office and you took a long look around. It wasn't anything you expected.

Towering bookshelves reaching up to the heavens, a grand window that bathed the room in a soft light from the setting sun, and his desk sitting adjacent to the window, giving his access to view the garden.

You understood why he spent his time in here.

As you deliberated where to put his dinner, you noticed the lack of space on his desk from the overwhelming amount of papers. Noticing your trouble, Capitano silently collected his documents and neatly gathered them to one side to make room for you.

"You need not to trouble yourself with bringing my food here," Capitano eyes gazing upon the meal you have prepared. Not understanding why you went through the lengths, he could not suppress the appreciation sprouting within him.

"It is no problem at all." you replied softly, placing the tray down with care. It took every ounce of power within you to conceal the tremor in your tone, aching to reveal itself.

There you stood, in a delicate light blue nightgown barely reaching below your knees. A picture of a woman prepared for bed. And there, a familiar peak poked through the thin fabric, teasing and taunting Capitano once again.

He swallowed quietly, avoiding your gaze and instead looked down at his food. To him, you looked far more delicious than the meal. Your presence igniting a hunger he could not simply fill.

"Thank you."

In your head, that was your cue to leave, but when Capitano handed a piece of silverware, his unspoken invitation sent a flutter through your stomach.

For the first time, you were having dinner with your husband.

────

The grass felt soft beneath your fingertips. A blanket of feathers could not compare to how the garden comforted you. While you wished you could spend time with your husband here, he was simply too occupied with work.

Again, only a prayer would give you a smidge of hope.

A prayer indeed.

Your eyes grew heavy as the beaming sun hit the peaks of your face. A soft breath exhaled through your lips while your arms outstretched onto the soft ground.

"It is not clean for you to lay on the ground." A deep voice spoke above you.

Opening your eyes to a man whom never showed his face nor allowed himself to be vulnerable before others. There he was, bent down with his hands resting on his knees, your husband, was in the garden. With you.

The scene before you exposed a shock in your core, and in an instant, you shot upright sitting up in a sharp motion.

Noticing your sudden movement, a low chuckle erupted deep within his thick, metal armor.

The sound was an unfamiliar sound in your ears.

"Would you like company?" he asked.

Perhaps the heavens have heard your prayers, waiting until this moment. You have longed nothing more than to spend time with your husband, even if his heart remained distant and shown no affection or serenaded you with tender words.

You quickly nodded, a gentle, but faint, smile stretching your lips, and patted on the space beside you.

Silence hung in the air for a moment before Capitano decided to speak first, his tone laced with genuine curiosity. "You spend most of your time here. Why is that?" he held your gaze.

"I enjoy the sun." you replied. While his eyes remained hidden, you imagined the way they might look, perhaps softening as you answered.

"I cannot help but wonder why, out of all the time we have been married, you choose now to come into the gardens." you felt your body involuntarily moving closer to his. "Are the orders of the Tsaritsa too much to bear?"

Capitano took a moment before replying. "Since I am away most days, and soon will embark on another mission, I suppose I wanted a moment to escape from reality." He took a pregnant pause.

"I want you to be my reprieve from the demands of my work, my anchor." his tone had a humorous tone hidden, though he was being honest. "But before I place such a burden on you, I must get to know my wife."

A laugh escaped between your lips. It was sudden, but not unwanted. "It is strange how we are married but complete strangers."

"Life has other plans." Capitano looked off into the distance, onto the lush horizon. "Ones that betray our dreams."

There was something you've always wondered about your husband. What was underneath that helmet of his? Did he look like a troll? A disfigured man? Or a scarred, damaged face?

"If you don't mind me asking," Capitano's attention turned towards you. "may I know what you look like?" you asked.

Curiosity flickered in your eyes, a look so earnest that Capitano could not refuse. And slowly, he removed his steel helmet, revealing his face.

A soft gasp freed itself from your lips, eyes settling on his face. It was neither mangled nor deformed, but a strikingly beautiful one that was half in black. Could this be the rumors of the decay?

You've heard tales about the brave Capitano's face, but none prepared you for what sights you might see.

As if on command, you hand reached out to touch the void-like black decay that marred his visage. It felt like skin, but didn't all at once. Your eyes soaking in the image of his face, his skin, his eyes. A piercing, bright pale blue color glowing beside the darkness that engulfed him.

Only one word could muster out your lips. "Breathtaking."

Your touch igniting fire within Capitano, coursing through his veins, setting his entire being ablaze. He found himself vulnerable without his helmet, but could not help but lean into your touch for warmth.

A new sensation awoke in Capitano. So foreign, so raw it threated to consume him whole. One that can only be described as love. A feeling so intense it burn holes in his heart.

For the first time, after all this time his gaze stayed hidden, you could finally meet his eyes.

Like an impulse eating him alive, from how your gaze held his, Capitano felt his being leaning towards yours like a magnet, closing the distance, and capturing your lips with him.

You felt your heart beating out of the confines of your chest. The sudden kiss had your mind running laps, but once reality settled in, you could finally relax into the kiss.

His hand reached behind your head and gripped softly onto your hair. Capitano felt his groin on fire, attempting to break free from his trousers.

As the kiss became intense and heavy, he broke the kiss before it went further.

"Tell me when to stop and I'll stop." A string of saliva that connect you broke and you stared into his heavy-lidded eyes.

"Don't stop."

Those two words were enough for Capitano to gather you into his arms and walk into your shared chambers. It was the first time you've truly been in this room together, and in this moment, was the perfect time to break it in.

Your heart pounded more vigorously as he laid you onto the bed, his hands steady yet deliberate. His movements were agonizingly slow, each motion a taunt to tease you as he unbuttoned his shirt. With each button undone, more of his sculpted torso was reveal. An ache began to appear between your legs.

The black decay reached even below his neck, following down inside his trousers.

Capitano's shirt throw carelessly as he lowered back down to you, seizing your lips once again and his hands searching your body. Rough hands that squeezed each part of your body, acting as his anchor, resistance, before grabbing hold of your intimate parts.

What Capitano didn't know, was that you were impatient. Your hand collect his black hair and gripped it tightly, asking for more.

Once receiving your silent request, his hands reached up to your breasts where he felt your harden nipples. Ones whom taunted him were now in his hold.

With his free hand, he lifted your nightgown. There, your bare body was exposed beneath his eyes.

"You are truly," his lips connected of your bare stomach, then reaching up to your neck, until he finally reached your lips. "flawless." his pitch went down a decibel, still holding a sultry tone.

If that didn't cause you to die on the spot, nothing will. Not even a spear through the chest.

Your heart burst into millions of particles and still, you were growing impatient for his touch, needy for him.

While he littered your breast with kisses, a hard object pressed itself against your core, sending volts of electricity through your body. A soft moan escape from your lips.

"You like that?" his voice low and breathing spreading across your body like a wildfire.

You absolutely loved it. You wanted, no, needed more.

Understanding your silent response, he pressed himself harder onto you, causing you to shift in your spot. "Please," you pleaded quietly.

"Please what?"

"Please touch me. Please, Capitano." finding your voice was a difficult task, but you needed the touch only your husband could provide.

Hearing his name from your mouth started the gears in Capitano's head. His cock was begging to be freed. It craved to be sunk into you.

A guttural groan formed within his throat and he wanted nothing more but to please you. His hands fiddled with his pants, fumbling with the button before completely tearing them off his being.

Capitano was known for being a patient man, but it all dissipated within seconds.

When your eyes landed on his cock, his sized terrified you, intimating you. Nowhere in that innocent mind of yours could fathom the thought of his whole length fitting inside you.

"I'm sorry, darling, but I am being impatient." Capitano apologized before he touched you.

You didn't care. You wanted be touched by him and only him.

Before he could fuck you relentlessly, he needed to prepare you. The leather gloves were quickly removed from his hand and his fingers grazed your wet cunt.

You relaxed against his touch, enjoying the delicate movements of his digits. When inserted a finger, your teeth captured your lips. You've never experimented with yourself, not understanding what to do, however, you wish you had.

Euphoria had unleashed and your body reacted with Capitano's fingers.

It wasn't until the second finger stretched you out when you felt the pain course through you. It was a sudden shock that hastily turned into pleasure.

As Capitano deemed you ready, he retrieved his fingers, leaving you empty, but lined his cock straight to you. It started with his tip then he slowly slid in.

He watched the expression on your face, ready to pause when it becomes overwhelming for you. And it was. The foreign object forcing it's way into you caused a rippling feeling, too much for you to handle.

"Is it too much for you, my dear?" his eyes holding so many emotions within them-- worry, lust, and care. Your hands reached up to hold his head.

"I can handle it." you reassured him.

Capitano loved your touch, and without missing a beat, he began moving into you until his length disappear in you, bottoming out. His fantasies being buried in you were no longer dreams. Finally, they were reality.

Sweat coated his forehead as he thrusted slowly, pacing himself to ensure you were comfortable.

Your moans echoed throughout the room, reverberating against the walls and back into Capitano's ears. His appetite was not clenched yet. His pace picked up, his hips moving sloppy.

Warm arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him down until his face was buried into the crook of your neck. His moans spread through the hollow of your collar.

The feeling of his cock rubbing every inch of your cunt had you mind in a daze. Your breathing labored, trying to find your breath as he took every ounce of air out your lungs.

"Capi-- Capitano!"

He finally found the sweet spot he'd been searching for. His arm picking your leg up to gain more access within you, picking up the pace until you become a disheveled mess.

Holding a tight grip around his hair, you couldn't allow him to free himself from you.

His nails dug deep into your flesh, anchoring you to stay in place as he pounded harder. "You are the definition of perfection," he spoke into your neck. "One only I can turn into a mess."

Your leg begun to shake from the building release. It was becoming too much. Your body was ready to fully shutdown, but you were too cock-drunk.

Feeling your body, Capitano was damn near to spilling his cum into you, filling you up.

"You're close." he felt it. You were tightening around him, suffocating him. "Come on, darling, let it all out."

Like on command, your body sputtered and shook, releasing all over him. Your breathing was heavy, working overtime to get a full breath of air.

Capitano spilt all in you, filling you to the brim with his cum. He rode out his high, leaving himself in you to watch your face.

Your face was one he could never forget. The image branded itself onto his memory, a scene he refuse to get over.

The sweat coating your face made you glow under the soft light from the window. Capitano noticed a tear running down your face. Not from sadness or pain, but pleasure.

His thumb ran across your cheek to wipe it.

Before he could utter a word, his body collapsed on yours.

You couldn't help but to laugh. It was soft, yet came from the chest. "You are something."

"I hope only good." his arms wrapped around your torso, holding you closer to his body.

"Far better than good." your looked straight into his eyes. "You are remarkable. Something I only see in my dreams."

Capitano smiled before lowering his head back down into your neck.

"You no longer have to dream, my dear. I am now your reality."

do not edit, modify, or republish.

[mumms-the-word]

I like to think each of the BG3 companions makes a little change in their appearance/outfit after the game ends, if they’ve been persuaded to distance themselves from their abusers gods and masters

like Gale stops wearing the Mystra earring for something else, something he feels more connected to (something related to his partner, perhaps)

Wyll replaces his sending stone eye with a different prosthetic eye. maybe he has a collection! maybe they’re magical in different ways!

Shadowheart throws her Sharran circlet away to experiment with other jewelry (she already changes her hair to white, so why not go a teeny step further?)

Astarion doesn’t really wear any trappings of Cazador but I like to think a spawn version of him would be interested in wearing more colorful ensembles, rather than the tired black and red (even though he looks good in black and red)

Lae’zel begins incorporating more comet motifs if she’s fighting against Vlaakith, or wearing more non-gith clothing if she’s hanging out in the Sword Coast

Karlach, at last, after finally escaping the hells for good and forever, starts dressing in something other than protective/fire-resistant leather. Nothing wrong with leather, but a girl wants to wear something soft every now and again and it’s good to know she can wear something like cotton or linen without setting it on fire

Halsin finally laying down his druidic armor and…well, we know he’d just go without clothing entirely if he could, but getting comfortable with wearing casual, non-armor outfits all the time, getting comfortable with the fact that he doesn’t have to don symbols and medallions showing his leadership role and allegiance to a specific grove (and probably very relieved to finally set those down and never pick them up again)

Minthara contemplating having someone retattoo the symbol on her neck to obscure the connections to House Baenre or adding another tattoo elsewhere to memorialize her allegiance to either herself or her romanced partner

I just like the idea of the companions acknowledging the little ways they’ve reinvented or adjusted their identities by making little cosmetic changes

[quarterlifekitty]

Promethean

fuckboy!Soap x Shy!Reader x Ghost (college!au) p.2 here’s part 1

Uhh warning soap isn’t in this chapter and reader isn’t acting very shy rn lol

Simon managed to drag you, shocked and still on shaky legs, into his surprisingly clean car and across town to a little cafe. The guy with eye bags behind the counter starts making his order as soon as he comes in the door— must be a regular.

At the counter he points to a couple of items in the display case, before prompting you— you stutter out your go-to, and Simon whips out a beat-up debit card before you can think to pull out your wallet.

The largest size of earl grey almost looks normal in his large hand, a plate of pastries in his other mitt. You grab your own drink and follow where he tilts his head in gesture.

When you sit, he pushes the plate towards you. Like he’s dropping a fresh kill at your doorstep—a courting gift. Eat. Be provided for, sensitive doe. You pick up a danish, if only to ease the clench of his fist on the table. He pulls the black surgical mask down to sip his tea in a way that’s almost hilariously delicate given his permanent scowl.

You couldn’t have sat in silence for more than 10 minutes. But it feels like a lot longer.

“Simon. What are we doing here?” You probe quietly. Saying his name when you’ve never actually been introduced to each other feels wrong. Like you’ve stolen a piece of him that he hasn’t given freely.

“He never takes you out,” he grunts. As if that explains anything.

“It’s not… what we have isn’t like that.”

——

Simon chews on your overly diplomatic response for a minute. That’s what it must be, chewing— why else would he grind his teeth together when his tongue is still wet with his favorite soothing beverage?

You’re kind. Kinder than the mutt deserves.

“But you want it to be.” He says it with an almost biblical level of finality. Your pastry making the plate clink against the table as you drop it back down.

“What would you know about what I want?”

“You’re an easy read. S’how y’got yourself in this situation. Soap’s not exactly a rocket scientist when it comes to chattin’ up birds, you’re jus’ an open book.”

Simon shamelessly stares at your lips as they quirk in anger— so unused to vitriol. It’s gorgeous.

“So he’s using me. I know. Is that what this was about? Taking me on a pity date to let me down gently? Or did you just wanna see if you could have a go as well?”

Seeing you like this. It’s something else. He’s seen you mope around so many times, silently begging for crumbs that will never be tossed your way. It’s even harder to pull his gaze from you, now that you’re hissing. He wants to dig his teeth into your heart shoulder and rip out the bruise Johnny left you with.

Soap is his best friend.

“He’s a dickhead. You don’t need him. You’ll find something better.”

Simon has never been what he would call “something better”. Not in any sense. But this might be the first time he’s wanted to be.

“I won’t,” you say with the lower half of your face hidden by the sipping of your drink. As if it’s quenched your fire, and all that leaves you is vapor. “I’m not… the type.”

He gets it. Really, he does. He’s not the type either— or so he’s thought. You’re making him wonder if he’s imagined that about himself— the same way you’ve clearly imagined it about yourself.

“What’s the rest of your day look like?”

“…Nothing set in stone.” The not that it’s any of your fucking business goes unspoken, but is plain to see in the air between you.

“Lemme take you around. On a date. Be mine for today. If y’hate it, I’ll drop you back at yours and the next time you come round, I’ll mind my business and keep the door closed.” Well, that’s the most you’ve ever heard him say in one go. And it begs a question.

“What happens if I like it? You’ll fuck me in a different room of the same frat house?” Your unimpressed look makes him feel ravenous. She-wolf is threatening to turn her eyes from the display. Rejection. Not an option. “Or maybe you’ll ask me to go steady,” you huff under your breath like it’s a bad joke.

“If y’like it, then you’ll stay mine, and y’won’t fuckin’ want for anything. You’re supposed to be worshipped, not begging for scraps at a mutt’s door.”

He really didn’t mean to say it like that. He meant to bite his tongue. He’s trying not to think of how hot it would be if his intensity scared you into pissing yourself. He’s trying not to let himself show through the lines. It’s not working. Any of it.

The venomous bile that spills from behind his teeth reminds him that his eloquence is just one of many reasons why he’s single. Why he should be muzzled instead of kept. He doesn’t know why he’s taking it upon himself to do this. Selfishness, maybe. There’s plenty of better men he could’ve put up to the task, easy. The man who wants to feel blood on the back of his throat makes a terrible savior.

He feels like he can see your pupils dilate. You pick up your danish again and take a bite. You hold it out for him to try. It’s a test. You don’t think someone with eyes like his can handle doing cutesy, saccharine things. Like what couples do. That must be it.

He tries not to think of his teeth going past the flakey flesh of the pastry and sinking into your fingers. When his tongue meets the butter between the layers, he tries not to think of the salt sweet flavor of your sweat and tears. A seed from the blackberry jam gets thoughtlessly crushed between his molars— he hopes the bitterness will suddenly wake him up and he won’t be a beast crying for love at the heart of the world anymore.

It doesn’t.