#and i have no idea how I’m supposed to approach that conversation so i’m just gonna let it go

[kithtaehyung]

minted: three (explicit) | myg

title: minted: part three (m) pairing: street king!yoongi x street vendor!reader series: masterlist | one | two rating/genre: m (18+) ; angst , smut ; haegeum au , gang au summary: at this point, you would do anything to forget. including the unthinkable with a gangster. note: sooo this series basically saved my writing slump haha. i am still having the time of my life and i’m so excited to show y’all more of this minted universe. and to also show you just how spicy things can get❤️‍🔥 note 2: this is ofc a present for hali @sailoryooons that spiraled into a whole universe. still always gonna thank nary @joonary for letting me use the vendor reader idea, as well! also happy birthday to @remmykinsff @awbells @keylime4eva @aaclariww and @noshit-cantfindagoodone!! to everyone else having a bday around this time, this is my gift to you hehehe. warnings: language, drugs, alcohol, slow burn, murder mentions, gang activity, mint!yoongi, haegeum!yoongi, tatted!yoongi, his eyebrow is pierced, chains bc of course :)), world-building, reader is still sassy, yoongi is still infuriating, tension explicit warnings: under the cut! drop date: december 9th, 2024, 9:03pm est word count: 12.3k 😀👍

explicit warnings: i know it’s a slow burn but there’s definitely smut lol, choking, head/hair tugging, penetration, oral (f rec), backshotssss, marking bye, rough sex, ass play, breast play, his hands are a nice necklace😀, taunting cus reader’s an icon, thighs, breath play, spanking, hand job, protected sex, multiple orgasms, restraints (his hands, robe tie), brat!reader but who is honestly shocked🙂‍↔️, brat tamer!yoongi lmao, yoongi is a menace i’m sorryyyy, but reader is…?????, need them both™, teasing, rawdogging HELLO?? (pls wrap it up fr!), commanding yoongi a ha ha, pain kink, cowgirl🙂‍↕️, this is just the calm before a whole damn storm

—

—

“But,” you exhale with a shake. “Just for tonight…”  

This is it.

The brink of no return.

Your soul dips into the dark.

“Please make me fucking forget.”

Did you go too far? 

Is there a limit to his accommodation? Did you actually think this was gonna be easy? 

When silence swirls between your robes, you start to second guess your demand. 

But Yoongi simply stares before stepping aside, allowing you to enter his room with jellied legs. 

This is madness, but you’re gonna go through with it. Whatever the hell this will be. Because you may not know much, but you figure all men sit up the same when sex is on the table. 

This man, though... 

Quite frankly, you aren’t sure about anything when it comes to him. Unless it’s about him doing something questionable. Then there’s no question about it.

The enigma himself makes no conversation as you step inside, even as your eyes roam around a cleaner, more put-together room than when you left the first time. Did Yoongi clean this much while you made a mess of your dreams? 

The only answer you get is a door shutting, followed by a massive presence at your back. Before you can so much as turn around, the first words on your shoulders burn like embers,

“Was he your first.” 

Fuck. 

This isn’t what you approached him for. He’s supposed to make you forget, not remember. Remember?

You don’t turn around; you don’t respond right away. Instead, you swallow before focusing very hard on the fact that Yoongi sleeps on the bedside nearest the window. At least, judging by the way the covers are flipped. You happen to prefer the side opposite.

The heat from his body proves soft but intense, and you can’t help but close your eyes when you finally answer with a question, 

“Do you remember yours?” 

“Yes.” 

“Do you ever regret it?” 

“No.”

Your vision lowers to the rug lying still under the bed. A splash of light grey amongst a darkened, moonlit sea. 

No matter how quick Yoongi answers. No matter how even his tone. 

He still remembers it, too. 

But this isn’t what you expected when you walked in here. You assumed this man was going to get right to it, save no room for you to second guess yourself. Clearly he gave zero shits about kissing you in that taxi, and he damn near undressed you in the living room. 

So what’s the holdup here? Does he want this for real? Or not? 

Head at a slight angle, you admit with a hint of finality, “I don’t wanna talk about that.” 

“Mm.” A warm, rough hand subtly tugs at your belt, and prominent knuckles nudge through the smooth material of your robe. “So what are you really here for.” 

Your eyes blink thrice. 

Yoongi cannot be serious. Does he really not know? 

No. He knows. With a shift of your jaw, you realize he’s just fucking with you, purposefully not in the way you want. “You’re being difficult.” 

“You woke me up.”

Ah. That’s fair. 

“So tell me.” 

Well. If you’re gonna have to spell things out for him, he’s gonna be waiting for awhile. Because the more you stand here not doing anything, the harder it is to gather a little thing called courage. Courage to meet the beast in his den, and madness to let him devour you whole. Now you have neither. Neither, neither, neither.

Awkwardness sticks to your throat until it’s jammed, and you can barely mush your lips together to form sounds. The courage you speak of flees before you can wrangle it, and what’s left of your answer tumbles out like boulders, “This is.. I don’t.. I can’t.” 

“You can.” 

“It’s,” you huff, noting that you don’t like this horrible mix of hesitation and anger, “It’s… I’m—” 

Your vision jolts as you feel a quick tug shit you’re spinning fuck your back just hit a wall—

“Of all things today,” Yoongi murmurs with slits for eyes, “This is what gets you to shut up?” 

Damn it. 

You don’t even have a rebuttal. Because he’s right. Yoongi’s sharp discernment is millimeters from your face and you have no intention to move nor speak. Only quick breaths. Only shaky exhales. 

But you do swallow.

Which brings out a sound you will never admit you like: a breathy, condescending laugh, as coarse and as soft as his touch. 

“You mean to tell me,” he observes, tilting your chin while his irises blaze dark, “You came all the way in here for nothing?”

“No, I—”

“All that talk, and for what.” 

Defend yourself. Say something. Say just one word two words any words—

Did Yoongi just pat your cheek? ..Twice? 

Why did you kinda like that—

“Makes no sense,” he ponders aloud, lolling his head and staring down your crumpled lips. “Who even are you..” 

Now that's an easy one. You always have the answer to that question. 

“No one,” you whisper. “Sorry to disappoint you.” 

Seems like the people back home aren’t the only ones you’ll let down. If Yoongi keeps that question loaded in the chamber, he’s gonna keep shooting the same target. Over, and over, and over. 

But you don’t have to worry. Because he drops it, caging you in with a hand near your stiff, risen shoulder, “So what are you here for.” 

This is a mistake. Either Yoongi doesn’t want this, or he’s being frustrating on purpose and your fire is both stoked and quelled. “Now I don’t know for sure.” 

“The more you stall the harder it gets,” he goads with a lick of teasing. And for a split, minuscule second, you wonder if that meant more than one thing.

Goddamn, he’s annoying. He’s outright savoring this. 

Maybe you shouldn’t be surprised. You woke him up for god’s sake. If someone did this same thing to you after the day you’ve had, you wouldn’t have even let them in. 

Unfortunately for you, Yoongi’s version of dealing with a midnight inconvenience is whittling them down until they leave— 

“So you can tell my bellhop off but I get nothing, huh.” 

Oh, shit. 

Oh, shit. 

You’re so taken aback that you can only ask, “What?” 

Mercifully, the dragon gives you air, straightening before leaving your personal space. 

Your focus should be on his words. You know this. But he uses this moment to rake his hair, and words are no match for the sleeve cascading down his inked forearm. 

Even as his hair flows in waves, you still cling to his tattoos as he looks downward in thought. “You think I wouldn’t check who the fuck was coming up here?” 

It takes you a second to process. 

But you realize what this means and you fall silent again.

Yoongi saw that? All of that? You acted without much thought, and if he really did see and hear everything that went down, there’s a chance he thinks a lot differently about you now. No wonder he’s so thrown by this switch in behavior. 

But on the other hand.. The way he touched you in the living room. Was all that because of what he saw? Is that side of you the one that pulled him close? 

You thought his parting would allow you room to breathe. How very wrong you were. 

Shoving all contemplation aside, you decide to coat the room with concern, your assertion making a brief comeback, “He said a lot of shit, Yoongi. What was that about?” 

He languidly approaches the long table at your side—one you faintly noticed while leaving the room the first time. Unbothered, he slides unhurried fingers over a gun, stopping on the barrel before reaching for something less lethal. 

A decanter, it seems. Liquid flows from the container into a smaller glass, and you assume it’s whisky from the deep amber tones and luscious pour.

When you wonder where else Yoongi litters his weapons, he cuts through your surveying, 

“You really wanna know?” 

Looking up, you nod. 

He sets the bottle down with a dull clink. “He took his chances.” 

“His.. What?” 

Now what the hell could this man mean by that? You were clearly being coaxed into leaving the premises, vaguely feeling like something seemed off. How is he being so dismissive about all this? 

Slowly, Yoongi shakes his head, looking out into the night while taking his initial sip. “I don’t come here often. But when I do, I come alone.” Long fingers nestle his cup perfectly as he explains further, “It’s been awhile, so. Had to feel out the staff.” 

The staff. Is that why Yoongi held your hand? To weasel someone out? You really thought he meant it when he said he just wanted to… 

How naive. 

“His plan could’ve been solid.” 

“But what?” You ask, newfound frustration clipping your tone. 

Yoongi slides you a look over the rim of his glass. “He didn’t know who he’d be dealing with.” 

Your eyes roll so far they strain.

But this begs a question. Does he mean dealing with you? Or him? Surely he meant your little show at the elevator but he could very well mean himself. 

Facts are facts. Would Yoongi really trade il-don for you? Absolutely not. So you have to assume he’s mostly talking about the latter. 

Your scoff is pitched to the side, “Of course. You wouldn’t trade il-don for anything.” 

Yoongi pauses, not acknowledging your comment in the slightest as he strolls back your way. “Something I am curious about..” As he leans in, musk and whisky invade both your space and senses. And you hate, hate, hate that you need more of it. “Who was he talking to?” 

“Someone he royally pissed off.” 

“Mm.” 

“You’re not gonna punish him?” 

“Me? Nah.” Leaning on the sideboard, he stares out the windows across the room. Your vision follows suit. “Not until I have to.”

If what happened wasn’t enough to warrant a punishment, you’re morbidly curious about what ticks the box. “I figured he’d be dead by now. At least for trespassing.”

Yoongi only shrugs. “Grey zones aren’t just amnesty for the clans. Anything goes here, too, so a ransom attempt isn’t surprising.” 

This man really doesn’t stand on black or white. Here you are with eggs for brains discovering you were almost taken instead of saved, and he’s chalking it up to, what, just another Tuesday? Or is it still Monday? You don’t even know anymore. 

Your question leaves you a little scuffed. Because you feel exactly like leftover goods. The fruit at the back. “Are you always this heartless?”

“So I’ve been told.” 

Great. 

So much for being… Safe up… here… 

You glance at the touch on your hip, and your eyes traverse up his arm as he toys with your belt again. 

Shouldn’t you feel disgusted? Shouldn’t you be walking away? It’s crystal clear how little this man thinks of you, or anyone for that matter. He probably brought you along just to be a shield for his precious il-don. So why can’t you bring yourself to leave? 

Your knot starts to loosen.

His voice begins to flow.

“But if you’re gonna go for what’s mine, don’t be an idiot.” 

Wait.

No. Nope. Stop thinking about what that could mean. Because if you think too hard, it will only leave you disappointed. 

But there’s something you won’t stop doing. And Yoongi knows you won’t. So as he keeps playing at your waist, your words come out in shudders, 

“Can’t believe you used me.” 

Yoongi hums, and it makes you shiver when his touch leaves you to rest against wood counters. “You’re about to use me, too.” 

Fucking hell, he’s right. 

“Gotta say I didn’t expect it, but..” Damn him and his head tilts. “I’m impressed.” 

You’re too empty-headed that you can’t even process his words as genuine praise. His touches already feel like pops of lights in the night sky.

It’s a given. You aren’t prepared for him in the slightest.

“Come here.” 

Lightly pulling your hand, Yoongi brings you to stand in front of him. And from this point of view, you become even more ensnared. 

His robe flows down his taut build so beautifully, painting him like dark water over rolling hills. At his peak, the hair you’ve come to miss frames his face like artwork. Mesmerizing. Your downfall. 

“You get one more chance. Tell me why I’m awake.” 

Your brow lift is only a front. The rest of you is shaking, trembling, howling. “You clearly know.”

“Tell me anyway.” 

Relentless. Will you shame yourself for wanting to see him use this same strategy on other people? Most likely. But will that stop you from thinking about it anyway? Absolutely, positively not. 

But there’s another side of you that’s being comforted. And it’s the side that realizes how much he’s spoken, how much time you’ve spent without needing to watch behind your back. 

Yoongi talking this much? It’s making things easier. And it’s strangely making you feel a little better, even if the subject matter isn’t the greatest topic in the universe. 

After you steal a glance at the other whisky glass, you look into his eyes. Determined and decisive. Knowing exactly what you want at this very moment, because you just need a little more time. 

“Tell me more. About grey zones.” 

Something in the air freezes. And Yoongi’s brows crease so comically you almost laugh. “That’s it?” 

“Yes.” 

His nod is slow as he sets down his glass.

And you’re quickly hauled back so fast that you don’t have time to react. 

A rush of air. The world topples. Soft sheets. 

Dangerously, a thin chain sways above as Yoongi shrouds your body in silk and lingering smoke. A gasp escapes you as he peers into your eyes, and your senses fire as a commanding hand slides up your thigh. 

“Final answer?”

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck you know you want him and you still do but also talking to him isn’t half bad and maybe you’re just tired of being lonely— 

Musk. Alcohol. Breathing hard, you take it all in. Slowly nodding because you can’t function otherwise, which makes a dragon flash teeth. 

But he obliges without moving a muscle, so you’re left underneath a demon—robe dangerously close to opening and exposing everything once again.

A man of conviction, Yoongi does exactly as you ask. Eyes drooped, he continues his explanations, as if he didn’t just shove you into his enormous bed and tangle you under his legs, 

“They started awhile ago, back when all the high-powers got locked in a grudge match. Took half the city with them.” 

Immediately, your shoulders start to sink into his tale. “Half is a lot.” 

“Everything went to shit,” he agrees. “Not even the Politicol could stop it all.” 

“Bullshit.”

His level expression is enough to refute.  

Now that’s a shock to learn. For as long as you can remember, the Politicol have always held more power than any force should ever have. If they weren’t able to keep this under control, the high-powers used to be ungodly. 

Staring at the slippage on Yoongi’s shoulder, you wonder if those ink lines are to immortalize the ones that came before him. The history he must’ve grown up memorizing. 

Still.. Why does he have them all? There’s no way he doesn’t know how disrespectful that is to all three clans. 

But then again. He said he didn’t choose them himself. Which leads you nowhere in this unending maze. 

Head disheveled; robe coming undone. To outsiders, you’d be at Yoongi’s mercy. 

But in reality, you’re laser focused on him and his explanations. Especially when his voice scratches every itch just right. “So…” You watch his gaze slowly slide down your face. “What happened?”

Even now, Yoongi’s hands stay exactly where they are. The only thing that moves is the tinkling swing of his silver above your warming neck. “Deals were made, stripping power from all of them in certain sectors so that none could completely take over.” 

“Why only in certain ones?” 

A corner of his mouth quirks up. “Let’s just say the negotiations went how you think they did.” 

Your eyes roll yet again. But another question pings into your mind as quick as the first one, knitting your brows. “Wait… Deals with the Politicol? Or each other? No way they would’ve let cowards put them all on a leash.” 

At this, something interesting passes over Yoongi’s face.

But it flits away before you can snatch it for further inspection, and the shift of his leg against your thighs resets your brain. 

“Any of the clans could’ve monopolized if they had the right resource, but. They weren’t ever gonna let outsiders get a piece. Called a truce and kept their mouths shut.” 

Makes sense. You know exactly what resource he’s referring to. “The il-don.” 

“That’s part of it.” He shifts again, but this time, your legs have more room to move. “But grey zones have priority infrastructure. The ones that keep the lights on. If you had the money, you had the people. And people are the best resource there is.” 

It’s at this moment that a lot of things click into place. 

And one of those is figuring out that you may have been a little wrong about the man above you. 

Is he heartless? To a high degree. But that comes with being calculating. Patient. Smart. Everything that Yoongi has been this entire time you’ve tagged along. 

He’s not keeping the il-don safe because he treasures it. It’s because the money is a tool. A tool to help him get what he wants whenever he needs. And leverage it for value instead of frivolous decisions and material things. 

Yoongi must have really, really enjoyed your tangerines.

A stray touch finally makes its way inside your thigh. And you flare between your legs. Shivering. Aching. You’re sparkling inside but won’t allow yourself to fully explode. Not when he’s revealing so much without telling. Not when you’re starting to see things from his angle. 

“Keep talking,” you rush out, gripping his robe and squeezing his pelvis. 

Though his fingers still light flares on your skin, Yoongi stops in his daring quest, observing your face without judgment. 

“I like it,” you shakily admit. Because screw it, since you’ll never see him again. “Learning about all this.” 

You sigh at his weight. His beautiful, strangely calming weight. “About you, too.” 

Stopping all movements, Yoongi coats your skin with gravel. “What good will knowing all this do.” 

He’s got a point. And it hammers home exactly what you were just thinking. “Nothing, maybe,” you answer, squeezing his robe a little longer. 

Fuck, you really are this deprived. This lonely. Is bedding a dangerous man—this dangerous man—really better than being alone right now? A mental reset is outstandingly in order throughout the coming abysmal months.

You finish your weak explanation, hoping it’s enough to convince him, 

“But it’s helping.” 

Yoongi lifts his head to watch your eyes. And you observe how dark his are in return. How cold. 

But yet.. Why do you also see…?

With a slight huff, you tack on, “And you aren’t so annoying to talk to right now.” 

There it is. That spark you’ve seen before in dusty, tinkering streets. “Don’t push your luck.” 

“I might.” 

He exhales, shifting himself into a sitting position and facing the door. “The thing about grey zones.. No affiliation, no rules. You can be anyone here.” 

When you lift your upper body to sit, you watch his side profile as you repeat, “Anyone?” 

Yoongi turns to look at your lips. 

You know there’s a question you want to ask. But for some reason, it’s difficult to say. 

But eventually, you can’t help it. Because you’re intrigued. You’re haunted. And you really, really need this. 

“Then who do you want me to be.”

He lets out a cross between a scoff and a laugh. Looking into your eyes, he asks in disbelief, “You?”

“I’m pretty good at pretending.” 

“Sure you are.” He gives you another small grin before resting forearms on his knees. “But you don’t want my answer to that.” 

Swallowing is proving too difficult. What the hell does he mean by that? Is it one big bluff or a real opinion? “You’re just being a pussy.” 

All you get is the side of his cheek rising high.

Yeah. He’s not gonna tell you a damn thing. 

“Forget about me then. Who are you right now?” You wait as his expression falls back to earth. “Agust? Or Yoongi?” 

When you end with silence, you’re met with an approaching shadowed visage. And even in this moment, you sense static in the air, both of you poised and locked in a dangerous, thrilling dance. 

“You tell me.” 

Your breath cuts as he slips a finger inside your robe, and you dare not breathe when he pulls—slow, unhurried, intoxicating. 

You’ve never felt quite like this. 

Are you supposed to do something, too? Is there something that usually happens here? Your experience isn’t zero but it is clearly leagues below where it should be. 

Before you can blink a third time, your garment is ever, ever so slightly off your shoulder.

And you haven’t uttered a damn thing.

So he keeps going, sliding it lower, and lower, until he reveals a part of you that you didn’t mean to reveal so suddenly before. 

This time, it’s deliberate. And that makes it terrifying. 

This is the point of no return. The slope of your chest barely keeps your robe from dipping any farther. It’s happening, and life between you will never be the same when it’s over. 

And yet. 

Your nerves speak up at the worst time.

“Get me a drink,” you whisper, “Then maybe I will.”

Yoongi flicks up an eyebrow before obliging, and you silently mourn the loss of his heated touch. 

He walks over to pour you something neat, taking his time bringing both glasses to the bed. When you sit up properly, you habitually adjust your robe, scoffing at his hum. 

“Thanks,” you whisper, taking the glass and smelling the piercing aroma. “Maybe this is what I needed all along.”

“You ever had sex before?”

The question is so sudden and blunt that you cough up a burning sip. “Ow, fuck..” Wincing, you wipe your mouth before breathing in scratchy inhales. “If you must know, I have.”

“Maybe you are good at pretending then,” Yoongi drawls. “Could’ve fooled me.”

“Don’t get me wrong. This situation is new to me.”

His brow raises are definitely talking a lot for him. 

“I’ve just never.. I dunno. Never had just one night.” Taking a more cautious sip, you continue. “Much less with someone like you.”

“Like me?”

“With a.. You know.” You fiddle with your glass. “A customer.” 

When you hear his reaction, you stare at his raised cheek, stomach fluttering when he sighs downward,

“You can’t just say shit like that.” 

“I can say whatever I want,” you counter. “Especially since I…”

You don’t wanna finish that. It helps that Yoongi doesn’t look your way still, taking a sip of his whisky instead. His locks swing forward as he leans, and you almost reach out to feel them. Maybe you’ll get to very soon. When you finally get over this final hurdle of outright shyness. 

Why are you so timid right now? Why can’t you just tell him what you very obviously came in here for and get on with it? You’ve been decisive as fuck the rest of today, so what’s got your tongue pressed this time? Is it really your abysmal level of experience?

Or is it because you’re gravitating to more sides of him with each passing second? 

“Since you what.” 

“Since I don’t like you,” you snip. 

Yoongi flashes teeth in amusement. “Keep telling yourself that.” 

“Oh, shut up.” You take another drink, feeling the burn down your throat. “I don’t have to if it’s true.” 

Both of you keep drinking in silence after that. Which makes things a weird mix of calm and awkward, considering what your original mission was. 

Going over the events of today, it’s a wonder why you aren’t crashing into a dreamless sleep. You’ve been up and having the most exhausting day ever, and yet, you can’t imagine shutting your eyes. 

Think of something else to talk about. Anything. Any topic you could possibly hold a conversation with Yoongi over. 

What did he respond to before? No small talk, since the plantains thing from months ago was a bust. And when you conversed over ramyeon it was more of him angering you on purpose—wait a minute. 

There was something you never circled back to. 

And as soon as you ask him about it, he appears impressed you remembered, 

“Were you bluffing when you said you knew what I was shopping for?” 

“No,” he responds immediately. “And I know I’m right.” 

“Prove it.” 

Mouth curved at an annoying angle, Yoongi shoots you a look before placing his drink down, getting up to walk to a tall armoire. 

Your eyes follow his every movement, even the way his ass moves under that damned robe. But soon, your jaw goes slack not because of his assets. 

But because the motherfucker was right on the money. 

How the… How the fuck did Yoongi know? 

In front of your face lies exactly what you were searching for. Sleek. Minimal. Lightweight and visibly balanced. You don’t even want to keep shopping around because this is the only one you want. 

How did he know you were shopping for daggers based on one single line of questioning? 

“I wasn’t gonna show you until you asked,” he divulges. “Honestly, I was hoping you’d forget. This one was hard as fuck to track down.” 

Eyes flicking up to his, you ask in wonder, “Can I…?” 

He lifts it slightly, signaling that you can indeed hold it yourself. 

And it’s perfect. 

“Wow,” you breathe out, feeling along its edges and hilt. It’s all one continuous line, with metal so black and matted that you almost moan. “I don’t have much on me, but.. I’ll give you whatever you want for this.” 

“Keep it.” 

What? 

“It’s yours.” 

There’s no way he’s just gonna gift this to you. It’s perfectly crafted in material you can’t even find in Crane. And they have almost every class of ore in existence. 

Who even is this man? 

“Yoongi, this is…” You shake your head while extending it back. “I can’t just take this.” 

“You can.” He fiddles with the bracelet on his wrist. “I did.”

Oh. Charming. The weapon you’re being gifted is stolen goods. “Well, in that case, I really can’t accept it.” 

But goddamn, this is more than perfect. You can’t even pluck one finger off the handle. And you can’t change the fact that it was already taken, right? Right?

“At least…” Scowling at your own crumbling morals, you mumble, “Not without good reason.”  

He looks at you over his shoulder. “Do I need a reason?” 

“No,” you reply. “But I’d like one.” 

Yoongi sighs long before moving his fingers. “I lied to you back there in the lobby.” Looking up at a clock instead of you, he works his jaw. “But this time, it really is just that.” 

“You expect me to believe you?” 

Fuck, the veins in his hands are so prominent when he laces them together. “No. But it’s better than those chopsticks you’re saving in the bathroom.”

Oh. So he saw those, too.

“Thank you,” is what you wave in white. Because that’s exactly how you feel and this one gesture does excuse some of his faults. Maybe. Or your standards have plummeted to the gutters. “I, umm. I usually keep one for self-defence. Just in case.” 

Turning it over and back again, you marvel at its light but solid weight. “But I lost mine in the last rough raid before they suddenly stopped.”

“Don’t sweat it.” 

“K.” Placing it on the closest nightstand, you go back to holding your glass between your hands. “One day I’ll pay you back somehow.” 

Yoongi shoots that down on sight. “No need.” 

“But I want to.” 

He glares before picking up his alcohol. “Anyone that owes me shit gets treated a lot different.” The drink rests in his hand like a liquid gem. “So just accept it as a gift, doll.” 

You’d laugh if you knew he was kidding. But you know he’s dead serious, so you only nod. 

It’s quiet again as you both retreat into your minds. 

Yoongi has the mental fortitude of a fortress it seems. Because he really is set on waiting until you tell him what you woke him up for, and it’s been awhile since this all started. 

But being in his presence while the night is quiet is somewhat comforting. You’re finding it easy to think about other things now, especially after he gave you so much to mull over. 

Like grey zones and how they came to be. It’s fascinating how you had no clue even though you should. Even though this whole conflict affected half the city. 

Wanting to gain more insight, you blurt your curiosity, “How long ago were the grey zones fought over? Before everything was decided?” 

“Years. Decades, at this point,” Yoongi answers, his gaze locked as you think about this timeline. “Most people don’t even bother knowing, though.”

“Why? This sounds like a big part of our history.” 

“No one cares if a Crane kills a Dragon.” His tone shifts slightly. And you wouldn’t have caught it if not for his subtle sulk. “They only resent the blood they have to wipe from the street.” 

Your lids lower all the same. Because that resonates deep within your chest, so much so that you feel your heart bend in its aching. “No one cares about us, either.” 

When Yoongi catches your look, you give a sad excuse of a smile. “Being a vendor? Especially where I am? You quickly figure out how little you matter. You as a person, I mean.” 

You slide fingers along the tiny rim of your glass, lost in the fibers of his rug more than anything else. 

Maybe you’re just a loose fiber in the rug of this city. One that will pretend to run only to be swept back into the folds. “The only things that people remember are what you offer. Anything other than that isn’t worth their time.” 

Lifting your chin, you save face. “Can’t say I won’t miss you.” May as well admit it all if you aren’t ever gonna see him again. “You were the only one that ever let me bother them.” 

“You never bothered me.” 

You look up to see him staring. Lip curled upward, you huff. “With all the looks you gave me? I find that hard to believe.” 

Yoongi doesn’t laugh in return. “What would I gain from lying?” 

Mm. That’s an interesting question. But the alcohol starts to talk for you as you have the balls to flirt. “People lie to get laid, for one.” 

“Mm.” He takes a measured sip of his glass, the last dredges of it swaying at the bottom. “Can’t say I’ve ever needed to.” 

“Shocker,” you drawl, sipping to match his pace. And it’s after this drink that you loosely admit, “This is really good, by the way.” 

“Yeah?”

“Mmhmm.” Lifting the glass to peer inside, you swirl it around before divulging a past you don’t talk about—ever. But what are rules of conversation when you want to stall? “My uncle got me into whisky a long time ago. But fruit stands don’t pay for top shelf alcohol.” 

“Where’s he at now?” 

“Uhh.” You look away. “Gone.” 

“Sorry to hear that.” 

He gets up, and you watch in silence as he makes his way to the sideboard. Stuff shifts around before he appears to pour another glass. And he stays there for a bit, black robe blending into all the dark decor. 

“Yoongi?” 

He turns. 

“Can you keep talking?” You keep your drink steady between your robed legs. Buzzed and vulnerable, you offer an explanation, “Turns out there’s a lot I wanna forget right now.”

Like endings. And future endless days without your most frustrating, most dangerous, most favorite customer. 

Yoongi pauses before walking back to the bed. When his thighs settle next to yours, he asks without much heart, “What do you wanna know.”

“You.”

His jaw shifts, and you feel a slight tug in your chest. 

Was that too forward? Probably. But you’ll take what you can get, like a last meal chosen to hit every one of your desires. “Anything you wanna tell me, of course.”

Yoongi remains quiet. Which isn’t unexpected but still a little letdown. 

“Not much to tell.” 

Ah. Just more lies then. Maybe you should stick to the original plan. “Nothing at all?”

He looks at you, planting a hand on the bed to lean a little closer. “Nothing you’d wanna hear.”

You shift between his eyes. Wondering if it’s better not knowing or if you really do wanna give in. 

Perhaps his eyes will speak for him instead. Glowing dark. Hints of ember and smoke. Years and years squeezed into those irises. 

“What if I do,” you quietly question, catching the light on his alcohol-tainted lips. 

Reaching out, you boldly place a thumb over one side, slowly brushing off excess liquid and marveling at how soft he is there. Tender, just like his name. “What if I don’t care.”

Yoongi waits for a moment before holding your wrist, the atmosphere trembling and buzzing around your shoulders. Oxygen depletes as he leans in close, his beautiful features almost touching yours. 

You feel something locking into place. Something beautiful and terrifying. And it holds you down as you feel his hair, his warmth, his—

A noise blares into the room before you can feel yourself rushing upward, your body reacting on survival instinct alone. Glasses spill onto the rug and you don’t know what’s happening but lack of sleep lack of comfort lack of everything has you ready for—

Time stops. 

Sounds muffle. 

And your eyes flash wide as you see the tip of your blade pointed straight at Yoongi’s side. 

Just as he’s poised with a gun pointed towards the door. 

It’s a phone ringing. 

A fucking. Telephone. 

What have you done?

As Yoongi slowly shifts his gaze to your outstretched hand, you tremble in severe regret. Regret that you pulled this on him with the very weapon he gave you. Regret that he knows all there is to know about how you still feel about him. 

But you didn’t mean to… You didn’t even think. And you abhor how you directed your fear at the one person that kept you alive. The one person you fucking saved. 

When Yoongi lowers his gun, he doesn’t acknowledge the guilt on your face. But as he walks away to grab his device, his gaze flicks back to you before he answers across the room. 

Shit. 

You fucked up you fucked up you fucked up. 

You weren’t lying when you said you wouldn’t care. You really weren’t. But who knows what Yoongi will think of you after that shock of a face off. 

Coming into his room was most definitely a mistake. Now you can’t wrangle your emotions for shit, head pounding with feelings and outcomes and adrenaline to the brim. 

Yoongi’s close to the wide bathroom stairs, so you can’t hear what’s being said. He does keep looking at you, though, which keeps your fingers pressed against a hilt. 

Are you in danger? Will Yoongi not want anything to do with you anymore? Is it alarming that you can’t decide which one is worse? 

The call doesn’t last long.

And as soon as he hangs up, you’re sputtering like a broken fountain, dagger still wielded as he stalks forward—phone clunking to the ground. “Who was that.” 

“No one.”

“What’s gonna happen to me.” 

“Nothing.” 

Fuck. You really did fuck everything up. Your brain is so battered that you’re gonna be skittish and paranoid for a long, long time. “Yoongi, I’m so—I didn’t mean to—It just happened—”

Forget it. It’s over. Your last interaction will haunt you forever and the only way you’ll experience what could’ve happened between you will be in your wildest darkest sweetest illest—

Burns flare at your eyes when Yoongi’s chest meets the quivering tip of your blade. 

“Stop,” you wince out, a damning tear pinging to your feet. “Just stop.” 

He starts to walk forward, which alarms you enough to step back because what the fuck is he doing! Why can’t your arms move? Why can’t you lower the fucking dagger? 

“I can’t,” you croak. “I can’t move.”

You’ve been firing on all fronts the whole day. Even in your dreams, you’re in survival mode. You can’t unlock your arms because they fight for the rest of you. Your legs propel you when the rest of you wants to give up. 

But that still doesn’t stop your heart from aching. It burns, it burns, it burns. 

When Yoongi grips your wrist, you choke on a sob. When he calls you smart, you squeeze your eyes shut in shame. And when he whispers to drop the fucking blade or he’ll do it for you, you do so after a maddening pause. 

It clunks to the ground when a gun does, and you’re suddenly spun until the backs of your knees hit something solid. 

Immediately, you’re thrust back onto dark sheets again, tears now rolling into your ears as you instinctively let Yoongi smother you whole. 

His hand slides to your inner thigh, and your mind reels when you start feeling a hardness on your stomach. Breath whooshes out of your mouth before you're covered in silk and muscle, and pleasure bursts from where he quickly devours your neck fuck.

Hands are quick to untie your robe as fire stokes your throat. 

“I won’t ask again,” he vows with a voice that rumbles. “Tell me what you fuckin’ want.” 

“Yoongi—” 

“Say it and it’s yours.” 

“Make me forget,” you shove through your teeth. “Just make me fucking forget.” 

“How.” 

Fuck lack of experience. Fuck being shy. You aren’t wasting another damn second and your emotions need all the release they can get. Loose lips, loose tongue, looser inhibitions.

The monster inside of you yanks at its chain, claws and claws at its confines screaming at you to give in. You need this. You want this, especially if Yoongi himself is gonna give it so willingly.

Just say it. Just say it.

“If this really is the last time I’ll see you…” 

Yoongi stills as your eyes lock unblinking. 

Tell him. Four words. 

“Fuck me like it.”

A proverbial chain snaps as Yoongi dives into your neck, ravishing you and sucking hard on your vein. When you yelp, your clenched legs seem to encourage, and he thrusts forward to launch you up the bed with a purpose. With intention.

All to let you know what you just got yourself into.

His fingers light little fires along your skin, burning everything in their paths up your arms, your sides, squeezing into your imperfections and latching down. His lips set your being ablaze as he keeps feasting, causing your breaths to get shorter, and shorter, and shorter. 

“So sensitive..” 

When you feel the warm swipe of a tongue, your eyes scrunch shut as you shudder. Which makes the whole thing worse for you when Yoongi chuckles dark in return. 

“I don’t think you’re ready for this.” 

“Shut up,” you huff out, grasping for his robe and raking at his sleeves. “Of course I am—Fuck.”

His thumb rolls across your exposed nipple, pinching it to make you arch right up into his chest. “You sure?” 

When the hell did he even open your robe? How did he do that so quick without you knowing? 

You bite down on your lip to keep from screaming, nodding in determination while your brows almost kiss. 

Watching your expression, Yoongi pinches again, biting his own lip while slowly spreading that shit grin. Your moan comes out more like a muted hum, which seems to displease. 

“Uh uh,” he orders. “You’re gonna be loud for me.”  

“But what if someone—” 

“They won’t.” 

He continues in his control, sliding a hand under your thigh to hitch it up before shoving it to the side. 

And you know where he’s going. But it still shocks you all the same when his fingers make contact with your slick. 

Your very, very wet slick. 

Many, many things will haunt you for life. Your experiences. Your choices. 

But right now? The only thing that will follow you to your grave is this distinct, biting, staccato batch of laughter. “You shouldn’t’ve ever come in here.” 

Breath ragged, you watch as Yoongi concentrates, exploring your cunt with his long digits and hitting every nerve with perfection. When you rub against him, he growls, lifting shiny fingers to insert right into his mouth. 

Sucking. 

Licking. 

And your eyes mirror his at once—as black and pulsing as fallen stars. 

He swoops down at the same moment you tug on his clothing, his mouth latching onto the side of your neck he hasn’t ravaged. Impatient, his hand yanks the bottom of your robe to the side, fully exposing your legs and leaking folds while you grapple with your own obstacles. 

It’s messy. It’s jilted. It’s exactly what you want. 

As soon as you find the slit in his robe, you take a brave leap and reach for his cock, not knowing what you’re gonna find but having a vague idea based on his—

Oh. What.

Fuck, he’s gonna split you in two. 

You’ve held one before. You know what they feel like. But this cannot be possible and you’re already mentally preparing yourself for your breaking point. 

“You good?” 

You snap your head right up, realizing how stunned you must be if he’s asking. “I… You’re fucking huge.” 

Yoongi doesn’t react, but that somehow makes it more attractive. Like he knows. And he doesn’t deny a thing. “That a problem?” 

“I mean… I think I’ve lived a good enough life.” 

To your surprise, the man above breaks completely as you keep blabbering, shoulders shaking alongside those stupid dimples. Those beautiful, elusive dimples. Too bad this is the last time you’ll ever see them. “Did what I wanted.. Not everything, but most of my list.” 

Yoongi’s still chuckling. And for a brief moment, you’re brought back to the days he was just a patron. Back to when you would think about him before bed, delighted to see him stop by. 

This is him. This is Yoongi with you now. 

Where was he this whole time? Was he really waiting until you answered him for real? 

You went so far into your head that you missed the change in position. So it makes you jump like hell when you realize where his teal mop of hair resides. “Wait, wait, wait. What are you doing?” 

Between your thighs, Yoongi lifts a brow, locking your legs with tough arms before you can even move. 

“Yoongi, you don’t have to—oh, fuck!” 

The first contact of his tongue on your folds makes your eyes burst, your legs effectively being pinned down in their tensing. Jolts of lust spiral from your core as he licks, sucks, twirls around your clit like it’s second nature, and you feel yourself welcoming his every thrust.

This is happening. This is happening? You’ve never done this before, not that you’ll admit it. Whatever Yoongi’s doing is completely new territory for you and you don’t ever think you’ll leave. Permanent residence. No other land to discover. 

Whines echoes throughout the room before you slap a hand over your mouth. Because the whole world will hear his name if you don’t. Especially when he adds fingers and curls them just right what the fuck! 

He makes you forget. And forget. And forget. You even forget your own name. Only his. Saying it into your palm over and over and clawing his sheets with the other. 

A low growl rumbles between your legs before you hear him purr, “Just like I fucking thought.” 

What’d he say? He didn’t say that. You’re hearing things, you’re sure of it. There’s absolutely no way Yoongi’s imagined anything about you, much less what you taste like. 

And the words keep coming as he whispers how tight you feel. How hot. How perfect you’re gonna fit him. 

While all you can utter in return is gibberish mixed with the syllables of his name. 

Pleasure rolls in waves as he learns every inch of your cunt, fingers drenched in your slick and the curves of his cheeks lathered in your scent. When he reaches beneath you to grope your ass, he gives a rough squeeze. 

“Move your fucking hand.” 

Your eyes fling wide. 

“I wanna hear you.” 

“No, I’m—there could be people—”

He clambers over you, robe wide open and revealing a body that rips your soul clean out. When he seizes your palm to shove it to the side, another monster starts to wake within your chest. 

And this one takes treacherous pleasure in those slitted eyes. 

“You’re gonna scream for me.” 

“Or else what.” 

The dark rumble. The rolling thunder. 

Your other monster is starting to match his glint. “You don’t wanna do that with me, doll.” 

“Do what?” you ask with flitting eyes. 

When all you get is a sharp smirk in return, your stomach flips in desire and excitement. So when he slaps the side of your breast, you hum high with a delighted flinch.

“Don’t say that I didn’t warn you.” 

Yes. This is what you came in here for. Your shyness will have to be comfortable with the unknown, but it’s also helping seeing Yoongi much more relaxed. 

Like a normal person. 

Especially when he leans over to open his bedside drawer, hair swaying as he grabs for what you think are condoms. 

Your hunch is right when he rights himself again, teeth nicking a wrapper before tearing it in one sweep. When you start to clench your legs together in response, he shoves them back open with a thigh, robe parting to show exactly what’s going to splice you in half. 

You’ll gladly take his amusement at your jaw unhinging. Because what you see is heaven sent. 

Yoongi says nothing as he wraps himself fully, and he continues to be silent as you whisper, 

“I wanna see you.” 

It doesn’t take long for him to understand. As his length presses against your core, he slips off his dark robe, letting it slide down equally dark sheets before pouring onto the floor. 

You’re just as quiet as he situates himself above your beating heart. Which is for the best. Your thoughts are better left unsaid. 

All you can do is grip his arm, sliding your hand up until you can finally, finally brush his hair with your own fingers. Exhaling when you discover how soft it feels. How comfort can be found in something as trivial as tendrils.

“This is helping, too,” you murmur to his lips, inhaling what you realize is your own scent. 

When he cradles your chin, your breath cuts. “Things happen when you say what you want.” 

“If only it was always that easy.”

“It is with me.” 

Your heart skips twice before tripping on itself, and you instinctively curl your palm against his head. “Everyone around you must be so lucky.” 

An eyebrow lifts before he huffs. “Not talking about just anyone, love.” 

…Huh? 

What does he mean by that because shit you’re getting tugged forward he’s so strong—

“Now, if you’re gonna be difficult,” Yoongi warns. “Let’s give you enough time to reconsider.” 

Your thighs widen as he positions himself at your entrance, cockhead rubbing along your folds as you tense. 

“Uh uh.” He hums. “This is what you want, yeah?”

“It’s been awhile,” you spat, rolling your eyes when he shoots you a knowing look. “Just… give me a second.” 

Obliging, Yoongi starts slow, making your head roll into the pillow as you accommodate his girth. Holy fuck, he’s big. But he’s sliding in easy after his little feast down there, which you piece together as one big prep for the main course. 

“Fuck,” he groans, resisting every urge to plow straight into you. At least, from what you can decipher in his pinched features. If this feels amazing for you, you can’t even imagine what he must be feeling now. It only gives you butterflies knowing he’s following through with his word. “So fucking tight.” 

“Not my fault you take up… so much space,” you grit through your teeth, neck straining as you blow air to the ceiling. 

Fully sheathed, Yoongi rests inside until your muscles relax. And you only peel your eyes open when you start to slip into more pleasure than anything else. 

Okay. You can do this. You can fit him surprisingly well—maybe too well—and you’re okay to keep going without restraint. 

When you peer down your body, you expect him to look bored or indifferent. Like he’s wasting time dealing with you. 

So it makes you shiver when Yoongi looks ready to ruin. 

Toned arms flex at his sides, hands keeping your thighs held in their place. When a strand of vibrant hair falls, his chains spark in the moonlight streaming in from the windows. A dragon that waits. And waits.

You’re ready. Your demise will be your reward. 

“I’m good,” you assure him. “You can move now—”

A second invisible chain snaps with a clink, and Yoongi launches into a thrust that has you seeing stars. You tumble through the dark as he thrusts again, mouth open with silent yells before you gnaw right into your lip. 

“Relax for me,” he commands. “Just like that.” 

Your cunt hugs him tight as you bounce even harder, his little grunts of praise making you mewl and whimper in bursts. 

Fucking hell, this feels good. 

You cannot wait to find out how it’ll feel when you piss him off. 

His hands grip your hips, hosting you up onto his thighs as he thrusts hard into your cunt. Your body rocks in an arch, limp and at his mercy—which there is very little of. Enchanted, your  lip tightens with the pull of your teeth, eyes squeezing shut as he feels so fucking good and hitting. Just. Right. 

It all carries you so far gone that as soon as you feel a rush of air, the sting on your ass makes you react—piercing moan making both of you freeze.

And Yoongi’s eyes deepen a shade as he slowly grins. “There you go.” 

“Don’t act like you—fuck!” His second swat has you grunting through your teeth, and his thrust forward at the same time he does it again has you whining. Monosyllabic, his name shoves out of your lungs, with each part more chipped than the next. 

“What’s that, love?”

“Yoongi, please—”

“That’s right.” He clutches your sides so damn rough. “Say my fuckin’ name.” 

And his pace pitches you into the sun, rocking so hard you won’t be surprised if the bed frame snaps in half. In thirds. In sevenths. Your legs go completely limp as he drives in, filling you and hitting a spot that pierces your eyes with stars and light and lust. Down down down you spiral, up up up you go. It’s only you and him now, with Yoongi plowing into you like his life ends come morning. 

There’s nothing in the world that feels like this. Burdened by the dangerous weight of a man—this man—while feeling so light you could float? Absolutely nothing can compare. 

Your body finally rests as he stops, but you get no breather as he flips you over with strong arms. Disoriented, you squeak as he tugs you backward, your ass rising in the air as your head is shoved into luxury cotton. 

Sweet pain sears your ass again, and you gasp with wide eyes as you feel his cock at your entrance. “What are you—”

“Lift up. Higher.” He slides his dick up your folds. “You’re gonna like this.” 

“You don’t speak for me—”

He thrusts into you as soon as you get accustomed to his length and size. And the place his thumb presses makes you scream into your pillow. His pillow. A hotel suite pillow that you’re biting to stay afloat. 

How the fuck does that feel so good? How does all of this feel so good? His thumb on your asshole already has you melting, but the smacking of his sack against your clit makes you want to repent.

“So fucking—fuck.”

Drool strings from your mouth as your arms are tugged at the elbows, your whole upper body coming up for air. Precious precious air that’s cut off when Yoongi chokes you from behind.

“Yoo—!”

His strength slams your chest into the headboard, right at the edge of the bed before you feel the force of his palm hit the wall. 

“What did I fucking say.”

“A lot.”

“I’m gonna hear you.”

“But—”

He shoves you flush against dark wood, your cheek smushing hard and your lips curling. “Let them hear you, too.” 

You keep your moans muted until fingers are shoved down your throat. And you gargle until he yanks them out. 

“That’s it. I know you can take it.”

“You’re easier…” Gritting your teeth in a smug grin, you taunt in a bold-faced lie, “Easier to take than I thought.”  

His laughter is not lighthearted. “You’re still gonna go there, huh.” 

“I don’t know what you mean,” you pout, eyes drooping from the euphoric shocks his thrusts provide. Sweat rolls down your arms as you slip on the wall, but it gives your chest a cool surface to rest. “Go where?” 

Suddenly, the grinding stops. And your cunt feels abandoned as he pulls out so fast. When you think to spin around, he spanks your ass with a harsh, “Don’t move.” 

Do you want to disobey? Yes. But you’re more curious than anything, so do as he says.

And your eyes light up when you realize what he comes back with. 

“Now… I could use this,,” he warns, pressing a silky smooth robe tie along your neck. “Since you don’t wanna behave.”

“Do it,” you taunt, wishing like hell that he does. Yes, yes, yes. You’re drunk on lust and volcanic want and you will fight for nothing more. “You won’t.” 

Your neck is rocked back before you feel him slap your ass. “Then stay still.” 

And you obey as you feel your belt—or his, either one—wrap loosely around your column before it’s tied. 

Gently, your chin is turned, and you’re surprised when you’re met with stern eyes. “Can you breathe.” 

Blinking, you nod. “Yeah, I can.” 

“Two taps if you’re out, understand?” 

“Yes.” 

A swift pat to your cheek. “What’d I say.” 

“Two taps,” you repeat, figuring out fast that you’re liking this development a little too much. “If I’m out.” 

Holy fuck the yank you feel is exhilarating, your body bending back as shock overcomes your senses. 

Lidded eyes staring down at yours, he vows, “You better make them count or we never do this again.” 

“I will, I will,” you rasp out, breath still coming to you fine albeit a little more harshly. “I promise.” 

“Good girl.”  

Wait, did he say again? 

As he slips right back inside, you lose all passing trains of thought. Cunt filled while his fingers clog your mouth makes you traverse to another plane. Every part of you, at his mercy—

Then he yanks you backward and all that mercy burns in the flames of heaven. Flocks to the clouds of hell.

The belt is completely taut as you succumb to his thrusts. Hard. Fast. Rough thrusts make you cry out as he toys with you, gravelly hums tumbling down your back as you arch for him. All the sounds you make echo throughout the room, a symphony of mewls and moans as Yoongi controls your every move. 

“Take it.”

“Hmm?”

“You want it,” he repeats. “So take it.”

Oh. Oh, he wants you to—Oh.

You start moving back and forth, doing exactly as he says. Taking what’s yours for the night and shamefully not forever.

But it turns out it’s not enough because he tugs. 

“Like you fucking mean it.”

Fuck.

Groaning, you move with more intention, sliding up and down his cock and feeling full every time. It feels good having control, you muse, and imagining him watching your debauchery turns you on that much more.

Your thrusts turn to rough slams, friction running fast while you chase it with all your strength. The groans you hear sound primal, hissed taunts egging you on.

“Guess you can listen after all.” 

“Fuck you.”

Another hard yank. 

Your laugh only spurns him on. 

Slaps to your ass, grabs to your breasts. Yoongi is worshipping every inch of you and you won’t even notice this until nights later when you’re alone. You’ll remember the way he squeezes just right, the way he fits so well, the places he hits with no hesitation nor guesswork. It’s pure experience strangling you with passion and you don’t even know how to embrace it all.

But then you start to feel it. Your breath tapering. It’s getting harder and harder to suck in air and you’re starting to see stars across your eyes. 

When you reach an alarming point, you quickly slap his leg twice, oxygen gushing into your lungs right as he lets go. 

You almost come on that exhilaration alone. Adrenaline pumps pumps pumps into your veins, eyes blowing black as he spins you around.

Hot, open mouth kisses pepper your burning throat, and you have the nerve to catapult him all the way back onto the bed. 

Yoongi lets you top him with a laugh, and you immediately use this opportunity to pin him down with a chokehold. Wanting him to feel the same way you just did. Knowing deep in your soul that he wants it, too.

“Cute.”

“You asshole.” 

Holy fuck, you can’t even recognize your own voice. It’s hoarse. It’s rugged. 

It’s salacious.

He cocks a brow while peering down his nose. “You done?”

“What?” You blink. Slowly releasing his neck, you admit with a rasp, “No, that’s not what I.. I’m not done with you.” 

Yoongi slides into a smirk, and you attempt to scoff with a burning throat. 

You wanna tell him how good he is. How stupidly attentive he is. But all you settle for is something neutral. Safe. And maybe a little forward. 

“Just felt like calling you that.” 

Yoongi’s smile mellows into a line, and if you weren’t in such an evocative position, you would have thought it was genuine contemplation. But he slides hands up your thighs before slapping the side of your ass. “Get on.” 

Fuck. You don’t really know how. At least, you don’t know how to do it without showing him you aren’t used to it. 

So the confidence will keep getting faked. With a little help of your quick wit and tongue as you grab his length. “Didn’t hear a please.” 

Yoongi huffs out amusement. “I don’t say that.” 

His tip goes in fine. Fuck. Okay. You can do this you can do this. “Why am I not surprised—!” 

He shoves you down as soon as you give him enough leeway, and you groan out as you catch yourself with hands on his chest. 

“This is where you’re gonna live,” he says with confidence, laughing in condescension when you scowl. “Fuckin’ love it.” 

He can’t say stuff like that. 

You ride until you find a rhythm, rolling your body and finding the friction you want. It’s there for the taking. And he’s encouraging you with gravelly words and hums, with hands up your stomach and grasping your chest. 

After a single swirl of your hips, he throws his bed back until his neck strains. “Fuck.”

So you take that cue, rotating between rides and swirls. When he tweaks and rolls thumbs around your nipples, you clench hard around him, and he does it until you moan to the ceiling. 

A slap to your breast makes you whine, and you keep going before leaning forward, placing hands against his shoulders and bouncing your hips on his cock. 

“—a fucking natural,” Yoongi praises, chuckling to himself as he toys with the silk streaming down your neck. 

“Maybe I’ve just practiced.” 

“Show me more then.” 

Quickly, he tugs you down flush against him before grabbing your ass, slamming you down and pistoning up until you scream.

You start biting his shoulder to quell your shouts, which makes him moan loud enough to make you possessive. Wildly possessive. Before long, you feel yourself going limp on him, only for him, solely for his pleasure and yours. 

“Just like that. There you go.” 

You mewl into his skin as he grabs you, holding you down as he slams into you again and again and again. Drunk with power, you begin to mark his throat, devouring and feasting with reckless abandon.

Growling ragged, Yoongi flips your position and pins you face down, shoving up hard into your cunt before plowing. You fully lean into the yells now, saying his name and inching over the goddamn edge of the bed.

It’s there. Your release. It’s potent and it’s visceral and it’s everything you need need need—

“Yoongi, I’m close—”

He penetrates so far that you can taste him, and you come so harshly that you convulse. Squeezing like hell and quivering in a full body fold.

Holy shit, the screams. Is that you? 

The sinister laughs of pride prove you right. “That’s my girl. Fucking scream.”

You can’t stop. All you know is extreme pleasure coursing through your veins, pulsing beautiful colors and making you arch like mad. 

But you have more to handle. Yoongi prolongs your euphoria by yanking you back only to sink into you again, hands rubbing both nipples and tongue speaking deadly sins in your ear.

“You aren’t done,” he growls. “Lemme hear you again.” 

“I can’t—”

“Liar.”

His name rips from your mouth as you surprise yourself, gushing around his length and squeezing in powerful pulses. Nothing exists. Nothing at all. Everything you know is a feeling, as vibrant and shimmering as the sun above your street back home. 

All the heat you’ve ever felt coalesces along your skin, and the words whispered in your ear slide right down with your sweat. You aren’t quite sure what you hear. But judging by your preening, it has to be praise. Dirty, dirty, sinful praise. 

When your limp weight is flipped, you allow your legs to be hoisted up with no resistance. Looking upward, you peel open lids to the equivalent of a king. A god. And your outright awe blocks your ears from catching what your dragon swears. 

“—perfect,” he grits, inserting himself into your squelching folds. “Again.” 

No fucking way you have more left in you. You’re already floating in the ether, buzzing in pleasure and sweat and ecstasy. If you come one more time you’ll be an empty shell. 

“Earn it,” you boldly rasp out, grappling a bit of your spirit and reining it back one last time. “Take it, you bi—”

Your heart leaps up your throat as you’re pitched upward, groan serrated and high as you grin in triumph because it feels so fucking rewarding when he gives gives gives. 

Letting everything go relaxes your folds, causing Yoongi to rock into you with pride and without resistance. His chain smacks against his pecs at the same pace as your bouncing chest, and you’re more than sure you’re gonna feel bruises on your legs where he sinks his claws.

Skin slapping skin. Mewls and gritted curses. Heady scent covers them all in a thick layer and you feel the light grow closer and closer, stronger this time than all the others before it. Why? Why do you know this one will pitch you over the edge for good? 

Both of you may feel the same. 

Because Yoongi suddenly shoves himself so far into you and presses his body flush against your shuddering shaking screaming form.

You pulse frantically around him, throat sore and ragged from your final cry as tears stream down your face. It feels so fucking gorgeous that it hurts, and you enter a plane so mystical it’s completely separate from your earthly vessel. The two of you become closer than one, and you feel Yoongi stutter in his groan before yanking out and ripping the condom off.

Hot spurts paint your skin—a sweaty, spent canvas that dips slow with your labored breaths. His own breathing is rough but not exhausted, and you chalk that up to the mountain of stamina and experience he has on you. 

It’s done. 

Thoroughly spent.

All the pent up emotions dissipate in a slow descent. The chaos of today finally lowers its head, your monsters making their ways back into their cages. Moonlight shines brighter. Fuller. 

Illuminating a man in silver as he slowly heads into the bathroom. 

Holy fuck. You just slept with a gangster. With a Dragon.

With Yoongi.

There’s no way you can forget this. No way you can see yourself moving past this moment, even years and lifetimes from now. It doesn’t matter if Yoongi never thinks about you again, because something transpired in this room that you’ll keep locked away in your soul forever. 

As he brings back a towel to wipe his essence from your skin, you wonder. 

Was it all worth it? 

Or will this torture you in every dream you’ll ever have? 

A palm digs into the mattress before you feel weight and jewelry. The silk around your throat is carefully undone, and lazy, heated lips descend on your neck once more.

Bliss.

Sighing, you utter his name much softer now, telling him please without knowing what for. 

“What do you want,” he whispers.

“I don’t know,” you admit in a wisp. 

Yoongi keeps worshipping your throat, and you mewl when he reaches to rub your breast in a slow squeeze. When you drag your hand down to grip his cock, he tenses with a gritty hum. 

“Careful, love,” he rumbles. “There’s a lot more I can do with you.” 

“Tell me.” Your breath starts shorting in anticipation. “Tell me everything.” 

“Nah.” When he slides forward, the bare tip of him meets your cunt, causing you to flinch with a bitten lip. “You’re just gonna have to wonder. Day, after day, after day.”

Fuck this guy with the spite of a thousand lives. You’re the one holding his cock, so how the fuck is he still being this sure of himself? 

“Put it in,” you blurt, earning his gaze of utter confusion. 

“What?” 

“Just for a second.” You stroke him, feeling slick velvet and wetness coating your fingers. “That’s the last thing I want.” 

His eyes search yours, and for the first time tonight, he’s the one that looks hesitant. “You sure…?” 

“We’ll never do this again,” you whisper. “And I know you want it, too.” 

His gaze holds yours for a moment, searching your eyes for any sense of doubt. 

When he finds none, Yoongi positions himself at your entrance, and you feel his knuckles brush your folds before he sinks in. Slowly, cautiously, extraordinarily. 

And both of you groan so full. 

“Fuck,” Yoongi glowers, teeth sharp as he grounds them hard. His arm veins strain, shifting all his ink in pretty ebbs and flows. All his stomach snaps taut, and you can’t look away from his sheer look of concentration and lust. “Fuck.” 

“Feels so good,” you gasp, enjoying the way he’s slowly grinding against your walls. All the slick from your releases allows smooth strokes, and you already feel close for yet another time. An unbelievable amount of orgasm in such a short span. You’ll never reach this peak. Not with anyone else. “What the fuck, I’m close again—”

“Shit—”

It happens in a snap. But more of a mellowed, drawn-out river flow than a full waterfall. Your eyes slowly roll before closing, and your chest arches slow as you rock back and forth on his cock. The squeezes are harder. The pulses are fuller. You’re milking him for all he’s worth, like your cunt won’t let go until it’s pumped him dry. 

Which makes Yoongi lose his absolute mind, hissing as he pulls out quick before spilling onto you all over again. Again? 

Holy fuck, again? 

As he groans up above, his eyes are wiped dark completely. Which makes you wonder how you can still see stars embedded inside. 

Was it all worth it? 

You’ve never been more achingly sure.

It’s a long shot to know if he feels the same. And an even longer one for that to truly be the case. 

But it’s okay. 

This is the first, the last, the only time you have. And it was more than you could’ve ever asked for. 

As he falls into the sheets next to you, both of you exhale harsh, hearts pounding and pounding into the bed and to the ceiling. 

You can’t even move. Every single limb is sore from base to tip, and the door looks so, so far away. 

When you whisper his name, you get a little acknowledgement at your side. Gathering all the strength you have left, you whisper, 

“I know this is when I’d be kicked out, but.. I can’t move.” 

The small puff of air you get in return sounds like a yes. But you aren’t sure until Yoongi verbally gives you a real answer, 

“S’ok.” 

All you can do is hum, noticing with a sharp pang that you feel soft towel wipes before the smooth slide of sheets up your bare skin. 

“Just stay on your side.” 

Ah. 

Well. At least you aren’t alone for a night. 

“And you.. Stay on yours,” you murmur, darkness seeping into your peripherals. 

“Mm.”

Yoongi can be as cold and heartless and calculating as he wants. But you know he’s more than what he shows. 

Because with a second sharp hit to the chest, you also realize the side you’re on is the side he was on before. He’s not gonna make you move just to keep his preference. 

Don’t think too much about it. Do not. 

“I wish everything was different,” you whisper, drifting into a dreamless sea. “I don’t want to hate you...” 

Your forehead is swept by a warm hand. You cannot lift your lids any longer, but your ears still hang onto their efforts. 

And the last thing you hear before succumbing to the dark is a lighter flick and a fact. A cold, expected, damning fact. 

“You’ll always hate me.” 

When you wake, you’re greeted by the same room you fell asleep in. 

Sunlight cuts through grey skies to shine every surface, and you breathe in a musky, comforting scent as you stretch your limbs. 

Did last night really happen? 

The soreness between your bare legs is more than enough to prove so. 

Slowly turning, you whisper to Yoongi that you’re ready to go when he is. 

Only to find out that you’re talking to no one. 

Shit.

Shooting up, you start to panic. Maybe he’s in the living room already? Getting ready to call someone to bring you back home? 

Glancing at the nightstand on his side, you don’t spot the dagger he gifted you, brain grappling with what that could possibly mean. 

Your ribs crackle when you bite back emotion. It’s all over. 

Shifting back to swing your feet onto cold fibers, you pause with swimming eyes. 

Because the blade rests ready on your nightstand, propped on a set of plain clothes in the perfect position you would need it to be.

Teeth clenched and eyes burning, you swipe it before rushing out of bed, head pulsing and a dull ache between your legs. “Fuck..” 

The shirt and pants you’re given don’t exactly fit, but you’ll take what you can get as you punch limbs through long sleeves and high pants. 

Yoongi isn’t here. 

You feel it in your whole being, and you have no fucking clue why it hurts. 

But if he’s not here…

Who do you start to hear outside the door? 

You freeze, lungs expanding as you hold multiple breaths. 

It sounds like talking. But also a myriad of sounds? 

Heading into the bathroom, you silently glide across the floor before swiping up the chopsticks. Because yes, you’re still gonna save them. For defence. For keepsakes. For a grave reminder. 

Tucking them in a pocket, you ready your dagger under your garment, pressing it flat against your skin like you were trained to do. 

Slipping out into the hallway, you hear the sounds clearer. Movement. Slides of furniture. 

What the hell is going on? 

You’re about to retreat back into the room when a man crosses in front of the hall. 

And his hair is strikingly… 

Orange?

As he catches you in his vision, he stops on a dime, hand outstretched in greeting. “Hello!” 

Your step back makes him laugh. But you’re not laughing in the slightest as you question, 

“Where’s.. Where’s Agust?” 

“Gone.” The smile spreading makes you squint. “Need to see him?” 

Your answer is immediate.

“I’d rather die.”

-

-

⟶ what do we feel! | 🥢 join the taglist 🥢 | masterlist

a/n: alright before i say anything else: use the bathroom after sex, and especially after doing it unprotected!! i normally include it so this is a rare exception. but yes. please use the bathroom after, and practice safe sex always! a/n 2: WHO COULD THAT BE AT THE END THERE... ahahah but seriously, i for one am still swirly eyed just thinking about what's coming for these two.. they have no idea what's in store and i'm itching to get the next part done! a/n 3: if there's something you liked about this or a line/scene/whatever thing you enjoyed, feel free to let me know! feedback is never expected, but always appreciated. if the interest level is high, that adds motivation like no other. thank you all for reading! ++ feedback box: ⇥ of course, any reblogs/comments/messages are appreciated! ⇥ for the ones that are too shy to reblog with a review, comment on this, or send a message, i went ahead and made another anonymous form where you can send in what you think! ⇥ no emails collected, no need to put in a username. it’s literally just a comment dropbox :D feedback can be as short/sweet or as long as you’d like! ⇥ here! ++ more links: ⇥ masterlist  ⇥ minted masterlist

[darkmatilda]

𝐝𝐢𝐯𝐨𝐫𝐜𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬 | 𝐬.𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: who would’ve thought a drunken vegas wedding would have consequences? well, definitely not spencer—at least not in the moment he went through with it. but now he has to do something about it, sign the right papers, and overcome the dozens of excuses that, for some unknown reason, are starting to form in his head.

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬/𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: spencer reid x diva!chemist reader, aftermath of The One In Vegas fic — but you don’t need to read that one first, all you need to know is that the imbeciles got married in vegas, reader’s cat is seriously ill :(( but pulls through and they take care of her together hihi you know the secretly dating trope what about secretly married trope??

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 4.2k

𝐚/𝐧: request masterlist

It's been two months.

Time flies right? Bullshit. You can say it about some fresh relationship with an intensive honeymoon phase where one day you wake up thinking, oh, it's been two months already! Or about a cat you adopted. Who at the beginning was a tiny little crumb, a speck of sweet cake and suddenly as if overnight transformed into a dignified, refined lady cat looking at everything with alert little eyes (Spencer, as a cat dad himself could confirm)

But you couldn't say that about a wedding you took two months ago in Vegas by mistake. With a woman you hated could barely stand tolerated enjoyed being around just sometimes. And you still hadn't gotten a divorce.

And, as it turned out, you weren’t planning to.

But how Spencer and his irreplaceable, gorgeous friend from work came to that decision, you’ll find out in a moment.

*

“Avoiding me?”

Spencer had just poured the last spoonful of sugar into his coffee, grabbed it, and the moment he turned around, he ran into her and her question. He hadn’t even heard her approach, nor sensed her presence behind his back. So, of course he jumped, and a few drops of coffee landed on the sleeve of his shirt. He cursed.

“Am I that terrifying?” she asked with a snort.

Spencer shot her a look full of frustration. It was his favorite shirt!

“No, you just for some unknown reason have to sneak up on me. Like you’re planning to slip arsenic into my coffee.”

“You think I’m in such a hurry to become a widow?”

Hearing those words, he stopped worrying about the stain on his shirt and froze in place, catching her gaze. She also suddenly turned serious—actually, in a split second—which made him start to suspect that she had been that way ever since she walked up to him, just hiding it behind a few sarcastic remarks. She stood in front of him, perfectly straight posture, arms crossed over her chest, and as always, her chin slightly tilted up. Yes, she was deadly serious. But it was hard to expect any other attitude from her, considering what they finally had to talk about.

It was the first time they’d seen each other after returning from Vegas. At work. In the morning. She was right, he had been avoiding her a bit. The weight of the whole situation turned out to be too much, and besides, he needed time to figure out whether all of it hadn’t just been a dream he’d had during some deathly serious fever.

Confronted, Spencer looked at her face not very intelligently, his mind filled with black. He had no idea how they were supposed to have this conversation. She suddenly nodded slightly.

“If that’s what you think, you’re absolutely right,” she said. “I’m in a hurry to become a widow. That’s why I came to talk to you, because we have to finally do something about this…”

“I think you meant to say divorcée. Not widow. The word widow clearly suggests…”

“Whereas the word husband means you don’t interrupt me when I’m speaking…”

“Since when…”

“Since always. Shows I’m your first wife if you don’t know such basics.”

Reid’s brain fogged up like he’d stumbled upon some mysterious equation whose solution was beyond even his math skills. And that didn’t happen often.

“I’d prefer if you didn’t use the word wife in our context.”

“Why not? It’s the truth. I’m your wife now, even if it’s only temporary.”

He set his coffee mug back on the counter so he could cross his arms over his chest and fixed her with an analytical look, which she had no problem returning.

“Careful. Or I’ll start thinking that somewhere deep down you actually like the way this is turning out.” 

First, she parted her lips, automatically, ready to answer immediately, sharply. Then the words must have really hit her, because she closed them again. But Spencer didn’t even have time to relish the triumph of having successfully silenced her (something he practically never managed to do, unless his own mouth also stayed shut) when her eyes widened, and her brows shot to the middle of her forehead. With pity.

“Now that was brilliant, genius,” she snorted, shaking her head slightly from side to side. Right after, she snorted again. “Go on, say I dragged you by force to that Vegas chapel. The beginning of my master plan, poor Spencer fell victim to it. And then, from grief and devastation, went to bed with me...”

He held out his hand in a stopping gesture, to steer the conversation back to its original course because they didn’t have much time, yeah, that was the reason.

“We’re getting off topic,” he noted instructively, ignoring her next snort that followed right after his words. He drew more air into his lungs, as for a short moment they both fell silent, and the air in the empty kitchen thickened.

When he spoke again, he made sure his voice was quieter. Not just because he wanted to give it the proper seriousness—but also because he didn’t want, couldn’t allow anyone to accidentally overhear it. On that, at least, they agreed.

“We’re getting a divorce, right? Like we agreed on…y’know, back then.”

He was fully ready to take the hit of her ironic no, let’s stay married till death do us part, but it didn’t come, which was enough to tell him that she, too, wanted out of this complicated, stupid mess they’d gotten themselves into.

She nodded once, but firmly.

“As soon as I get home, I’ll print the paperwork,” she announced. “So, we’ll just meet later, all we need is both our signatures since we both want it and don’t have any kids or anything like that. Then we file it with the court and we’re free. We don’t even have to dress up, but personally, I think we should as we never got the chance to go all out for our wedding outfit—”

Spencer cut her off, inhaling a huge gulp of air through his nose, realizing something.

 “I can’t,” he said.

 Her eyebrows rose at him.

 ‘What do you mean you can’t...’

“I can’t meet with you today,” he clarified, as he had meant to from the start. He rubbed his forehead with a sigh. “We have another case, and we’re flying out…literally in half an hour. I just wanted to grab a coffee before we left. We might even be gone for a few days.”

His voice softened unintentionally, like he was trying to cushion the potential explosion from her end—oh, it was definitely coming. One look at her clenched jaw was enough.

 And it wasn’t even his fault!

“You’ve got to be kidding me…” the woman began through gritted teeth, but didn’t finish—

because someone else cut her off mid-sentence.

“Good morning, guys. How’s your day going? ’Cause mine’s just fantastic,” Morgan strolled into the kitchen with a near-dance in his step—one that hadn’t left him since his girlfriend said yes to his proposal. He paused, a smirk playing on his lips as his gaze drifted over their faces. “Okay, clearly not that fantastic. Sparks are flying around your heads. What’s it this time?”

“None of your business,” they snapped at the exact same time.

His eyebrows shot up. He wasn’t offended. He looked at them more like he was observing some strange behavioral exhibit.

“Two of my friends are fighting, so yeah it kinda is my business. At least to some degree. But seriously now, what’s going on with you two? You’ve been acting weird ever since we got back from Vegas.”

Like the worst actors in the world, they whipped their panicked gazes toward each other.

Spencer’s look screamed he knows! He knows! Do something!

Hers, on the other hand, was clearly yelling stop making it so obvious, don’t panic like a little boy!

And actually, she was the first to pull herself together, squaring her shoulders and shifting her gaze to Morgan with stoic calm.

“We’re acting weird?” she asked, tilting her head toward him, accusatorially. “You’re the one acting weird. Walking around all sunshine and rainbows. Only thing missing are the little hearts floating over your head.”

Unfazed, Morgan spread his arms.

“Happy relationship, happy man,” he summarized.

She gave him a sarcastic smile.

“Don’t worry, it all fades after the wedding.”

He smiled back, just as sarcastically.

 “And what would you know about that?”

“Well,” Spencer began, feeling obligated to take his temporary wife’s side, “if you look at it statistically…”

“What would either of you know about that?”

This time, they waited until he left the kitchen before exchanging a silent look.

*

Another two weeks had passed and it was only just starting to sink in for Spencer that he had a wife — and what’s more, he was finding himself more and more fascinated by that fact.

Okay, he didn’t want to sound silly, but sometimes he did imagine what his life would look like after getting married, and usually those visions were shaped by what he saw around him, the people he knew, what he’d read in books or seen in movies. Either way, he had never expected that 1) it would be someone he wasn’t even in a relationship with, and 2) they wouldn’t actually see each other after the wedding!

The case they had been working on dragged on horribly, and once it was wrapped up, they both got swept away by their own responsibilities. And if they saw each other at all, it was exactly because of that. The topic of divorce just hovered above them, somewhere in the back of their minds.

Just like in the back of his mind there was always wow, you're a married guy now, Reid. All the time — even though the marriage was literally just a piece of paper — he kept catching himself directing those words at himself.

How many times had he sat on the jet with the team, in total silence, staring at each of his friends in turn while thinking none of them know I have a wife!

He didn’t flirt with women, didn’t go on dates, but he knew that if he did decide to — or even tried — he’d feel bad about it.

One time he and Morgan were sent to a bar to talk to some witnesses, and one of the women there kept getting closer to him, accidentally brushing against his arm or shoulder, trying to catch his eye — and he didn’t respond, because he was too busy dissociating and wondering whether, theoretically speaking this would count as cheating?

He wondered if she ever felt the same way, at least sometimes. It really made him wonder, and after a while he came to the conclusion that there was a significant chance she didn’t.

And for reasons he couldn’t quite explain, that left him with an unpleasant feeling.

Spencer eventually came to the conclusion that the whole marriage situation was simply too overwhelming for his overanalyzing brain, so when they finally managed to schedule a time to sign the divorce papers, he accepted it with a certain sense of relief.

He hadn’t even made it to her apartment — hadn’t even left his own — when he got an unexpected call from her, suggesting that their plans for the evening were going to be a little different.

Because divorce didn’t usually involve a veterinary clinic…right?

When he arrived, any thoughts of signing anything were quickly — very quickly — pushed aside, not just because of the circumstances, but also because of the look on her face when they finally came face to face.

“What happened?” he asked, not even trying to hide his concern. Her cat was also his cat — the one he’d personally pulled out of a dumpster a few months ago and since neither of them had much time on their hands, they’d decided to care for her together.

Her arms were crossed, not in a dominant way but more as if seeking some semblance of comfort, and one of her legs was bouncing slightly in place,a detail he noticed in passing.

“Marie was acting strange since the morning,” she began. Her voice wasn’t trembling, but it was significantly lacking its usual strength. The same went for her expression — tense, clearly balancing on the edge between deep worry and fear, crossing that line over and over again. She took a shallow breath and forced herself to continue with a slight nod of her head, her arms crossing tighter over her chest.

“She was apathetic, didn’t want to eat. Then the vomiting started and…I don’t know, it seemed really serious. And don’t look at me like that, it’s not like last time.”

Last time they’d gone to the vet and it had turned out the cat was fine, the whole thing just her premature panic. But Spencer flinched, surprised she snapped at him, since not for a moment had he looked at her with suspicion or condescension — still, he felt guilty anyway and quickly protested, shaking his head.

“I know,” he assured her honestly, even meeting her gaze, which quickly caught onto the contact with some surprise, but also a bit of softening. “Even if it’s a false alarm, it’s good that you’re here. Do we know anything?”

She shook her head with another anxious breath.

So they waited together, not breaking the silence even once — not when they sat there, not even when they were leaving the clinic an hour later, having found out that Marie would have to stay for at least a few days because she had contracted feline panleukopenia.

A dangerous disease in cats.

Spencer glanced uncertainly at her profile while she kept her eyes fixed straight ahead, and he wondered whether she was scanning the parking lot for their car or if her thoughts had drifted somewhere far away. He had no idea what to say—he didn’t want to throw out a casual hey, everything’s gonna be fine because he knew it would sound dishonest when he himself wasn’t sure, and besides, it would definitely earn him one of her hard looks that clearly meant shut up.

So he cleared his throat and decided to go with something that always resonated with both of them. Science.

“Panleukopenia has a very high mortality rate, that’s true,” he began, making sure to follow up quickly before the weight of that first sentence could fully land. “But the older the cat, the better they fight it. The worst cases are usually in kittens under five months, and Marie’s over a year old, she’s well nourished, actually, she eats better than I do thanks to you. Besides, she’s a strong cat, remember when she…oh, okay—”

She hugged him. The kind of hug one gives a pillow after a cruel day, wrapping her arms around him, and he was almost sure she locked them behind his back. At first, he must have made a terrible pillow, stiff with surprise and general lack of practice at being touched, but he quickly found it in himself to get better at it. Surprisingly better, placing a hand on the back of her head where it rested against him, and started to wonder if maybe he was generally better at giving hugs than he’d always thought he was.

“When she gets better I’m adopting her fully,” she said, the words muffled against his body and clothing. He furrowed his brows, not quite sure what she meant. “Marie. I’ll even quit my job. Become a full-time cat mom. “

Spencer, recognizing the tension still in her voice but catching the self-soothing joke beneath it, let out a short snort and added, “Of course you will. Giving up partying too?”

“You bet I will.”

He nodded, signaling he didn’t believe her. Then realized she couldn’t see that. Right.

But before she pulled away — which he wasn’t rushing her to do — one last thing came to his mind. He decided to bring it up, taking advantage of the slightly lighter mood, because well, they had to eventually.

“About those divorce papers, we could sign them to-”

She didn’t let go of him, but jerked her head up abruptly to shoot him a disbelieving, angry look.

“How dare you think about divorce when our baby might be dying?”

Spencer blinked, not very intelligently.

The woman pulled away from him, crossing her arms over her chest — this time in an authoritative, offended gesture.

 “I don’t even want to hear about it until she gets better,” she snapped. “All the way better. I’ve got enough on my plate, and I’m not going to think about it right now.”

She walked off toward her car and sat in the driver’s seat without looking back. Spencer stood still, processing her words. I don’t want to hear about it until she gets better?Did that mean she wanted them to stay married for at least a few more weeks — since that’s how long the cat’s recovery might take?

She leaned her head out of the car, looking at him questioningly.

 “You coming or not?”

*

Did that mean she wanted them to stay married for at least a few more weeks — since that’s how long the cat’s recovery might take?

Exactly that’s what she meant. And, amusingly, over time, he completely came to understand the decision.

The following weeks turned into a true marathon for both of them at work, on top of caring for a sick cat. Especially after she was discharged from the veterinary clinic and required an even stricter diet and supervision than before. And even when they did have a spare moment or day off, they preferred to spend it resting, catching their breath — not dealing with a divorce.

Because, when it came down to it, it was just a piece of paper. It didn’t mean anything. It would be a different matter if one of them were dating someone else, maybe planning a real wedding of their own — then they’d have to deal with it. But for now? No one besides them even knew it had happened, and they could simply pretend it hadn’t.

Marriage — even an unserious one (though it was, without question, a real one) — had its perks. And it wasn’t just about taxes or health insurance; it was about something Spencer had never even thought about before, because it had never concerned him. Something he now discovered with genuine surprise.

For example, the nearby gym offered a very attractive discount for married couples.

And okay, right, he didn’t go to the gym. But what if he intended to? Maybe it was a sign from the universe to take care of his fitness, which would be a smart idea considering his job? When he had access to that discount, he had fewer reasons to postpone it. 

And he mostly mentioned that gym and the discount because the day he found out about it, they both happened to have the day off and he was considering taking care of the paperwork that very day. To get it over with before they got caught up in work again and put it off for another week.

He even printed the proper papers, but then he saw the gym poster and put them in the drawer for another half a month.

He remembered them when he was staring at how she was half-sitting, half-lying on the couch in his apartment with the cat on her lap, who kept hitting her in the face with its tail, making her close her eyes. Since their cat was recovering from illness, they decided not to stress her out further with constant changes of location, so for a while she would stay in his apartment. So when she wanted to spend time with Marie, she would just drop by, something he had already gotten used to.

Was this a good moment for a divorce? He had been thinking about it for over ten minutes, but finally sighed, acknowledging that they had to do it at some point anyway. What was even stopping him? A potential discount at a potential future gym? Oh, what an idiot he was.

"Since we're already here, just the two of us," he began. He waited until the woman opened her eyes and looked at him over the cat’s body, questioningly. He cleared his throat. "I have the divorce papers in the desk, we could sign them and get it over with. Then we’ll just need to file them in court..."

"Do you want to sign them now?" she asked.

He had expected more eagerness in her voice. Relief that they were finally getting out of that stupid drunken decision they had made almost two months ago. But he found none of that in her voice—instead, he watched as she doubtfully pushed out her lower lip.

"I was just about to leave," she announced. "I have a manicure in literally ten minutes. And you know, I’d rather read them first. Make sure that what you're putting in front of me is actually divorce papers and not, I don’t know. A pact to enslave me."

Spencer realized he was nodding enthusiastically.

"Completely understandable," he admitted, because her explanation really did make sense. It truly did. She had an appointment with her manicurist, and being late would be a bit disrespectful of her time. The next client would have to wait ten minutes longer. What if the next client had a booked flight to Italy for their cousin’s wedding? And had scheduled the manicure just in time and those ten minutes could make them late. Why should random strangers have to pay the price for their divorce? Besides, he genuinely supported reading documents before signing them. "So, well. Next time."

“Mhm,” she agreed with a hum, planting an aggressive kiss on Marie’s head before getting up from the couch and slipping her shoes back on. “Sure. Next time.”

She was already heading for the door, and Spencer pretended not to be watching her, but when she turned and caught his gaze, it instantly became clear that he had been following her with his eyes. She waited a moment before speaking.

“I added you to my car insurance policy. As my husband,” she said. Spencer’s eyes widened. “I figured you wouldn’t mind, especially considering how many times I’ve given you a ride to work lately. And, well, I’ll have to find out how this works in case of a divorce. Before we actually get one.”

Spencer was surprised, that’s true, but he adapted surprisingly quickly to this reality. After all, he wanted to use their marriage for a gym discount. Cheaper insurance wasn’t much different.

“All right,” he replied thoughtfully, biting the inside of his cheek. “No, actually, all right. That makes sense. We don’t have to do it today either, although, I don’t know when I’ll next have free time to sort it out.”

“Me too,” she admitted. “But someday we’ll have to do it.”

“So, are you planning a wedding anytime soon?” he asked, half joking, half earnestly hoping she wasn’t, since so far he believed she wasn’t seeing anyone. If she was, things could get complicated.

“No,” she answered seriously. “You?”

He let his shrugged arms be his silent answer to that obvious question.

They stayed silent for a moment, looking at each other. Meanwhile, someone was running late for a cousin’s wedding in Italy, but that wasn’t important right now. The question was probably burning on his tongue, but he was afraid to ask it. He wasn’t even sure if he really wanted to ask it himself.

Finally, she moved, and he panicked, thinking she was going to leave — which only confirmed to him that he really wanted to ask it. But instead of changing her position, she said, “We don’t have to get this divorce.”

He stared at her even more intensely than before, not even blinking.

“Face it, Spencer,” she continued with surprising dignity, considering what they were talking about. “It’s been two months. It hasn’t affected our lives in any way. At least not negatively, because the insurance is a plus. And neither of us really has time right now to deal with it. Sure, we could sign it, but then we’d have to file it in court…”

“So you’re suggesting we just stay married?” he asked, swallowing hard.

She nodded slowly, as if she couldn’t quite believe what she was doing herself.

“Until we can calmly deal with it,” she clarified. “Besides, it’s not exactly a marriage. You know what I mean. I’m suggesting we stay that way in our civil records for a while.”

“And reap the benefits,” he blurted out. “Insurance. Gym.”

“Gym?”

He shook his head, hoping she’d forget that part.

“Are you sure about this?” he asked again.

She didn’t move for a moment — he liked that she was actually taking a moment to think. Then she shrugged.

“I guess I am,” she said at last. “But if you change your mind in a few days, that’s your right. I’m not going to keep you as my husband by force,” she added with a snort.

He nodded quickly, signaling he understood.

“Same goes for you.”

They looked at each other in silence for a moment longer, searching for any doubt on each other’s faces. There was a bit of it, he couldn’t deny. But in the end, neither of them said a word.

[obfuscateyummy]

Late.

Holy shit. Thank you all for the LOVE on my last Robby x reader fic. You sure know how it make a struggling girl feel the love. PLEASE feel free to ask me questions or message me if theres something you think I should write. I'm not opening "requests" but taking idea. and I always am looking for someone to chat my ideas out with.

1,226 words. Slight angst. Mentions pregnancy. Everything medical I know from shows staring Noah Wyle as a doctor.

part 1

The next time you looked at the clock, it was 8:00. You sat down to type some patient notes. You sighed as you sat.

“Rough morning, kid?” Dana asked. 

You shook your head. “I’m just exhausted today. Think I need more coffee, and something to eat. Just gotta update these notes.” 

“I got a granola bar if you want one,” Dana offered. 

“Thanks I owe ya,” you said as you took the granola bar. You opened it up and took a bite.

You looked at the date at the bottom of your computer 5/4/25. “Uh, Dana? Is it really the fourth?”

“Yeah. Exactly one month after Pittfest. Can you believe it?” she said. 

You cursed under your breath. A month? You could’ve sworn it was only two weeks after Pittfest. You were wrong. And it gave your exhaustion a whole new meaning. You began to feel knots in your stomach. Knots you originally took as hungr pains, which also now have a new meaning. You were spiraling up in your head that you didn’t hear the conversation happening around you.

“Hey Robby,” Dana said as he walked by. “We got 2 coming in. One minor head lacerations, one major. ETA 5 minutes.”

“Okay, Dr. Mohan take the head laceration, take Whitaker with you. Have him do the sutures. Dr. R, you’re with me and the major. Santos, you’re with us.” Robby said. Everyone followed to where they needed to be. He gave you a minute and you still didn’t move, lost in your own thoughts. 

“Hey, y/n? Did you hear that?” he asked.

“What? Sorry,” you said.

“Car accident, 2 coming our way. ETA 4 minutes, you’re with me,” he said as he looked at you. You didn’t speak as you stood up to walk. “You sure you’re okay?”

“I told you, I’m fine,” you said. There was a tone of annoyance in your voice.

“If you say so,” he said as he walked away.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You sounded angry. You snapped at him. You were moody, of course you were moody. Add it to the list of symptoms.

“It’s….nothing.”

“Sure.” You rolled your eyes.

“Hey Robby, Kid - they’re pulling up!” Dana shouted.

Michael stared at you. Desperatly wishing you would tell him what was wrong. The two of you had been married almost 5 years - knew you weren’t okay.

“Let’s go,” you said motioning for your husband to turn around. 

The two of you approached the ambulance bay doors as the EMTs rolled in your patient. They ran over his name, vitals, injury details. You breathed trying to calm the nausea rolling in your stomach. Your head began spinning. Next thing you knew, you were in trauma 2 and you heard your husband’s voice.

“He’s gonna need a chest tube.”

“Got it,” you said as Dana handed you the kit.

“I’m in,” you said as you got the chest tube in, but there was blood. There was blood. Not a lot of blood. But it wasn’t the sight of blood. It was the smell. That awful smell of metal. That was what pushed you over the edge.

“Santos, take over,” you ordered. The intern did as she was told. 

You ran out of the room ripping off your gloves and trauma gown, disposing of them in the nearest bin. You headed straight to the restroom. You barely made it to the toilet before unloading your stomach’s contents into it. Tears streamed down your face as you finished. You sat with your back against the stall wall. “Fuck,” you mumbled to yourself. You wiped your tears, flushed the toilet and headed out to splash some water on your face and get back out there. As you were splashing your face, Samira walked in.

“Hey, Dr. R you-” Samira said as you blew past her. You had to find your husband. “Got a minute.”

You booked it for central. Dana approached you on your way. 

“Hey kid, you okay?” she asked.

“Why does everyone keep asking me that?” you said, avoiding the question.

“Maybe because you’re off your game today. Hell, I don’t remember the last time you ran out of a trauma like that,” she said.

You did. It was the spring of 2021. 5 months before Lucy was born. You had begged your husband to let you back in the trauma room, claiming you could handle it. That day, he pulled you from traumas until after you returned from maternity leave. “Have you seen Robby?” you asked, still avoiding her question.

“Headed towards central last I checked” she said. 

“Thanks,” you said walking away.

“Hey kid, you never answered my question!” Dana shouted after you.

You still didn’t answer her. You passed Myrna in the hallway.

“Hey Floozie, there you are!” Myrna said as you approached. 

“Not today, Myrna,” you said walking past her and up to your husband, who was typing notes at his desk.

“Dr. Robby? Can we-” you started to say as he interrupted.

“You said you were fine,” he said, not looking up from his computer. 

“Can we talk?” you finished the question you were asking earlier. 

He took off his glasses and looked at you. “Oh, now you want to talk?” he said, never raising his voice. 

“Please?” you asked motioning towards the lounge.

He stood up and followed you into the lounge. As soon as the door shut behind you, he started to speak.

“You’re not okay,” he said.

“I know.”

“What’s going on?” Robby put his hand on your arm. “Y/n, you got sick during a trauma. You haven’t done that since-”

“I was pregnant with Lucy.” You looked into his eyes and took a deep breath.

“ Y/n-”

You interrupted him, “Michael, I’m late.” You blurted it out.  

He blinked and looked at you, “What?”

“I’m late. Like late late.” you said as you looked up at him. 

“How late?” he asked.

“Two, maybe three weeks,” you said as you rubbed your arm and bit your bottom lip. “I-I kinda lost track.”

Michael stared at you. You knew he was trying to pinpoint how far along you were, when you were due, when it happened. “Did you-”

You shook your head, “I haven’t taken a test, but do I really need to?”

“You do. And you need an ultrasound. I need to tell Gloria.” He said rubbing the back of his neck. 

You shook your head. “Wait.” Robby looked at your confused. When you were pregnant with Lucy, the day you found out, you couldnt wait to tell everyone. “Please. Just - Michael can we just-”

“Dr. R?” Samira said as she opened the door to the lounge. “Can I get you to check out my patient in South 7? All the tests are coming back normal, but I think something is off.”

“Yeah, be right there Samira,” you said smiling at your friend. She turned to leave.

“I have tomorrow off. Hopefully I can get in for an ultrasound. I can stop on the way home and get a test.” You stopped talking because Robby’s lips crashed with yours. 

He pulled away quickly, “We gotta get back to work.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“I love you, Dr. Robinavitch,” he said.

“I love you too, Dr. Robinavitch,” you said as you exited the lounge and headed to Samira’s patient.

[uzurakis]

hii again!! I’m here to request a Drabble/headcannon (doesn’t matter to me :3) where the reader gets approached by two strangers n one of them goes ‘hi my friend thinks you’re cute’ and motions to their friend next to them even though the jjk men (yuta and Megumi but feel free to add anyone else!) is literally RIGHT next to them (this happened during lunch a week ago n all my friends laughed at me 😭😭😭)

WHEN A STRANGER CALLS YOU CUTE IN PUBLIC!

featuring: gojo satoru. fushiguro megumi. yuuta okkotsu. itadori yuuji.

n. hi baby! i supposed you’re the same nonnie that requested the stalker one? thank you for trusting me with your requests cause yours are always enjoyable to write and your ideas are *french kiss*. i hope ya like this one and please if you have any ideas you wanna share, hmu! ill always write yours bby. mwaah xoxo

hey, excuse me! my friend thinks you’re cute . .

ITADORI YUUJI. you exchanged a surprised glance with itadori, who cracked a smile sheepishly. "oh yeah? thanks," he replied, clearly missing the implication. the stranger nudged their friend, urging them to speak up. "uh, yeah," offering a nervous smile. "you're really cute."

your boyfriend only chuckled, oblivious to their intentions. "right? my girlfriend is the cutest!” he said proudly, pinching your cheeks infront of them. “yuu, we’re in public..”

the strangers shared a bewildered look, realizing that their attempt to strike up a conversation with you had been unintentionally thwarted. "uh, yeah, you’re really lucky," the stranger managed to mumble before they awkwardly excuse themselves and slipped back into the crowd.

you and itadori watched them go, bemused expressions on your faces. "did you catch what they were trying to do?" you asked, stifling a laugh. itadori shook his head, still clueless. "nah, but it doesn't matter. i already know who the cutest one here is," he said, planting a kiss on your cheek, causing you to giggle at his oblivion.

GOJO SATORU. before you could respond, gojo stepped forward, subtly clearing his throat. you shot him a puzzled look, wondering what he was up to. “yeah? well, she's taken," declaring at once, voice laced with amusement as he wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him.

the strangers kept eyeing you curiously, seemingly undisturbed by the statement he made. "oh really? too awful," one of them remarked, maintaining a smile.

gojo raised an eyebrow, exchanging a knowing glance with you. it was clear they weren't getting the hint. with a sigh, he cleared his throat again, this time louder, as he firmly took your hand and started to lead you away. “sorry, folks, but we're kinda busy," your boyfriend said with a charming smile, gently steering you in the opposite direction.

as you both walked away, gojo grinned down at you. "just making sure they know who you belong to, darling,” he said, pulling you closer as you continued your walk through the path.

FUSHIGURO MEGUMI. you immediately glanced nervously at megumi beside you. however, your boyfriend remained silent, his expression unreadable as he gazed at the strangers.

unsure of how to reply, you gave the stranger a hesitant smile. megumi didn't express his jealousy, but it was obvious that he was still very much in the dark about it. the stress was literally radiating off of him. "um, thank you," you managed to murmur, feeling awkward under megumi's scrutiny.

the strangers seemed unfazed by megumi's silence, continuing to chat amicably with you. they asked questions, trying to engage you both in conversation, but megumi remained aloof, his attention solely focused on you. you glanced at him, catching the tightness in his jaw and the furrow in his brow. he was clearly uncomfortable, but he didn't make a move to pull you away from the strangers. rather, he only stood there, sulkily contemplating.

sensing his unease, you subtly shifted closer to him, hoping to offer some reassurance. megumi glanced down at you, his gaze softening ever so slightly before returning to the strangers, "hey, you done talking?" he shot at the strangers with thinly veiled irritation.

he then sighed, a hint frustration crossing his features. without another word, he gently took your hand and pulled you away from the conversation, his grip firm but not forceful. as you walked, you stole a glance at megumi, finding his expression softened slightly, his jealousy dissipating now that you were out of the strangers' reach. “i didn’t feel it like has to be said, but,” a tint of red swelled on his face, his eyes denying your gaze. “yeah, you’re always pretty. and if you need someone to say it, just,”

“just ask me, okay?”

YUTA OKKOTSU. you responded with a timid smile, sensing yuuta's comforting presence beside you. he let out a soft chuckle, his laughter soothed the situation as you thanked the compliment. "i appreciate it.”

yuuta's casual reaction didn’t appear to dismiss the strangers, as they continue to strike up a discussion as though you’ve been friends for years. while yuuta stays a silent yet watchful presence, they kept the questions going.

after a while, yuuta's smile widened, his eyes crinkling with amusement as he glanced at his watch. "it was fun talking to you guys," he said, his tone gentle but firm. "but me and my girlfriend need to be somewhere else."

you blinked in surprise at his sudden intervention, but the strangers took it in stride and finally offering their farewells. after they walked away, you turned to yuuta, curiosity piqued by his unexpected assertiveness.

"you’re not going to say anything about it?” you commented, impressed by his ability to not get jealous or anything else in between. yuuta brushed your hair, his gaze warm with affection. "cause they weren’t wrong though. you are the cutest.”

@uzurakis — reqs are open! <3

[meleeyz]

ekko enemies to lovers? literally metal flowers was SO! GOOD! where reader is a pilte and she goes down with cait and vi in s1?

┈﹒ ꒰ 𝗣𝗥𝗘𝗧𝗧𝗬 𝗣𝗜𝗟𝗧𝗜𝗘꒱

ekko 𝒙 fem!reader

୨୧ English is not my first language, so I'm sorry in advance if something reads strangely or is poorly written.

୨୧ Hello darling! Maybe this isn't exactly your idea (?), but I thought it would be fun to have a tension-filled conversation when the reader is supposed to be... you know, kidnapped. Tell me what you think! I'm also glad you liked the metal flowers one-shot 💞💞

୨୧ THANK YOU VERY VERY VERY MUCH FOR THE SUPPORT, THIS IS THE FIRST REQUEST I HAVE AND THAT MAKES ME VERY HAPPY, YOUR NICE COMMENTS ARE ALSO GREAT, THANK YOU VERY MUCH AGAIN 💓

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

It all happened too fast: Vi shouting warnings, the blue-haired lunatic and her sick laughter had been the least of your problems.

And now you were here, restrained in a damp, dimly lit room, the sack over your head smelling of grease and mildew. Caitlyn’s muffled voice called for you, distant and strained.

You tugged at the ropes binding your wrists to the chair, teeth gritted. The door creaked open, and hurried footsteps approached. The sack was pulled off. A Vastaya man loomed over you, his bat-like ears curling inwards as he studied you for a moment. Then, wordlessly, he left, closing the door behind him with a resonating clang.

Blinking against the sudden light, you glanced around, your gaze landing on someone seated across the room. He wore an owl mask, his posture lazy yet somehow threatening.

Your stomach churned. You’d seen him earlier—watching from the shadows as Silco’s men attacked. He hadn’t intervened then, just observed with unnerving intensity.

“Got something to say, or are you just going to keep staring?” you snapped, your voice sharper than you intended.

The masked figure tilted his head, amusement evident in the way he leaned back.

“Staring at people like that? Kind of counts as harassment, you know,” you continued, forcing a smirk despite the pounding of your heart. “But hey, let me go, and we can settle this properly. I promise I’ll be… kind.”

The voice that responded came distorted through a modulator, low and mechanical. “You should learn to take care of that mouth. If it weren’t for the other two, you’d already be dead.”

Your eyebrows shot up, and despite yourself, you let out a sarcastic laugh. “Oh, I see how it is. Big bad owl man is bothered by my mouth? Then why didn’t you just kill me outright?”

His laugh echoed back at you, though his tone remained clipped. He stood, his figure tall and imposing as he stepped closer.

“Believe me,” he said, his voice dripping with mockery. “It was tempting.”

You tilted your head, meeting his gaze—or what you assumed were his eyes—through the owl mask. “Oh, I’m trembling,” you deadpanned. “What a scary owl.”

His movements stilled for a moment, the tilt of his head indicating surprise. You pressed on, determined to keep the upper hand in this strange game.

“Let me guess,” you said, smirking again. “Sitting around in a mask all day makes you feel tough, huh? What’s next—dramatic monologues about justice?”

He chuckled, stepping even closer until he was towering over you. “You’ve got guts. I’ll give you that.”

“Oh, please,” you shot back, craning your neck to meet him. “You think this is guts? I just call it basic survival.”

For a moment, silence filled the space between you, tension crackling like static. Then, slowly, he reached up, his gloved fingers curling around the edge of his mask.

Your breath hitched, the weight of the moment sinking in as he pulled it away.

The first thing you noticed were his eyes—sharp, golden-brown, and filled with a confidence that bordered on arrogance. His features were striking, all sharp angles and raw intensity but softened.

You blinked, momentarily speechless, which was enough to make him laugh again. This time, it was unmodulated—rich and almost boyish, a stark contrast to his earlier demeanor.

“What’s the matter?” he asked, his grin wide. “Cat got your tongue?”

Your mouth opened, then closed as you struggled for a response. The sheer absurdity of it hit you like a freight train. For all your mother’s warnings about suitors back in Piltover, none of them could hold a candle to him.

And, of course, he knew it.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he said smugly, stepping back.

You clenched your fists, suddenly grateful for the handcuffs keeping you from doing something you’d probably regret.

“Don’t look so smug,” you said finally, recovering enough to glare at him. “You still kidnapped me, remember?”

“Kidnapped?” he repeated, feigning offense. “Rescued is more like it. You’re lucky I was watching.”

“Lucky?” you shot back. “You’ve got a twisted sense of gratitude.”

“Stick around. You might just learn something.”

You scowled, your cheeks warming despite yourself. The silence stretched, thick and heavy, as you sat there under the sharp gaze of the boy—no, young man—in the room. But his attention was no longer casual. His gaze was razor-edged, appraising.

“Enough games,” he said finally, his voice steady, though it carried an undertone of curiosity. “What do you know about the hextech gemstone?”

The question hung in the air, and for a moment, you were caught off guard. Hextech? You wracked your brain, recalling snippets of overheard conversations.

“It’s… like an energy booster,” you said hesitantly, your brows furrowed. “Anyone can use it to build pretty much anything. Something about it being ‘limitless potential’ or whatever.”

Ekko tilted his head, clearly not expecting you to be so forthcoming.

“You just told me, just like that?”

“Why not?” you replied with a shrug. “You didn’t kill me, which is already better than everyone else we’ve run into today. If you’re not trying to gut me on sight, you can’t be that bad.”

His laugh came low, warm, and rough, as if you’d surprised him again.

“You’re either really brave or really stupid.”

“Bit of both,” you admitted, flashing a quick smile “So, what’s next? We keep playing twenty questions?”

He chuckled dryly, though his next words were serious.

“Alright, let’s talk about your friends. What’s their deal? And what’s your relationship with the Enforcer?”

You clamped your mouth shut, trying to suppress the laugh bubbling in your chest. But the harder you tried, the more it broke free, until you were shaking with quiet.

“Enforcer?” you finally choked out, wiping the corner of your eye with your shoulder. “Caitlyn’s more like… I don’t know, a girl playing dress-up as an Enforcer. Her mother would die if she let Cait face real danger.” You tilted your head toward him, smirking. “Like this.”

Ekko raised an eyebrow, waiting for you to finish.

“Oh, and don’t leave the lovebirds alone too long,” you added, voice dripping with mock seriousness. “It seems like Cait’s taken a liking to the pink-haired one.”

That earned another huff of laughter from him. His gaze lingered on you, sharp yet tinged with reluctant amusement, as though trying to figure out whether you were always this reckless or just putting on a show.

“Alright, alright. My turn. That’s how this works, right?”

“That’s not how this works at all.”

“Sure it is,” you shot back, leaning forward as much as the restraints allowed. “If you were a conventional kidnapper, I wouldn’t have said a word. You’d have had to torture me for information—and, frankly, I don’t think you’d do it. Too soft.”

Ekko’s brow twitched, though he said nothing.

“Anyway, this isn’t a conventional kidnapping, right?” you added, your grin widening.

For a moment, he studied you, clearly debating whether to humor you. Finally, with a resigned sigh, he gestured vaguely.

“Fine. Ask your question.”

You leaned back, feigning nonchalance.

“What’s your name?”

He hesitated.

“Ekko.”

“Ekko,” you repeated, testing the name on your tongue. It suited him. “Alright, Ekko. Next question.”

He crossed his arms, his brows lifting in mock exasperation.

“I said one question.”

“You really need to loosen up,” you teased. “I want to learn how to ride that hoverboard of yours. That thing looks incredible.”

His lips twitched, but he kept his expression neutral.

“Anything else?”

“Yeah,” you said. “My wrists are starting to hurt. Being handcuffed is not exactly comfortable, you know.”

Ekko sighed, dragging a hand down his face, though you could see the faintest glint of amusement in his eyes.

“Pretty Piltie can’t handle a pair of handcuffs? I’ll free you when the time comes.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes.

“Don’t push it.”

“When the time comes,” he said again. “I’ll free you.”

“Ekko!” you called after him, frustration bubbling to the surface. “You can’t just—hey!”

He didn’t stop, didn’t even glance back. The door creaked open as he stepped out.

Outside, Scar leaned against the wall, his arms crossed and a bemused look on his face. He watched as Ekko adjusted the straps of his owl mask, preparing to slide it back into place.

“Something on your mind?” Ekko asked, his tone sharper than intended.

Scar raised an eyebrow, glancing toward the door where you were still yelling.

“Didn’t realize we were starting a dating service for Pilties now.”

Ekko shot him a glare, the owl mask concealing the faint flush creeping up his neck. “What?”

Scar smirked, shaking his head. “Nothing.”

With a sigh, Ekko adjusted the mask, his thoughts lingering on the strange girl tied up in the other room. A rich Piltie liking him? The thought was… well, distracting.

But he pushed it aside. There was work to be done.

“Where’s Vi?” he asked, his voice low.

Scar gestured down the hall. “Waiting.”

Ekko nodded, his mind shifting gears as he prepared for what would undoubtedly be another tense conversation.

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

[fluentmoviequoter]

Mom and Dad are Fighting Again

Requested Here!

The Bradfords Series Masterlist

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!cop!wife!reader

Summary: You and Tim become Lucy's station parents, and you show your care for her in different ways.

Warnings: fluff, brief angst, grumpy!Tim to softie!Tim, "mom and dad are fighting again" is a Castle reference

Word Count: 2.5k+ words

“Bradford!” Wade calls.

“Which one?” you and Tim ask together.

Wade sighs, and Angela adds, “He’s tired just thinking about the conversation. That means he needs Tim.”

“Tim,” Wade clarifies. “Let the other Bradford help Chen prep the shop. I need to talk to you about something.”

“Ooh,” Angela and Lucy taunt.

You roll your eyes, but it is a bit like being called into the principal’s office. Luckily, Tim and Wade get along well. You tap Lucy’s shoulder and wave for her to follow you. After you sign for your gear, Lucy gets hers and Tim’s. Once you’re in the garage and your bag is in your shop, Lucy turns to you with a pout.

“If a Bradford had to be my TO, why couldn’t it have been you?” she asks.

“Tim is the best there is, Luce. I know he can be grumpy and push a little too hard, but I promise learning from him is worth it,” you reply.

“At least I have you to stand up for me.”

“Ah, so that’s why you wanted to be my friend.”

“We’re cops, not friends,” Tim interjects as he walks out of the doorway behind you. “Let’s go, boot.”

“We’re not friends,” Lucy murmurs under her breath. “Says the guy who’s married to another cop.”

“What was that?” Tim asks.

“Tim,” you warn gently.

You shake your head, and he takes a deep breath before getting in the driver’s seat. As you climb into your shop beside him, Lucy rolls her window down and gestures for you to do the same.

“Dad says he loves you,” she says with a wide smile.

“Chen!” Tim yells.

“I love him too. Be safe, both of you,” you call before pulling out.

“We need to talk about boundaries, Chen,” Tim grumbles.

“Better than not talking,” she argues.

Tim leans against the side of the shop and stares straight ahead. It’s an interesting situation, but no matter how long he looks, he can’t decide what the best approach is. Lucy has spouted numerous ideas, and he’s vetoed each one.

“We could call for a lift truck,” she suggests as she paces on the sidewalk.

“Can’t get close enough,” Tim replies.

“Then you know what we have to do.”

Tim looks at Lucy, who now has her hands on her hips and a determined look.

“We have to call smarter reinforcements. Call Bradford,” she demands.

“I’m not calling my wife because we can’t- how could she even help?”

“She’s brilliant. You of all people have to know that.”

“Sounds like you should be running her fan club,” Tim complains.

“Having a hero isn’t wrong. If you don’t call her, I will.”

“And I’ll write you up.”

Lucy sighs and turns to look at the scene again. Tim runs through a few more ideas in his mind, but they all end in a worse situation than the current one. He sighs as he pulls his phone out of his pocket.

“Hey,” he greets when you answer.

Lucy turns around quickly and claps quietly. Tim glares at her, but her excitement doesn’t diminish as he continues talking to you.

“Are you busy?” he asks.

“Just tell her we need help!” Lucy implores.

“Yeah, that’s Chen. And we do need help.”

Lucy pumps a fist over her head in victory. When Tim ends the call, though, she steps back and quiets.

A few minutes later, you park beside Tim’s shop and exit your car with a smile.

“Someone called for the cavalry?” you joke. “So, what’s so strange Tim Bradford had to call for backup?”

Tim doesn’t answer but grabs your waist and leads you to stand between him and Lucy. He points up through a gap in the trees and you follow his finger. Your responding “huh” does little to make Tim think you’ll have an easier time solving the problem.

“What am I supposed to do about it?” you ask.

Tim turns to glare at Lucy again, and she ducks behind you. You look at Tim from the corner of your eye and he accepts your silent reprimand and gives Lucy some space.

“Did you try to get up there?” you ask.

“No. There’s no good approach,” Tim answers.

“I thought we could climb onto the roof beside it for recon and find a way to reach it,” Lucy says. “Or maybe get a ladder truck in the yard.”

“Roof recon isn’t a terrible idea,” you agree. “Why didn’t you do that?”

“Because I don’t agree that it would get us any more information than we can get from the ground,” Tim explains.

“We can’t get to it from here, though,” Lucy argues. “This park is protected, and we can’t bring CSU out here to traipse all over it. That house is our best bet.”

“Chen, you are not in charge,” Tim snaps.

“Tim,” you warn softly. “Just hear her out.”

“She’s my rookie. I don’t have to do anything she says.”

“I’m not saying to do exactly what she says, but you’re training her, not dictating her. Give her a chance to work this.”

Tim clenches his jaw and breathes out of his nose. The situation is stressful, you know, because every element of being a cop is. But Tim arguing with Lucy will only delay the inevitable.

“Please?” you add. “If her plan to scout from the roof doesn’t work, then I will call the park service and tell them to deal with it.”

“We don’t even know who owns that house.”

“One way to find out,” Lucy says.

You let Lucy take the lead and stand beside Tim on the porch as she talks to the owner of the home. He doesn’t seem inclined to let three police officers climb onto his roof to deal with something that he can’t see.

“I’m done talkin’ to ya,” he says before slamming the door in Lucy’s face. It opens a moment later and he adds, “One more thing.”

You can tell he’s prepared to do something stupid and pull Lucy back quickly. His fist misses her face by an inch, and you move her toward Tim before turning toward the homeowner. His second hit is luckier and lands against the side of your nose, but he’s not trained like you are. When you hit him in the same spot, he goes down hard and fast. You raise your hand to your face and immediately feel blood coming from your nose. There’s likely no real damage, just a busted blood vessel or two.

Lucy begins apologizing as Tim calls for backup and another unit to deal with the issue in the park. He returns his radio to his belt and lays his hands on your shoulders to look at you.

“We’re going back to the shop. Stay with him until backup gets here, Chen,” he commands.

“Yes, sir,” she answers quietly. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault, Lucy,” you offer.

“We’ll discuss that later,” Tim interjects. “Let’s go.”

Tim keeps a hand on you during every step of the short walk back to the shop. He presses a wad of gauze under your nose and uses his other hand to tip your head slightly forward. When the top of your head hits his chest, you feel him sigh.

“What would you have done? If Chen wasn’t here?” he asks.

“I don’t know, Tim. A huge, gaudy murder confession nailed to a tree in a park is a new one. Park department wouldn’t have been much help, so it may have been one to pass off. Or trespass.”

Tim looks away from you when Lucy returns. You cover his hand to pull the gauze from your face, and when you see there’s no fresh blood, you pull an antiseptic wipe from the first aid kit and clean the dried blood from your chin and Tim’s hand. Lucy waits silently, and now she looks like the one waiting to be called to see the principal.

“What were you thinking?” Tim demands when you release his hand. “You never just stand in front of someone’s door. If we hadn’t been there, or if he had opened the door with a knife, what would have happened, Chen?”

“It won’t happen again, sir.”

“You’re right it won’t! I don’t know why you refuse to listen to me or remember basic, common procedures, but it will get you killed, and I’m not going to let that happen. I will take your badge if this is the kind of police work you’ll do once you’re out on your own!”

“Tim!” you interrupt. “She messed up. We all have. Maybe let her prove that she learned something before you threaten her career.”

“No! I don’t want her on the streets alone. I don’t want to imagine what I’d hear if she was partnered with you someday.”

“Drop it,” you demand as you stand.

Your chest presses against Tim’s, and his eyes bore into yours. Lucy watches on with her hands pulled tightly behind her back and guilt in her eyes.

“Or what?” Tim asks.

“You’re making it about me. But you’re done yelling at Chen. Lucy, get in my shop, we’re all going back to the station.”

“For what?” Tim scoffs.

“To learn some human decency, apparently. And if you’re still acting like this when we get back, I’m taking Chen for the rest of the week.”

Tim watches you toss the keys to Lucy before she walks away. His brow furrows and you realize he thought you were leaving him to drive back with Lucy.

“You trust her to drive your shop?” he asks.

“What is this about?” you counter. “Because she was just in a bad place, which is the best that could have happened.”

“She doesn’t apply what she knows. Lucy is smart and she’s got instincts, but she gets excited and jumps too soon.”

“Then walk her through everything. Standing back and being a drill sergeant is only going to make her rush more.”

“When did you become an expert on being a TO?”

Tim smiles softly at you, and you pat his chest.

“Guess you’re teaching me, too.”

“Bradford,” Wade calls over the radio. “The guy you booked for assault on an officer is claiming that Chen harassed him. I need your body cams as soon as you return.”

Tim pulls the seatbelt too hard and locks it. You answer Wade that you’ll all be back with your cams shortly. After replacing the radio on the dash, you lay a hand on Tim’s arm and encourage him to take a deep breath.

“That’s not Lucy’s fault,” you remind Tim.

“It was her plan,” Tim responds.

“I agreed with it. Does that make me a terrible cop?”

“Of course it doesn’t, but this isn’t about you!”

“Then what’s it about?” you ask, your voice raising to meet his.

“I feel like I’m failing her and that’s why we keep ending up here!”

Tim huffs as he finishes, and you watch him carefully. His shoulders drop, and you want to hug him but know better than to try while he’s driving.

“You’re not failing her. But there is always room for improvement. Being a teacher doesn’t mean you can’t learn, too.”

“How do you trust her like this?”

“You said it yourself. She’s smart and has good instincts, but she needs a bit of room to learn and hone those skills without feeling pressured to be perfect.”

Tim nods, and you whisper an apology for yelling at him. He shakes his head, and you agree that he doesn’t need to apologize either.

When you exit Wade’s office after surrendering your body cam and making your statement, you hear Angela ask Lucy where you and Tim are. Or, as you’re referred to at the station, The Bradfords.

“Oh, Mom and Dad are fighting again,” Lucy jokes.

“About you?” Angela asks, playing along but aware that Lucy isn’t completely wrong in her phrasing.

“What else?” Lucy counters.

“Chen, a word?” Tim asks as he moves around you.

You watch as he apologizes, and smile to yourself. Angela winks at you as she passes, and you join Tim and Lucy.

“Wade said I could stay with you two for the rest of shift. What are we up to?”

“We still have to deal with the murder confession in the trees,” Tim groans. “Hey, Nolan, have you dealt with a murder confession yet?”

Nolan shakes his head, and Tim looks around for Bishop. When he sees that she’s not close, Tim steps into Wade’s office and asks him to transfer the call to Nolan.

“Thanks, Officer Bradford!” Nolan replies happily.

“No problem,” Tim says.

Lucy hides her smile as she walks beside you. Every moment spent with her requires a level of parenting, and though you’re relatively close in age, you and Tim feel responsible for Lucy. As more than a cop. You show it in your own ways, but she knows how much she means to you and Tim and feels the same.

During one of your very few days off, you want to surprise Tim with dinner. The recipe that you want has seemingly disappeared, though, and you’ll have to call Lucy to get it again. 

When her phone rings, and she answers, “Hey, Mom,” Tim shakes his head.

“No personal calls in my shop,” Tim says.

“You answer for her.”

Tim’s brows furrow until he realizes Lucy isn’t talking to her biological mom, but her station mom. He nods to let her know she can continue talking to you.

“Dad says hi,” she says, just to bother Tim.

“Dad says he needs a day off, too,” Tim grumbles.

“Don’t you dare answer that,” Tim says against your lips. “Date night, not LAPD night.”

“It’s Luce,” you argue as you reach for your phone.

Tim catches your wrist and brings it to his lips to distract you. Your phone rings again, though, and Tim’s chimes with an incoming text. He releases your arm hesitantly and pulls you so he can lay his head against your shoulder.

“Hi, Luce,” you answer.

“Put me on speaker!” she requests happily.

“Alright. Tim and I are both here.”

“I passed my rookie exam! I know you’re both off today, but Sergeant Grey knew we couldn’t wait to hear the results. Thank you, both of you, so much!”

“Congratulations!” you and Tim say together.

“We’ll celebrate when we get back,” you add.

“I knew you could do it,” Tim says. “Good job, Lucy.”

“Okay, okay, I need to call my mom and tell her that she was wrong. Enjoy the rest of your time off.”

The line beeps as she ends the call, and you and Tim lock eyes.

“She called us first, didn’t she?” you ask.

“We really are turning into her parents,” Tim says with an exaggerated shudder.

“You look pretty good for a dad,” you tease. “And you care about Lucy no matter how much you pretend not to.”

Tim looks at you for a moment before asking, “You know Lucy’s real parents set the bar low, right?”

“Let me have this. She’s my daughter and she’s no longer a boot.”

Tim groans, but before you can tease him again, he pulls you down to continue kissing you. Until your phone begins buzzing nonstop with excited texts from Lucy, at least.

[uss-butterscotch]

Part 6! If you haven’t seen already i’m working on naming this fic so if you want to vote for your favorite option it should be just a few posts down on my blog :)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

(cw for vague reference to child abuse. It’s literally like one throwaway sentence but just in case!)

~

“I keep having nightmares,” she started quietly, “I’m too late to stop Billy from hurting Steve, or the syringe is empty and it doesn’t work, and he kills Steve and then he kills Lucas, then Dustin, then Mike, and I’m yelling at him to stop, but he doesn’t. Because screaming didn’t stop him in real life.”

Eddie was reeling slightly from that alone, he didn’t have time to think of anything reassuring to say before she was talking again.

“Or, it’s the mall. And Billy doesn’t- he lets Jane die. And he laughs at me like I’m stupid for believing he could be better.” She looked back to Eddie then, “And that’s the worst part. Because that’s not what happened. He did do the right thing for once and it got him killed.

“And it all makes me hate him even more, because even after he’s dead, he won’t stop fucking with me!” And there. Finally something Eddie could work with.

Her hands were clenched hard, knuckles turning white. She finally seemed done with her train of thought, breathing slightly heavy, and glaring a hole through the windshield. Eddie nodded, but kept his eyes on the road ahead of him.

“That sucks, Red, I’m sorry.” He rapped his knuckles against the steering wheel lightly, “My dad was in and out of jail most of my life. On the occasion that he was out he was a mean drunk, to me and my mom, the supposed love of his life.”

He rolled his eyes at that. “If he had really cared about her, he would have tried harder to clean up his act when she got sick. But he didn’t, and we couldn’t afford her treatments, and she died. And I hated him so much.

“And then about a year later, he dropped me off with Wayne, said he had some business to take care of in Indy, but he’d see me soon.”

Eddie scoffed sarcastically, shaking his head. “Not too long after that, Wayne gets a lovely visit from the sheriff’s department with news that his brother’s dead, killed in some sort of deal gone wrong. They said from witness statements it sounded like he was trying to to get money back from someone who owed him or something, and to top it all off, his nephew, one Eddison Munson, seemed to be missing-“

“Your name is Eddison?” Max interrupted, a mocking smirk peeking through the panic from before.

“Yes,” Eddie said, rolling his eyes, “what’s yours? Maximillian?”

“Sure.” She said, crossing her arms and settling into her seat. “I would have guessed Edward. Or maybe Edwin.”

Eddie shrugged. “Eddison was like, my mom’s grandpa’s name or something. I never met the guy, but I guess he sort of raised my mom.”

Eddie waved a hand around wildly, needing to steer the subject away from that topic quickly. “Anyway! If I may continue,” he paused to give Max an opportunity to tell him to shut up. When she didn’t, he went on, “after the situation was sorted out, and it was declared I needed a new legal guardian because I was fresh out of parents, I started living with Wayne full time.”

The school was rapidly approaching, so Eddie tried to summarize his points as quickly as possible. “Point is, I was so confused and angry for years. I wondered if he knew how dangerous what he was doing would be, and he kept me away from it to keep me safe for once in his stupid life. I wondered what life might have been like if he had gotten whatever money he went there to get and used it to make things better for us. I had a million questions and a million theories. But none of those ideas fit with the asshole I knew he was, and then I was mad at myself for even thinking that highly of him. For thinking he could change. And worst of all, I would never know the truth.”

He parked the van and shut the engine off. “It took me a long time, and a lot of serious conversations with my uncle that he had to practically drag me kicking and screaming into having, to know what to do with that anger. To work on accepting life’s unknowns.”

Max looked at him, chewing on her cheek. He hoped he wasn’t imagining it, but something in her gaze looked a little softer.

As he opened his own door, he said, “You don’t have to talk about it now, and you don’t have to talk about it to me, but you should talk someone. Eventually.”

He got out, closed the door behind him. When he noticed she was still in her seat he walked around the van and opened her door. ��Ideally, you do it before it makes you do something really stupid just to feel something else besides the anger and the grief.”

He stepped aside to give her space to exit the vehicle and she slid out of the seat. He made a show of taking his time to lock up the van to give her a head-start into the school. He watched as she made her way to the doors, and was surprised when, for the first time since they had been driving together, she veered off her path to meet someone. When he realized who it was, Eddie chuckled to himself. He made his own way to the school and gave a two fingered salute to Sinclair and Henderson, who were joined by Max (and smiling so wide their cheeks had to be burning).

He made his way into the school and to his first period class, pleased to be able to check this side quest off.

Part 7

[cherriibombfics]

"ᴄᴏɴꜰᴇᴄᴛɪᴏɴ, ᴄᴏɴꜰᴜꜱɪᴏɴ"

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 613

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ɴᴏɴᴇ

ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ

ᴀ/ɴ : ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴡᴀꜱ ᴏʀɪɢɪɴᴀʟʟʏ ᴘᴏꜱᴛᴇᴅ ᴏɴ ᴍʏ ᴏʟᴅ ᴀᴄᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ

ꜱᴛᴀʀᴅᴜꜱᴛ ᴄᴏᴏᴋɪᴇ x ʙᴀᴋᴇʀ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

Long before the fallen heroes disappeared from the land of Earthbread, there were legends of a being unlike any witch in existence. An entity that could grant powers beyond comprehension to even the smallest cookie, and could crumble even the most powerful, and despite no evidence ever supporting this, this tale had very few skeptics. And he wouldn’t dare to be one of them.

But alas, as he continued his journey through the western sky, attempting to find the wizards that had a hand in creating him, he couldn’t stop thinking about that same being. Perhaps that’s what led him to the infamous Cookie Kingdom, founded by that young gingerbread cookie and his friends. For a cookie so fresh to create something so beautiful was incredible to him.

"So, any cookie is welcome here?" He asked, looking down at the young cookies beside him.

“Of course!” Gingerbrave smiled, “There are all kinds of cookies living here now, you’ll find your people here eventually, you just gotta look around a bit.”

It took a lot longer than “a bit.”

Most of the other cookies were uneased by his presence, the only exceptions being the ones who already knew, but the young cookie insisted that he’d find someone eventually. He sat on the swings- berry churro swings Gingerbrave had called them- questioning whether coming here was a good idea at all.

“Hey, you doing okay there?” He looked over to see a cookie standing in front of him, somehow not even slightly intimidated by his existence. “You looked like you could use a friend.”

"Yes, I'm having a bit of trouble in that department. The others here are, unnerved by me."

“Did Gingerbrave invite you here?” The cookie sat on the swing next to him, “The kid means well, but he probably should’ve eased them into this first. I mean it was a wild day when the ancients first started coming around here. I wish I could have helped a bit with that Stardust.” He gripped the swing chain a bit harder.

“How do you know my name?!”

“Oh right…” They smiled, although he could tell there was something beneath it. “I’m sorry, somebody must’ve told me your name. I’m [Name] if that helps.”

"I suppose it does," He sighed, "I apologize for my outburst. That was unbecoming of me."

“Nah it’s alright, I get it. First impressions are always hard, you should’ve seen me when I met Hollyberry for the first time, lost my marbles!” The cookie was very talkative, but he supposed his voyage across the cosmos made him appreciate a good conversation once in a while. Their ramble was cut short by two children approaching them, one a young girl donning pumpkin-themed attire and the other a young boy in a blue jumpsuit and helmet.

“Oh, hey kiddos, you guys need something?”

“We just wanted to ask you to join us, Pom-Pom and I were planning on throwing a party.”

“Yeah!” Gumball Cookie pointed at his gumball cannon, “I’m thinking of helping with the decorations, but I dunno which color gumballs to use.”

“Alright, alright, I’ll come over in a minute. I’m just welcoming our new friend here.”

"That's okay, they seem like they need you right now." The cookie smiled at him, gesturing him to follow them as they helped the children.

They ended up deciding on a spring theme, pink and green to signal the beginning of the season. They were so patient with them both, talking to them as though they were their parent. They were such a nurturing soul with a shining aura, almost as though they were-

“Thank you, Baker!”

He stopped.

"I'm sorry WHAT?!"

[leaderwonim]

i’m just a teenage dirtbag baby ( like you. )

based on this edit !!

pairing. troublemaker!nishimura riki x goody-two-shoes!fem!reader

summary. nishimura riki was infamous for being handsome and also quite the character. he’d purposely throw papers everywhere, bump into people without a care, and ditch class like it was nothing. you were the complete opposite, but deep down, nishimura riki knew you were just like him

warnings. cursing, smoking, riki destroys someone’s private property 😭, riki is your typical teenage dirtbag, he also calls her sweets

“Hey.”

Nishimura Riki slides onto the seat right next to yours, blinking twice as much as he should be. You knew it was one of his teasing habits, meant to make you shift uncomfortably under his gaze.

“What do you want Nishimura?”

He puts his hand over his chest, pretending he’s wounded by your words. “Nishimura? We’re on last name basis sweets?”

“Shut up,” you say, pushing his face away with your index finger. “I have exams to study for.”

“Let me see.” He ignores your protests, flipping your textbook to his side as he eyes the papers. “Ew, mathematics? You’re a bigger nerd than I thought sweets.”

“Don’t call me sweets.” You say, sticking out your tongue in annoyance. “And get out of here.”

He lifts both hands in surrender, “alright, alright, I’ll leave sweets. Gotta meet Jungwon anyways.”

You thank whoever above was listening to your pleas of making Riki leave. Turning around to face the desk he was in, you realize he hadn’t pushed in his chair.

“Nishimura!” You groan out loud, pushing it in with your foot. This earns you a shush from the librarian, which only fuels your hatred towards the Japanese boy.

.♡.

“Y/N! Is that you?” There was Nishimura Riki’s annoying voice again, the one voice that you dread to hear everytime you entered school.

“Don’t you have anything better to do than annoy other people?” You ask, face clearly unimpressed.

“Someone woke up on the wrong side of bed.”

You glare at Jungwon’s unneeded input in the conversation, which makes him snicker and look away.

“You guys are ditching again?”

Riki and Jungwon shrug, making you roll your eyes. Of course the two were ditching, why did you even ask?

“We were gonna stop by the cigarette shop and get a pack or two.”

Jungwon elbows Riki, as if he wasn’t supposed to say that out loud.

“What? We can trust Y/N, isn’t that right sweets?”

“You still call her sweets?” Jungwon groans. “Gross dude. Let’s go.”

Jungwon starts walking, Riki closely following behind him. Just before they exit the school corridors, the boy throws you a wink, one that you roll your eyes at.

“You’ll love me one day sweets!” He shouts.

“In your dreams Nishimura!”

.♡.

It seemed like nothing was going your way. The next week had approached and even though it was barely Monday, your teachers decided it was a good idea to assign a bunch of exams on the same day.

With quivering hands, you tried not to get the tears that were currently coming out of your eyes onto your physics paper, which was marked with a 68.

How on earth did you get a 68? You were so sure you knew the formulas that were needed for the exam, but what was on the test looked completely different from what you expected.

You could barely find it in yourself to walk home, legs practically dragging across the concrete floor as you wipe your tears away with your windbreaker.

“Sweets?”

Although your normal self would snarl at the nickname and the voice it belonged to—you found yourself too tired and miserable to care at this point.

“Riki?”

You wipe your eyes again, vision clearing in enough to make out Riki leaning against one of the large trees a few meters away from the school.

“Hey, what’s wrong sweets?” He takes the cigarette that was currently dangling on his mouth out, squishing the head of it on the dirt floor beside him.

“Are you smoking again? That’s bad for you and you know it.”

“Geez sweets,” he laughs, finally standing up. “You looked like you just bawled your eyes out yet you still have enough energy to lecture me?”

“Shut up.”

“Ah, there she is again.”

Riki makes his way closer to you, head peering down to reach your level.

“Don’t cry.” He says softly, and it’s the first time you heard him in that tone. “Makes your eyes all red and scary.”

“Yah!”

He laughs when you hit him on the shoulder, sound that used to make you frown but you were weirdly enjoying it now.

“I’m kidding sweets!” He slings an arm around your shoulder, pulling you close to him. “You’re pretty, even when you have tear stains all over you.”

The two of you continue walking, you not too sure where Riki was even taking you.

“Where are we going?” You sniffle, looking around the area.

“This new arcade, cmon, I’ll drive us.”

The two of you are in front of his beaten down Toyota, although it looks pretty clean from the inside. You thought Riki’s car would be an absolute mess, but it seemed like he was a clean freak when you opened the door to the smell of vanilla and cinnamon.

“You actually clean your car?”

“I’m offended you thought I didn’t sweets!” He says, frowning. “Thankfully, I don’t hold grudges.”

He puts the key in, hands tapping against his leather seat. “Wanna tell me why you’re so sad?”

He places a hand on the head of your seat, body twisting back with one hand on the wheel to pull out of his parking spot. He looked incredibly handsome doing such a basic task that it almost made your ability to speak go away.

“I got a 68 on my physics test.” You say, shoulders defeated.

“No way.” He continues driving, eyes glancing back and forth from the road to you. “Mr. Yuji’s class right? Fucking hate him.”

“Yeah well, I do too.”

Riki takes a road that you’re unfamiliar with, and he suddenly stops the car in front of a house.

“What are you doing Riki?” You say, watching as he opens his trunk and leaves the car.

“Doing something I should’ve done a long time ago.”

He pulls out a bat, and your eyes widen when he smashes it against a mailbox, crushing it in completely.

“Holy shit!” You shriek, eyes widening as Riki throws back the bat into the trunk, closing it with a loud bang.

He runs back to the car, slamming the door behind him.

“And that’s for Y/N motherfucker!” He yells before driving off, his boyish laughter could be heard from a distance.

“You’re crazy.” You breathe out, body still in shock from what you witnessed. “Who’s mailbox was that?”

“Mr. Yuji’s.” He smirks, eyes still on the road. “Let’s just say—this isn’t the first time I’ve been to his residence.”

“Wow.” You rest your head against Riki’s cold windows, still taking in what just happened. “Thank you?”

“You’re welcome sweets.” He smiles, teeth practically shinning like the movies. “Now how about that arcade I promised you earlier?”

.♡.

After hanging out with Riki at the arcade on Monday, you realized the boy wasn’t as bad as you thought.

He had won you a gigantic brown teddy bear, a cliché that you never thought would have happened to you after failing your physics exam.

He made you name it James The Third, and made you promise that it was your child and you had to take care of it while he was away.

“I heard you hung out with Nishimura this weekend!” You swore nothing could go past Byeol, who was currently geeking at the sudden news of you and Riki being so close.

“Shh, keep your voice down!”

Byeol wiggles her eyebrows, giggling at your stressed state. “You two are so cute! Opposites attract!”

You start to walk away from her, using the excuse that class has started. Sure Riki was handsome and weirdly—nice—you weren’t sure what your feelings about him were yet.

“Hi.”

You basically flinch out of your seat when you see him right next to you. He had a can of soy milk and a slice of chocolate cake with him.

“I brought you soy milk, hopefully you like it.”

You give him a small smile, not trusting your words enough to actually speak. Thankfully for you, the teacher entered right after, starting her lesson on trigonometry.

“Nishimura Riki, do you really have to eat in my class?” The teacher stops writing, placing her chalk on the board as she stares directly into Riki’s eyes.

He looks up from the bangs poking at his eyes, giving the teacher a stupid smile.

“Yes Mrs. Park, I’m very hungry.”

“Very well.” She wants to scowl at Riki, you could tell by her furrowed eyebrows. But she doesn’t, instead, picking up her chalk again to continue the lesson.

3 minutes don’t even past when Riki’s chewing gets incredibly loud and obnoxious, making you place a hand over your mouth to prevent yourself from bursting out laughing.

“Is the chocolate cake that good, Riki?” The teacher asks, trying not to completely snap at the boy.

“It’s sooo good.” Riki says, smiling fully with his teeth.

The class blurts out in laughter and hysteria, making Mrs. Park practically crush the chalk that was in her hand.

“That’s it! Go outside Nishimura Riki!”

He rolls his eyes, standing up from his seat. “Fine, but I was just eating cake.”

He looks over to you, who was currently giggling underneath your breath. He gives you a small smile, flicking your forehead softly before leaving the room, leaving you a blushing mess.

.♡.

“Pssst.”

You turn around, already knowing who was on the other side.

Of course Nishimura Riki was there.

“I’ve got two tickets to see Arctic Monkeys, come with me Friday night?”

You shake your head softly. “Oh I don’t know Riki, I have to study.”

“Don’t say that sweets,” he groans, head slumping into your shoulder. “Have some fun!”

“Shhh!” You look around, thankful the librarian wasn’t here to scold you guys. “Okay, okay, I’ll go. Just be quiet.”

“Yay!” He cheers, and it’s the happiest you’ve ever seen of the boy. “I’ll pick you up, okay? Friday night, 8pm exactly.”

“Okay Riki,” you say. “I’ll see you.”

Friday comes by in a flash, and you weren’t sure what to wear to the concert.

Despite it being your last year of being a teenager, you still haven’t attended one. So you were in a real struggle to pick what would be perfect.

You decided to go with a plain black top and cream colored cargos that hugged your waist, one without straps so your shoulders could be out. You were sure it’d get hot in the concert with all the people that would be attending.

“You look cute.” Riki says as he rows down the window. “Get in.”

The stadium is only 20 minutes away from your house, and you’re starting to get nervous when you realize how many people were attending.

“Hey,” Riki says, taking ahold of your hand when he notices it shaking. “It’ll be the most fun night of your life. I promise.”

And he was right. Although you were sure you weren’t going to enjoy it all that much, you found yourself singing and swaying along to the music.

The stadium was dim, making the music hit even ten times harder.

When I wanna be yours started playing, your vision was focused on the band whereas Riki’s eyes were focused on you.

“Hey!” You giggle, catching him staring at you. “Focus on the music dummy! You’re the one who bought the tickets.”

“Yeah yeah,” he says, smiling ear to ear. “The concert’s great and all but you’re even better.”

You don’t get to question his words before he crashes his lips onto yours with the lyrics wanna be yours blasting in the background.

[twistedpink]

Rook Hunt x Shapeshifter!Reader

The hardest thing you’ve ever done in your long, long life is climb the corporate ladder. The idol one, to be precise. Humans just can’t be pleased! It’s proven! With all your visual tweaks, and genre changes, and half-assed performances (that was later - your first couple debuts were flawless), you’re done. Officially, depressingly, quitting. The only thing to do with all the names and character ideas in the back of your head is retire, and focus on the “natural” path. Eating the people you wanted to have love you. In a way, it’s not all that different..

You’ll almost miss the limelight- Certainly not the stalkers and spandex, but definitely the attention. The best place in the modern world to avoid your past identities, believe it or not, is the city! Morphing into someone approachable’s easy game- You smooth out your celebrity cheekbones, let the fat of your chest and thighs redistribute into an average body, and when you’re just about done changing the shape of your teeth, it’s time to meet up with your date!

Humans are easy, a breed of mundane that you’d never find among your own kind- So unguarded in this era of seeing thousands of faces, how are you supposed to pick out things to steal if you don’t have firsthand experience? A mole here, or a scar there, human features definitely outweigh their.. Unfortunate intelligence.

Your date is perfect, as they always are with you. A tall, sunkissed blonde with a strong nose and stronger accent. He’s nothing short of beautiful- So much so you’d offered dropping by your place for some drinks. You wouldn’t mind taking a peek at something a bit more,, personal. He’s gullible enough to agree without further debate. They all are.

You’ve observed him the entire conversation- How his hands are calloused from work in the field, or the way his eyes react dollishly with your every word, not a thought behind those livestock eyes. He looks clean but doesn’t smell it.. He either doesn’t shower enough, or he’s peaked your senses,, You’ve been known for standing to attention with pretty boys.. Your eyes dilate when he speaks. He runs at 62 bpm, his eyes have little specks of gold, and GOD he’s trying to hold your hand! HOLD! HIS! HAND! YOU WILL DIE IF YOU DONT HOLD HIS HAND!

You’re sitting in the same booth, hot coffee sits in front of the both of you- You’re far too distracted to take a drink. You want him, Worse than you’ve ever wanted anything. The bay window’s light bathes him, like an angel.. You’re determined to make him a star. Once you’ve taken his body, of course. He’ll be your pretty muse! Give you motivation for the stage again! Your Rook. It’s torture to not lean into him, you want a bite,, :(

His vacant hand on the table reaches for his mug, and you see it happen like a stone coming at a glass house. It’d be too suspicious to react. You have to let it burn you. With a tink against the table, boiling coffee spills over the edge and onto your empty hand- Mercifully avoiding your date. While he goes to fetch a tissue, (stretching deliciously across the table) the offending wound flashes bright blues and greens in an attempt to colour match.. You really, truly hope you don’t have to explain away anything he might’ve seen. You don’t have the energy for that right now - much less to wipe yourself clean, so you let him do it. You’ve always fancied having a human or two wait on you.

“Ah! Ma puce! A touch off topic, but have you ever followed the lives of celebrities? I’m quite the fanatic, myself.”

Not one to fumble a hunt, you acquiesce. He’s a skilled multi tasker- The best a human can be, at least,,

“I do! I’m a super-fan of a newly retired poster girl for this hyperpop group,, totally gonna’ miss her stuff. Why do you ask?”

“Funny, you really do remind me of her.. In your own way. A fun coincidence, no?”

You consider, briefly, brushing him off- Ditching the project and skipping town,, There’s no point staying if your disguise isn’t perfect. Then again, why are you running in the first place from prey? This is your first human with the intuition to recognize you, even if it’s passing, you need to see how this plays out. You can’t help wondering if you might enjoy being hunted for once, if he’s really so good. The only way of knowing is to jump headfirst!

“So, how’s your schedule next Friday?”

@bju3c0re

[puckinghischier]

I Don’t Dance

nico hischier x fem!reader

summary - nico hates dancing

notes - i saw a post about an interview earlier about nico where he said one thing he would never do is dancing and thus, an idea was born. i combined it with a request i have sitting in my inbox but it’s really more of a request cameo than based on the request itself. i hope you enjoy!! happy reading !

request - “i heard that!” “you were supposed to” with nico

[2.4k]

“I really don’t think he’s going to, Jack. You know how he is, he hates stuff like this,” you put the flyer down, knowing it would be a wasted attempt.

“I think you’d be surprised with what he would agree to if you were the one asking,” Jack tells you, ripping off one of the small pieces of perforated paper at the bottom of the same flyer.

The two of you were at a bar with the rest of the team right now, Jack taking on the role of bathroom buddy while Nico went to stand in the unusually long line at the bar. It’s here, in line for the small, single use bathroom, that you saw the poster for the amateur dance competition.

You squealed when you saw it, telling Jack how much you’ve always wanted to do one of those, even though you’ve never danced a day in your life. One of your absolute favorite shows is Dancing with the Stars, always forcing Nico to watch it with you anytime the two of you have a night in.

He always balks at why people agree to do the show, not understanding the desire to torture yourself during the dance lesson and do un-repairable damage to your feet in ballroom shoes.

“Not this though, he’s told me plenty about his dislike for dancing,” you reply, shoving the slip of paper into your small purse.

“C’mon, all you gotta do is bat your eyelashes at him and he’ll cave like an avalanche,” he waves off your comment, knowing how whipped Nico is when it comes to you.

Your response was a roll of your eyes, not pushing the subject any further.

Finally reaching the in-demand bathroom, you slip in and out quickly, Jack stood in front of the door ready to lead you back to the small section the team has taken over.

As you approach the table you were previously sitting at, you see Nico sitting there with drinks waiting on Jack and yourself.

“So, Cap, you gonna take your girl dancing?” Jack calls out as you reach the tall stools, launching yourself up onto one.

Nico stops the conversation he was in the middle of after being alerted to your arrival, confused at Jack’s words.

“What are you on about now, J?” Nico asks, rolling his eyes at Jack while reaching over and placing a hand on your leg.

Jack takes a sip of his beer before looking at Nico with a smirk. “Your girl here saw a flyer while in line for the bathroom and couldn’t contain her excitement at the thought of entering with you. But she’s under the impression you won’t do it. That’s not true, is it, Cap?”

Nico looks over to you for confirmation, the sheepish smile on your face all the proof he needs.

“Listen, she knows how I feel about dancing. Not a chance in hell that I’m subjecting myself to that torture,” he tells Jack, bringing his own beer to his lips.

“He’s just worried he’ll be no good and get beat,” you lean towards Jack, the loud volume of the bar causing you to worry about your voice being drowned out.

“I heard that!” Nico whines from beside of you, a pout on his face.

“You were supposed to,” you lean over and give a light pat to his cheek, pinching it slightly before bringing your hand down to rest on top of his on your leg.

Nico narrows his eyes as he looks into your own smug ones. “I would not get beat,” he declares, looking between Jack and yourself. “I just don’t think it’s a productive use of my time when I should be training, considering the off-season is coming up.”

“Dude, have you not seen how absolutely jacked some of the guys on Dancing with the Stars are? They’re so in shape it makes some of us look like dweebs,” Jesper adds to the conversation, having been listening from his seat on the opposite side of Nico from where you’re sitting.

“Jesp, not helping, man,” Nico whips his head over to his teammate. “How do you even know about that god-awful show, anyways?”

“It’s one of Nicole’s favorite shows. We watch it together all the time. Sometimes it makes me question my own athleticism. Those lifts they do? They go hard,” Jesper responds, clearly having a different opinion on the show than Nico.

“Of course you’d enjoy all the theatrics of that insane show. Why don’t you enter the contest with her then?” Nico scoffs out.

“Nah, think I’ll tell Nicole about it, see if she wants to go,” Jesper winks at you.

“See! Jesper is willing to do it for Nicole! C’mon, Neeks. Let’s go show up and beat the crap out of them. Wouldn’t you like bragging rights to hold over his head?” you exclaim, bringing both of your hands up to hang off of his arm closest to you.

“My god, see what you’ve started?” Nico waves a hand towards Jesper.

“It’s not his fault he sacrifices his own pride to make his girl happy. You could take a few lessons, Cap,” Jack chimes in again.

“Oh don’t even give me any lip, Jack, I do stuff for Y/N all the time, you don’t know even the half of what I’ve done because I know it makes her happy,” Nico defends himself.

“Apparently one of those things isn’t entering a silly little dance competition because he’s too embarrassed and scared of being beat,” Jesper teams up with Jack, causing the amused smile on your face to grow.

“For the love of god if I agree to do this will you guys shut the fuck up and leave me alone?” Nico says in frustration, throwing both of his arms up into the air.

“Yes,” Jesper and Jack say in unison.

“Then fine, I’ll do it. Sign us up,” he looks over at you, sighing and pinching the bridge of his nose.

You squeal in excitement, giving Nico a quick kiss on the cheek before running off to call the number on the flyer.

A week later, you and Nico are in a dance studio with a dozen other couples learning how to waltz.

“Nico, you’re supposed to be the one leading. You have to make me follow your movements, not follow mine,” you scold him, looking down at his feet chasing yours.

“But you know what you’re doing and I don’t. Can’t you just lead until I get the hang of it?” he argues, trying to remember the steps you were shown earlier in the night.

“If you get used to me leading now, during the contest you won’t lead and we’ll lose points,” you explain, trying to switch the lead over to him mid step.

The falter in movement causes Nico to lose count, his foot moving too far to the left and pressing down on your toes.

You yelp out in both surprise and pain, causing Nico to stop his movements immediately.

“Oh, darling, I’m so sorry, are you okay?” he asks, dropping his hands from waltz position and crouching down to take a look at your already swelling toes.

“I’m fine. Think they’re just stubbed up. I’ll be fine. Let’s keep going, we have to practice,” you grit out, shaking your foot out and attempting to get back into position.

The second you put pressure on your squished foot, your leg gives out, your toes starting to throb.

“No, we’re done for the day. We need to get ice on those toes immediately. What if I broke one?” he rushes out, knowing his large, heavy feet could have done a number on your small, dainty ones.

“But, we have to practice,” you pout, trying to walk again, but getting the same result.

“We can practice later. Right now we need to get you off of that foot,” he says with a tone that oozes finality.

You give in, letting him lead you over to where you stored your stuff, leaning against the wall while Nico collects your belongings before following his lead out of the door.

Once the two of you get back to your apartment, he leads you over towards the couch, carefully taking off your dance shoes and propping your swollen foot on a pillow on the coffee table.

“I’m going to get some ice, stay put, okay?” is all he says before disappearing to your kitchen.

You grab your phone from your bag sitting next to you, snapping a picture of your foot and sending it to Nicole with the caption “Ballroom dancing? More like bum-foot dancing.”

When Nico comes back with the ice pack he uses for his back after particularly rough games, he wraps it around your foot, securing it in place with the velcro strap fastened around your ankle.

“Baby, I am so sorry. I was trying so hard to do the right steps so something like this wouldn’t happen, but I still managed to mess it up,” he apologizes, rubbing his hand up and down your leg while crouched in front of the couch. “Just another reason to add to the list of why I hate dancing.”

“It’s okay, I was distracting you. I’m sure after a day or two of rest I’ll be good as new and we can start practicing again. We only have a few more days until the competition,” you bring a hand over to run through his hair, scratching his scalp the way you know he likes.

“Are you serious? Your pinky toe is purple right now, and you’re worried about practicing again? Darling you need to go to the doctor tomorrow, not be thinking about how to master a right box turn,” he tells you, trying to talk some sense into you.

“But…the contest…” you speak softly, knowing he’s right, but not enjoying how you finally got him to agree to something like this and now being faced with the reality that it still won’t happen.

“Sweetheart, I promise I’ll enter another one with you once your foot is better, but there’s no way you can dance on these toes in a just few days,” he grabs your hands, heart breaking at your disappointment, knowing its his fault.

“I know…you’re right. Just sad about it. I’ll call the doctor tomorrow,” you give in. “But I’m holding you to that rain check. We’re showcasing our waltz eventually,” you wag your finger at him, giving him a small smile.

“Of course. Your wish is my command,” he tells you, moving to occupy the empty space next to you on the couch.

“So, movie night?” you suggest, reaching for the tv remote on the small table next to the arm of the couch you were leaning against.

“I’ll go make some popcorn,” Nico turns his head to face you, placing a small kiss on your nose before standing and making his way back to the kitchen.

Turning on the tv and browsing the movie selection, you find one that catches your eye and turn it on.

Your phone buzzes with a reply from Nicole. “Oh, I’m so sorry hunny!! Guess Nico really will do anything to get out of dancing! LOL!”

Sending her a quick picture of the movie you settled on, labeling it “revenge” with the devil emoji, you quickly put your phone away when you hear the sound of Nico’s socked feet walking towards you.

Nico enters the room with two bowls of popcorn, having added m&ms to yours, knowing you like the sweet and salty combination.

“Ready?” you ask him as he plops down beside you.

“Ready,” he confirms, handing you your bowl.

You press play on the movie, munching on your popcorn.

Nico settles in and focuses on the movie before you, slightly confused, because it seems like it’s started in the middle of the movie.

“Did you already start watching without me? I’m pretty sure this isn’t the beginning,” Nico starts to say, but is quickly cut off by the sound of music coming from the tv.

Realization dawns on his face, eyes snapping over to you. You refuse to look at Nico, head straight forward looking at the tv, but you can’t contain the laugh that starts to spill from your mouth.

“Are you serious? You really put this on?” Nico questions as the first few lyrics of “I Don’t Dance” from High School Musical 2 spills out of the tv speakers.

You start belly laughing, unable to keep a straight face as Chad and Ryan partake in a singing battle about sports and dancing.

“Yeah, ha-ha, very funny, Y/N. I’m just a dumb jock that refuses to dance, and you’re a theater geek that feels it’s her life mission to show me to the dark side,” he deadpans, enjoying the sound of your giggles.

“Oh, c’mon. Tell me this isn’t the perfect song to describe the past week. Me trying to make you into a dancer, you telling me you’re never going to enjoy it,” you say in-between laughs.

“Yeah, hilarious,” he fights his own grin, finding the comparison slightly more amusing as the scene plays out.

Nico’s phone dings at that moment, a text from Jesper coming through, a picture of Nico’s face photoshopped onto Chad Danforth’s body flashing on his phone screen.

Your laughter rings out again, this time louder than the first.

“What the-“ Nico looks over to you, confused.

“I may have shared what movie we were watching with Nicole. Guess Jesper saw the texts,” you wheeze out.

Nico rolls his eyes at you, knowing he won’t live this one down anytime soon.

“Just put Dancing with the Stars on and stop encouraging my teammates to harass me,” he types out a response to Jesper, handing you the remote as you wipe the laughter tears from your eyes.

The next day, when the doctor sends you home with a boot on for not one, but three broken toes, Nico makes it his mission to reverse the unintentional damage he did to you.

From carrying you around the apartment, to buying all of your favorite ice cream flavors and sweet snacks, to bringing every meal to you on the couch or in bed on a tray with a different apology note each time, to bringing you flowers every time he leaves to go get dinner, to now committing to sitting and watching every season of Dancing with the Stars with you starting from season one.

And when his teammates start calling him “Captain Chad” he just laughs and plays along, telling them all Jesper is the Ryan to his Chad when the Swedish forward sends the group chat a picture of the trophy him and Nicole won at the very competition that started all of this.

“Could’ve been us,” is all you say, looking over and seeing the picture of the large trophy.

“Better get to studying for next time, then, huh?” Nico responds, reaching over and pressing play on the tv remote, hearing the sound of Tom Bergeron’s voice for the millionth time this week.

[devosin]

— LATE NIGHTS & FLASHING LIGHTS !! episode three : bittersweet wine . . .

♡. Spotify playlist | Updates, every Friday !! — Vil Schoenheit x reader | Dual pov . .

You stare at your phone, the article of Vil’s break in loaded on screen, you focus on the title almost obsessively, your hands tightening around your phone in a death grip. Maybe scheduling a meeting so soon after something that traumatic was a bad idea, but you weren’t one to check the news often, you stopped around two years back when your ex-therapist noted how it affects your mental health negatively, so you hadn’t known the news until now, when you were scrolling aimlessly through your magicam account.  

A sigh escapes you as you lean back into your chair, Amanda had reserved a table at one of these exclusive private bars, just for privacy reasons, it would've been a nice break from your usual typical dinner outings or take-out days, if it weren't for the anxiety building up in the pit of your stomach, alongside a fresh cold platter of guilt for making Vil come out during this sort of situation, despite it not being your fault in the first place. .  or maybe it’s a good thing he’s getting out of his home . .  that is under the assumption that he did spend the night at his apartment after that. 

The bar was rather empty, everything felt like a blur, but you suppose it's normal, no one really visits the bar at 9 in the morning, sounds counter-productive, who starts the day off with alcohol anyways . .  alcoholics . . right.  

Time: 9:18 am Location: Angel’s share

Vil approaches your table, "Apologies for being late, I had to take a cab this time around", he says, as he takes a seat in front of you, setting his bag aside. 

The knots in your stomach finally come undone and you find your shoulders relaxing as you hear Vil’s voice, you didn't even know you were this worried he would stand you up, it was gravely unlikely either way, this wasn't a date but more so of a work meeting. You let out a deep breath, finally looking up at Vil’s face . .  and . . 

“Why are you wearing sunglasses inside?”, you ask, staring at him. 

“Fashion statement.”, Vil says as calmly as possible, his head moved up to meet your gaze, but you couldn’t tell if he was looking at you or not. 

You stare at him and silence falls over the table “. . . “, a few moments pass before you finally ask, “You’re hungover, aren’t you . .?” 

“. . .”, Vil gulps, turning to the side, before he mumbles out a response, , “ . . . Yes, I’m.” 

You pause for a brief moment, before letting out a laugh, everyone who you know to have previously worked with Vil has always commented on his professional and cut-to-the-point behaviour, never once did you think he'd come hungover or unkept to a first meeting.  

Vil opens his mouth, about to say something only to get interrupted by the waitress, "Excuse me, are you both ready to order?", she smiled and she looked a little familiar. Vil squinted his eyes, trying to make out her face fully, he would take off the sunglasses but the bright lights would probably make him want to kill himself, and unfortunately he couldn’t tell exactly where he'd seen her before. 

“hav—”, Vil was cut off mid-sentence, this time by Y/n, “Ah—Yes, we're ready to order.”, Vil stares at Y/n, clearly taken aback by the rude interruption and Y/n doesn’t seem to notice, probably due to his tinted sunglasses. 

“I’ll have an appletini”, Y/n says and then meets Vil’s gaze . .  he chooses to remain silent, which was a bad idea since Y/n just ended up ordering for him anyways, “You can’t stay hungover if you’re still drunk”, the logic was clearly unmatched. 

Time: 9:43 am Location: Angel’s share 

Vil pours you another drink and the two of you clearly should stop drinking—he leans down over the counter, and for a split second he takes in your features—like really takes it all in—and . . you look . . tolerable, he gulps. 

Things were quiet as you tried figuring out what new conversation starter to use, the last half an hour or so the two of you had just been talking about random things, you learnt a lot, like how Vil keeps his first award under his pillow before an awards show for good luck—which seemed so unlike the man in front of you, to the point where it was even a little adorable. 

"You know—", Vil starts speaking, capturing your attention, he swings the class slightly as he makes eye contact with you, "I don't like you very much". and silence falls over the two of you . . but weirdly enough you didn't find it uncomfortable, and for a second you thought all that therapy on confrontation had finally paid off—but it didn't, a weird feeling sat in the pit of your stomach, and you asked softly, "Why?"   

Vil paused, gulping down the rest of his drink, and he could see the waiter from the corner of his eye sighing internally—he paid him no mind—"I just don't believe you can act" . . you froze.

Yes Rook is married, because it just feels in character for Rook to be married by his mid-20's to me, like he gives that golden gilded fences perfect family daydream lifestyle vibe to me.

Cater being a good friend . . I guess?

Vil momentarily being attracted to Y/n's looks because why not.

Previous chapter | Masterlist | Next chapter . .

— LATE NIGHTS & FLASHING LIGHTS !! ♡. Synopsis : VIL SCHOENHEIT recently signed a contract under Descendant. Inc for his very own late night show, only to find out his co-star and fellow co-host is none other than Y/n L/n, someone he hates despite knowing very little about them and never having met them, previously. Y/N L/N, an actor who made their debut 3 years ago and hasn’t been able to catch a break since, recently decided to sign a deal with Descendants. Inc to host their new late night show “late nights & flashing lights”, as a break from acting . . Only to find out their favorite long-time actor will be co-hosting with them. Tune in every Friday, for a new episode of “late nights & flashing lights” to see if these two hosts can find a peaceful work-bond amidst their judgements . . and quite possibly even love? . .

♡. Want spoilers ?! . . Join my server . . !! (or to be namedropped <3)

— taglist ♡ ; @well-look-at-this , @honkai-freak , @kingnem10 , @merviolet-asks, @katzline , @pebble-bb , @meigalaxy , @lordbugs , @crowbird , @yuus3n , @azriel-sama , @reivelmin , @the-ghost-0f-t0m0 , @eliza-be-t-h , @feverish-dove , @yejiswifex , @l0v3r666 , @cece-cherries , @frootloopscos , @abell2029cluster , @ephemii , @alienlatteinspace , @frangiipanii , @vamprel , @kittycat246 , @jar-03 , @leifsclubroom , @everettelz ,

♡ . Ask to be tagged... (If you don't see yourself up here, I cant tag you)

© devosin , do not repost, plagiarize, translate, or adapt my work without prior permission and or confirmation.

[servedvenison]

Girls Night | Garrett Garrison x Reader

QUICK A/N — so, i haven’t written in over three years, but there is one garrett fic and i NEED. more content of this man. this was originally supposed to be uploaded to ao3 and ao3 only but i remembered old friends have that account so i will wait here until i can make a new account LOL. anyway, i hope you enjoy. be kind. its been so long since ive been here hahahaa……

After spending your days with few close relationships, your time in the overworld had changed that for the better. Now, you found yourself in a happy little group of six. Sure, the age gaps were a bit... humorous, but you were all like a little family. Of everyone, though, you were closest to the "Garbage Man" himself. You two had been close even before all the blocky nonsense. But that was it, wasn’t it? Friends.

Garrett, Henry, and Steve were all off doing their "guy business” not that you had any interest in joining them. You didn’t mind one bit, especially after Dawn had suggested you, her, and Natalie spend some time together instead.

"I mean, those three are always running off doing God knows what," she said. "Why don’t we have a little fun, too?" She had a point. After hours of brainstorming some crazy ideas for a girls' night out, you all decided to stay in. You worked full-time jobs, going crazy late at night? Nah, not for us.

The night had gone by smoothly, lots of giggles, jokes, and gossip. Fun stuff, right? But it wasn’t long before the conversation shifted to the guys. It all started with Natalie talking about Henry, how happy she was that he’d finally started to fit in and make friends. Dawn turned to you.

“Come on, Y/N. You’ve known Garbage Man for how long? How do you do it? The guy’s a total loser.” You stifled a laugh behind your hand. She was totally right—Garrett was the biggest loser you’d ever met. And in a weird way? You really liked that about him.

“Okay, okay! Back when we were younger, he was like—the coolest guy ever. I’m serious! Don’t laugh!”

Dawn and Natalie were howling at this. They were both well aware of Garrett’s so-called celebrity status, how could they not? It’s all the man talks about. But cool? Garrett? Really? You knew the guy was somewhat of a loser, but him being cool wasn’t that surprising!

“With the way he followed you around like a lost puppy back in the overworld, for a second I thought you two were a thing.”

The comment caught you off guard, your face going red as you nearly choked on your drink. Natalie and Dawn exchanged a quick glance before turning back to you. Their reaction told you everything—they knew something, and they weren’t going to let you live this down.

“You guys are totally nuts. He didn’t know any of you, and we were in some random dimension, honest!” Wow, as if you couldn’t seem more suspicious. Natalie rolled her eyes. “But he sure did look cozy with Henry, you know, the kid he’d known for less than a day? And don’t get me started on Steve—”

Okay. She’d got you there. You didn’t have a valid argument. But honestly? You’d never even considered your relationship with Garrett that way.

You were lost in your thoughts until Dawn placed her hands on your shoulders, snapping you back to reality. “Listen, as much as I hate that self-centered dud, even I know he really likes you, Y/N. And don’t get me wrong, I do love to play matchmaker!”

Natalie and Dawn giggled together like two high school girls scheming to get their friend to confess to a crush. You appreciated their enthusiasm, but wasn’t this moving a little fast? Was it really that obvious to everyone but you

Lost in your thoughts again, you replayed every small memory you had with Garrett.

He was always doing things to get your attention or approval, trying to ‘protect’ you when mobs approached in the overworld, getting you small gifts and trinkets when his wallet allowed it. But that was just friendly stuff, right? Stuff people do for friends they’ve known for ages, right? Well, sure, but Dawn and Natalie insisted it was more than that. Garrett wasn’t shy, he would do those things for anyone. But the small things he did for you... those were things he hadn’t done for anyone else.

[fridurwrites]

@eldest-of-katts Yo! Happy truce! I tried pushing two of your prompts together into one, I hope I did them justice. AO3 Link here!

Pride, Anxiety, and Awkward Teenage Confessions

“Er. Mr. Lancer?”

William Lancer looks up from the final he’s putting together. It’s early morning, June first. The sun is barely starting to come up, the dew still fresh on the plants outside.

In theory, he came in to finish working on the draft of his English 2 final in peace. So what in the City of Night is the chronically late freshman Danny Fenton doing here already, peeking around the corner of his office door?

Actually, hold onto that thought. Danny’s still got eye bags the size of the old purse in Will’s closet and he looks rough, like he’s been in a fight of some kind. There was a ghost fight earlier in the morning, but Danny shouldn’t look like he’d taken part. Will carefully slides the unfinished test draft into his desk drawer before gesturing to the other chair in the room. He wants to tread carefully here. Danny isn’t in the habit of coming to him with problems, but it’s no secret that the kid has plenty to spare. “Is something the matter, Danny?”

Danny hesitates, then slips inside. “I dunno. What’s with the tie and flag and all that?”

“What do you mean? I know you’re familiar with pride flags.” Will says, eyebrows knitting. He really hopes he’s not wrong about that, or- worse- that he isn’t about to hear something wildly out of character for the boy.

“I- er-” Danny fumbles for a moment. “I mean, of course I am, I just wasn’t- why are you wearing, uh?”

Ah. Well, that’s not unheard of. Students always seem to think their teachers’ lives begin and end with the ringing of the school bell. Will quirks an eyebrow, giving Danny a smirk. “I would think that’s rather obvious?”

Danny’s face goes through a few stages of bafflement before finally landing in the realm of realization. It’s hilarious. Will has to carefully school his face not to give away just how amusing it is, actually. It’s not like Danny has any reason to have thought about this, but watching him rationalize the idea that his teacher is more than just the bald man that knows way too much about old books and plays is really entertaining. 

Finally, the kid settles on a breathless “Oh.” before sinking his head into his hands.

Will is probably not supposed to hear the way he mumbles something about getting his head hit harder than he thought. He blanches for a moment, makes a herculean effort to recover, then clears his throat. “Are you all right, Danny?”

“Mhuh?” Danny lifts his head, frowning, then nods slowly. “Yeah, sorry.”

That’s unsurprisingly hard to believe. Will returns his frown, leaning back in his chair. How best to approach this?

“Why are you here, anyway? School doesn’t begin for another two hours.” 

“Oh, uh. Just. Had to take care of some things early.” Danny’s eyes fall to his hands. “Didn’t feel like going home, so here I am.”

Will frowns. He could ask. He should, probably. But he’s had enough experience asking Danny questions when the kid feels evasive that he knows it’ll be a losing battle, and both kids have vehemently denied any concerns that their parents are responsible for the various injuries Danny occasionally sports.

He’s still thinking about how he might find out why Danny didn’t want to go home at six in the morning on a Monday when the kid’s intense stare snaps back up to him. “Can I ask you a weird question, Mr. Lancer?”

“Of course.” Will says, automatically. The mystery gets pushed aside in favor of helping in the immediate.

“So, um- you’re gay, right?”

“I identify as bisexual.” Danny makes an odd face, then shrugs. “Close enough. How did you know that you like guys?”

Ah. So the morning takes another twist and turn. Still, Lancer’s had this conversation with questioning students before. “If you’re looking for a dramatic story, I’m afraid it’s not quite that interesting. I had just started college and I realized my feelings for my best friend at the time were a lot more involved than just enjoying his company when I went out on a date with a woman and kept picturing him in her place.”

Danny’s face goes a bit pink. “What’d he say about it?”

Will smiles, watching his student closely. Now that’s interesting. “Ah, you know, it took me weeks to finally tell him how I felt. Things weren’t as simple back then, so I had to work up the courage. It turned out he was straight, but I don’t regret it. We still talk, and through him I met my actual first boyfriend.”

“He wasn’t mad?”

“Stone Butch Blues, no! He was flattered!” Will laughs. “Flattered, and glad that I’d trusted him enough to tell him.”

“Huh.” Danny tilts his head. It reminds Will of a curious puppy, not that he’d ever tell the boy that. “How’d you tell him?”

“Well, I had come up with this elaborate speech, studied all the best poetry I could find, but when I went to try to tell him about it not a single line stayed in my head. I wound up just outright asking him out to dinner.” Will shakes his head. “Not my finest moment, but he seemed to think it was a lot better when he did eventually read what I’d been planning on saying.”

Danny snorts, then stiffens, but Will smiles with as much acceptance and kindness as he can. “We still bring it up, sometimes. It’s good for a laugh, especially now that I teach English.”

“I- huh.” Danny fidgets again. “Um. Well. Thanks, Mr. Lancer, I, uh. Sorry I interrupted whatever you were doing.”

Will waves his hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about it. Are you heading home now?”

“Ah, eh.” Danny shrugs. “I kinda thought I’d just find somewhere to take a nap or something? Is that allowed?”

Will tries very hard not to scowl the way he finds himself wanting to. Sure, there’s not that much time before classes begin, but he thought he’d take a nap somewhere on campus? “Where were you thinking you’d do that, exactly?”

Danny rubs the back of his neck, frowning, like he’s just realizing maybe he said something he shouldn’t have. “Uh.”

The boy’s eyes go wide when Will gets up, and he starts to stand as well, only to pause when Will walks over to the corner of his office and grabs a box of textbooks off of the covered recliner there. It takes a few moments to clear the chair off enough to pull the sheet off of it, but when he does, Danny’s eyes go wide. 

“I had a period where I was getting migraines in the middle of the day.’” Will explains, balling the sheet up and tossing it into the adjacent corner. He can deal with it later. “Amy was vice principal then, and she helped me sneak this in to rest on during lunches.”

“Amy?” Danny asks, squinting.

“Ah. Principal Ishiyama, sorry.” Will shrugs. “Anyway, I’m just going to be doing some work. If you want to use it, you’re welcome to. I’d rather you be somewhere secure than in an empty classroom or in one of the halls.”

Danny’s still squinting at him, like he can’t quite determine if Will’s genuine or not. Will doesn’t say anything. He’s starting to think he should treat Danny almost more like a cat, and so he sits back down at his desk, pulls out the exam he was working on before, and gets back to it without another glance at the kid.

It takes a whole five more minutes before Danny’s curled up in the chair, quickly falling asleep. Will sighs quietly, makes a note to call Jasmine- not the Doctors, he’s learned that lesson after one too many times having to clean up a classroom after the tornado named Jack Fenton tore through it- and lets himself focus on his work again. 

It probably says something unkind about his home life that when Danny woke up from his nap in Lancer’s office, he felt more rested than he had in months. He decided not to think about it, thanked Lancer for the chair, and went to get his books from his locker and his backpack from the wall he’d phased it into earlier.

He had other things to worry about, anyway.

He still does, halfway into fourth period. 

It’s just that Tucker is right there, okay? And at some point today, emboldened by Lancer’s words (which, wow, not something he imagined he’d ever be thinking) he really, really wants to tell him that. Well. Okay, they’re fourteen, and it’s probably nothing, and Tucker’s so loud about the girls he wants to date, and.

Whatever. Point is, Danny wants to tell him about the way his stomach gets all weird when he’s carrying Tucker somewhere as Phantom. He wants to say that he keeps stopping himself from grabbing Tucker’s hand when they’re walking together. He wants to let him know that he’s listened to him ramble about tech or code or games or whatever he wants to talk about since they were old enough to have interests like that and he still doesn’t think he’ll get sick of it. 

He thinks he’d rather fight Pariah again without the ecto-suit than have to figure out a way to actually voice those things, and yet. Lancer said his friend had been flattered. Lancer said they still talked. 

He’s lost in his head when the bell rings, and startles bad when Tucker nudges his shoulder. “Bwhuh?”

“You good? Class ended like two minutes ago and you just sat there staring.”

Danny stares at his crush friend for a long moment, then nods, getting up and grabbing his bag. Lunchtime means a chance to make this happen before his nerve disappears entirely. “Yeah. Um. You think we could, maybe, talk?”

Tucker gives him an odd look. “Sure?”

He- he really hopes he hasn’t already sabotaged this. He might still before he even gets to the really scary part. “Without Sam?”

That makes Tucker frown, and for a moment Danny’s heart rate reaches something akin to a healthy resting level for a normal person again. “Uh. I guess, but she’s gonna be waiting for us already at the cafeteria? It’s Monday, so, you know.”

Danny does know. One of the lingering vestiges of Sam’s somewhat insufferable past moralizing about her veganism is Monday, the dreaded veggies and rice day. They’ve all grown up a lot in the months since then, he’d like to think, but she still seems to find a vindictive kind of pleasure in watching Tucker choke the vegetables down. 

Even if he’s sympathetic, even if this is his crush, he’s secretly at least glad that Tucker has one meal away from home that’s not greasy and protein-laden. He’d like both his closest friends to last longer than he did as something that can be called alive, thank you. He sighs anyway, puts on a grimace that he thinks Lancer’s drama elective would probably give him a good grade for, and wraps an arm around Tucker’s shoulders as they walk.

He’s going for comforting, in theory, but he doesn’t let go even when the pair find Sam waiting for them next to the cafeteria door as usual. Tucker’s warm. He always has been, and humans are all warm compared to Danny now, but something about Tucker’s warmth makes him want to hold it close. 

Or maybe he’s just gayer than he’s ready to admit. ‘Liking boys’ and ‘crushing on Tucker’ is already a lot to accept about himself, he feels, so he pushes that thought aside and flashes a nervous grin at Sam. “Heeeey.”

She stares at him for a long moment, then rolls her eyes. “What is it this time?” “Nothing bad! I just need to talk to Tuck. Alone. We didn’t wanna no-show you though.”

Their friend narrows her eyes in just the right predator-glare way that Danny wonders if Dora’s amulet didn’t have some kind of lasting effect. He shrinks a bit under her gaze, and Tucker snorts. 

“I dunno what’s up with him, but I think this time it’s not actually anything huge. Probably just the reason he was spaced out all last period.” 

Sam blinks at that, and the pressure Danny swears he feels from her attention fades. She glances between the pair, then- to his abject horror- a smirk slowly pulls at her lips. “Oh, really?”

Danny manages a reedy noise before clearing his throat and nodding. She’s been onto him for a while, he realized that a week ago, but in a rare show of restraint she hasn’t actually said anything. He almost wishes she would’ve, because maybe then he would’ve started thinking about it sooner, but a Sam that doesn’t make your business her business is a precious thing and he’s not about to complain too much.

“Well.” Sam says, and fuck, he’s blushing, isn’t he? His blood might be thick and cool compared to a normal human’s, but he can still feel the way it rushes to his face so hard it colors the tips of his ears. “I’m going to eat my delicious lunch by myself, and if you two need me to, I’ll cover for you with Falluca.” Tucker huffs. “You’re just in a good mood because it’s Monday.”

“Sure.” Sam’s smirk is sharp and unrelenting. “Have fun with whatever you’re off to do, but I want details later.”

“Yeah.” Danny squeaks, his voice cracking, and if he weren’t in such a public space he’d just vanish into invisibility and try this again tomorrow after something like that. “Cool. Later, Sam.”

She shoots him a completely conspicuous wink before she marches off into the throngs of students behind the cafeteria door, leaving the boys alone in the hallway.

Great. 

Before Tucker can say anything, Danny’s pulling him toward the nearest empty room. If he waits, if something interrupts them, he’ll lose the momentum that’s gotten him this far. He can’t afford that. Can’t allow it. If even Mr. Lancer could do this, surely he can too. 

Once the door is shut firmly behind them, he releases his hold on Tucker and takes a deep breath. “So, uh.”

His friend raises an eyebrow, and Danny stutters over nonsense syllables for a moment before settling on “I need to tell you something really important?”

“More important than lunch?” 

“More important than anything.” Danny says, hands twisting around each other nervously. 

Tucker blinks, then reaches out and puts his hand on Danny’s shoulder. Danny tries not to lean into his touch like some kind of touch-starved cat. “You mean that, huh? This is serious-serious.”

Danny nods once. 

“Okay.” Tucker frowns. “You’re not like, dying the rest of the way, right?”

“What? No! Besides, I’d tell both of you if it was something like that!” Danny squawks. 

“Hey, it’s not like you haven’t been weird about ghost stuff before!” 

“I promised to keep you both in the loop after the whole ‘ghost cold’ thing!”

Tucker rolls his eyes. “Well if it’s not something like that, then what else is so important, huh?”

Danny’s mouth feels like someone glued his tongue down, suddenly. He swallows to try and clear the feeling away. “It’s, uh. About. Um, crud, I mean- I think I, uh, maybe- do you like guys?”

Tucker looks at him like he’s struggling to parse the words Danny stuttered out. When his brain catches up, his eyes widen, and Danny’s sure this is the moment of rejection at best. Tucker’s been his friend since they were in diapers, why did he think this was something worth risking that over, Lancer said he was in college when he asked and Sam was probably just teasing him, and-

“I,” Tucker manages, before he pauses again and makes his ‘thinking’ face. Danny’s seen it countless times when Tucker’s elbow-deep in a problem and dialed in on solving it. It’s rare for it to come out in a conversation like this, but, well.

Danny’s used to feeling like a problem to be solved. He’s just not used to feeling that way around the people he’s closest to. It kinda sucks, but it’s not that much worse than the building heartache, so, you know. 

“I don’t know? I guess, uh, hm.” Tucker says, and Danny’s brain feels like it’s lagging out. Huh. “I guess I never really thought too hard about it before? But I mean, Too Fine Foley should be for everyone, maybe?” He makes a weak attempt at a grin. Danny stares at him in disbelief, and Tucker plows on through the awkwardness. “Why do you wanna know?”

“Er.” Danny thinks- well, he thinks he needs someone to smack him like a cartoon record player. Tucker’s not saying any variation of no, though. He honestly didn’t think he’d get this far. “I. I think I do. Like guys. Well, a guy. Maybe?”

Tucker’s face does something complicated. There’s the tickle of nerves and hope mingling in Danny’s sinuses, as much as he’s trying not to cheat with his weird empath bullshit. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

The pair stare at each other for what feels like an eternity.

“It’s, um. It’s you. I mean. The guy I, y’know, like.” Danny says, because the silence feels like it’s clawing at the inside of his skin. 

Tucker exhales an “Ohthankgod”, then reaches forward and pulls Danny into one of the tightest hugs either of them has ever experienced. Danny’s instantly glad he doesn’t actually need to breathe, wrapping Tucker up in a hug of his own. It’s more restrained- a confession like this would be ruined by accidental use of ghostly strength- but he thinks he’s got it just right to feel no less secure.

Then, maybe because they’re both a little overwhelmed and Danny’s basking in the open love and relief that pour off Tucker to the point it maybe has him a bit giddy, he plants his hands on Tucker’s cheeks and pushes the most awkward, genuine, meaningful kiss a fourteen year old has ever managed onto his friend-crush-boyfriend-whatever’s lips. 

It’s not a good kiss, really, and Danny will probably remember that much. Their noses are uncomfortable scrunched against each other, he’s off-center, he’s pushing Tucker’s glasses up with his face. It doesn’t matter, because it’s him kissing the boy he spent the last year realizing he kinda maybe loves in ways that don’t make sense if he just wants to stay simply best friends. 

It’s not until Tucker pushes at his shoulders that he realizes that the other boy needs to breathe still, and he pulls back, both of them gasping and grinning and so red in the face they’ll both be sent to the nurse if they get caught right now.

“Holy shit.” Tucker says. Then he grins again. “You are ass at kissing, dude. I gotta work on that with you.” Danny gawps at him. “Hey, I think that was pretty good for a dead dude’s first try! Not all of us practiced in a mirror like you did!” They stare at each other. Tucker starts giggling, and Danny follows suit, and they end up falling over each other in a mutual laughing fit.

When they finally emerge from the classroom several minutes later, it’s with Tucker refusing to let go of Danny’s hand. And when Lancer passes them in the hall, eyes landing on their locked fingers, all he does is smile and nod, a quiet and knowing sort of congratulations.

Sam’s first words in the cafeteria that day are “Finally! Took you long enough.”

Danny can’t help but agree. 

[nuetralizedevangelist]

❝i hope i was your favorite crime.❞ || coriolanus snow x f!reader

| request- hi! i was wondering if you could do a corio x plinth reader where he aproches her bc she is a plinth (and she notices and gets mad bc she think that corio takes her for a stupid girl who would just fall for his lies) but he slowly falls for her. i would really like if it ends well, like them together. i hope you understood my idea, i love your work btw.

| A/N- i wanted so bad to make sooooo angsty but i fought the demons. def ooc everybody besides festus. fuck you festus. hope you like it as much as i do 🫶🏻

| WARNINGS- alcohol consumption, creepy men, bad fathers (relatable), nice coriolanus snow, festus creed (he deserves a warning), eating, making out, traumatized sejanus (im sorry sejanus i love you)

the eldest plinth daughter. not an heir, but something you’d want to marry into. if you could get her, you’d never need to do anything again in your life. coriolanus knew that, he reveled in that. he’d never met her, all the times he went over to the plinth’s apartment she was either out or the door to her bedroom was tightly locked- not accepting visitors.

he wondered what she did with her time, was she in university? sejanus seems to never talk about his sister unless someone asks. but yet here she was. a floor length silver dress caught coriolanus’ eye, turning his head to follow the figure. she stood tall and confidently next to her brother. his eyes cascaded over the entire family, all in the same tantalizing silver. they were brightly shining in the ballroom of the benefit. it’d be hard to ignore them. he hated that.

he studied her, they way he could almost see a resemblance to sejanus but feeling as if he’s grasping at straws. her left hand holding a champagne glass she hasn’t drank from, and her right hand resting on sejanus’ shoulder. she’s nodding along to whatever nonsense pup harrington is spitting at her, no doubt making a pass.

she excuses herself and points at her glass, which is now empty after having to listen to the poor boy. when she reaches the full glasses lined up on the table coriolanus makes his move. “hello, ms.plinth.” her head turns to him and her eyes narrow. “coriolanus snow. my brothers supposed best friend- where’s tigris? i like her.” she quickly downs the glass and reaches for another. coriolanus can feel the disdain for him leaking out of her pores.

“she’s, um, she’s back at home. with grandma’am. she is quite nice to be around, isn’t she? how are you enjoying your night?” he attempts to flip the conversation back to her- oh wait, she’s not even looking at him anymore. her eyes find sejanus’ as he’s talking to livia cardew, and she begins walking in his direction. “nice talking to you, coriolanus.” but he felt like it definitely wasn’t nice. was he wanting to marry her for her money? yes. but was she also beautiful and apparently quite funny, as ma plinth has said? also yes.

she spent the rest of night collecting champagne glasses and not leaving sejanus’ side. even he was beginning to get bothered by the bachelors approaching his sister. she leaned against the back wall, yes, another glass in hand. she’d gotten roped into a conversation with festus, clearly tortuous. coriolanus was standing with sejanus about a foot away, so sejanus could keep and eye on festus.

“it’s just so frustrating, coryo! all these guys coming up and trying to make a pass at my sister while i’m right there, if i didn’t know any better i would’ve taken pup harrington outside. you should’ve heard some of the stuff he was saying to her. it’s horrible.” sejanus rants while staring at festus. “well, she’s gonna have to get married eventually, sejanus.” coriolanus says with a slight smile to his bestfriend.

“i know that, just none of these guys. we’ve been everyday with them at the academy. you know how bad they are, the shit they say about women in general. i don’t want those guys with her.” it’s obvious he’s quite over protective of her, even though she’s three years older than him. coriolanus nods along with him and pats his back.

“i’ll go save her.” coriolanus comforts his friend and makes his way to festus. “sejanus said he needed your opinion on some ideas for the food, seemed urgent.” she nods and offers a knowing smile to coriolanus. festus leans his head on the wall “man! i really felt like i was getting somewhere with her” coriolanus rests a hand on his shoulder. “trust me, you definitely weren’t.”

the party has picked up and died down, everyone sitting to eat but coriolanus couldn’t seem to figure out where she was. she wasn’t sitting with her family and unless she had friends he didn’t know, he couldn’t see her anywhere. he’d made his way outside to take a breather from all the talking and hugging old people who knew his parents.

that’s when his eyes laid upon the girl in the silver dress, and he took a seat next to her on the steps. she’s staring out into the gardens and her eyes are glazed over. no champagne glass in her hand this time. she doesn’t turn to look at him.

“i’m really drunk right now and i hate almost everyone in there. all they care about is money and those stupid hunger games.” she confided in him and rested her chin on her arms that are wrapped around her knees. “yeah, you didn’t look like you were having a great time. i tried counting how many glasses you had but i lost count after ten.” she lightly laughed and shook her head.

“i think it was thirteen but i’m not sure, i drank four while festus was chirping in my ear about how many children he wanted.” she feigned chills at the mention of his name and they laughed. she turned to look at him with a barley noticeable smile “you’re not like them, are you? you’re more like sejanus. quiet and doesn’t bother women they want to marry.” the comparison of sejanus would normally upset him, but coming from her it felt the highest compliment a man could receive.

she rubbed her hands over her arms to conserve warmth and coriolanus quickly removed his blazer to wrap around her and she muttered a small thanks. resuming her staring at the gardens. “would you like to grab you some water? or something to eat? it’s not gonna be very good for you tomorrow morning if you don’t eat something.” he whispers towards and she nods her head.

as coriolanus is walking back in, the plinths are walking out. “hey coryo. we’re heading home for the night as ma doesn’t feel too well, have you seen-“ coriolanus points outside “she’s on the steps, make sure she eats something when you get home. way too much champagne for a human.” seianus claps his hand against coriolanus’ chest and continues outside.

the sun is battering down on the capitol but the plinths home is cooler than a beautiful spring day, probably for the hungover girl inside. coriolanus knocks on the door and smiles as his eyes meet ma’s. “oh! coriolanus, it’s so good to see you. we didn’t talk much last night. come in! i just finished up some pies!” she ushers him inside as sejanus joins them in his mothers corner of the kitchen.

after the grueling and quite long conversation with ma coriolanus excused himself. sejanus seemingly interested in this new sugar ma had found. as coriolanus rounded the corner to her room, he stopped. suddenly feeling quite nervous and as if he might throw up. her bedroom door opened and her eyes meet his, he looks down and she’s holding his blazer out. “i heard you talking to ma, here this.” her calloused tone returns, maybe she only likes him she’s drunk. he better find a lot more champagne.

the plinth family plus coriolanus are sitting in the sun room, drinking iced tea and munching on whatever treats ma had baked. “so, coriolanus, do you have any plans on getting married after university?” strabo’s deep and rough voice cut over his wife’s story.

coriolanus set his tea down “i’d hope so, certainly.” his eyes skip between strabo and his daughter. she’s sitting with her knees pulled up to chest and she’s looking out the window. “well you know how much we’d love to have you in the family, we could arrange your marriage with-“ she sets her cup down harshly and stands up.

“you always do this! could you just leave me alone? maybe i don’t want to get married, ma said it was fine if i didn’t marry.” she’s waving her hands around and waits for him to answer. when she’s met with silence she storms out and slams the sunroom door. “strabo, you can’t make her marry someone she doesn’t love.” someone she doesn’t love.

coriolanus stands up and thanks them for the tea. “tigris wanted to head to the market and i’d never let her go alone, i’ll see you guys tomorrow night.”

he walks by her door and tries the handle, quietly. he fully expected it to be locked but the door swings open and she’s laying face down on the bed. “sejanus, go away.” she grumbled through her mattress. “it’s not sejanus.” she sighs and sits up, staring at him.

“do you not knock before entering a room?” she tilted her head and studied him. “i expected it to be locked, sorry. i’ll knock next time.” his eyes seem to gravitate towards the floor and he can’t will himself to bring them back up.

“i’m sorry about my father. i’m sure it made you very uncomfortable, he’s just always trying to marry me off.” her hands fidget awkwardly in her lap. “i wasn’t too uncomfortable, any guy would be lucky to marry you. i always heard that you were quite mean, i’ve yet to see that.”

she scoffed and turned her head to the window. “they only say that because i don’t hesitate to speak my mind. i taught sejanus that. i am definitely what they call me, but only to them.” why does she feel so comfortable spilling her guts to him?

“i saw you and sejanus’ sister a few minutes ago, coriolanus. are you willing to deal with her grating voice and attitude for the plinths money?” arachne sneers towards him and the group laughs. “it helps that she’s pretty, it’s already hard enough trying to talk to her.” coriolanus regrets it the second it escapes his mouth.

she liked him. she really did like coriolanus snow, but who doesn’t? she weaved her way through the crowd trying to escape him. he was hot on her trail until he catches up to her in one of the various bedrooms inside the ravinstalls estate.

“do you think i’m stupid, coriolanus? be honest.” he scrambles to find the words but his brain couldn’t function in the one moment he desperately needed it. “i said you were different, i talked to you about things i liked, i would tell ma all about you. but you aren’t different, you’re just like the others.” he ran his hand through his hair. “i was different, i am different. i don’t know why i said that, it just came out. i didn’t mean it, i promise.”

he attempted to take her hand but she ripped out of his grasp and stomped out of the room. shit.

the next day her door was locked. and the next. and the next. he wasn’t even sure she was there anymore. sejanus hasn’t mentioned anything but he wished he would. he wished he would tell him if she was okay or if he majorly screwed up.

as coriolanus and sejanus sit in the sunroom attempting to study, there’s a knock on the door. coriolanus cranes his neck to see festus ravinstill standing there with a bouquet of flowers. god, this kid is tragic. but then he sees you, take the flowers with a smile and a kiss on his cheek. strabo’s never looked happier.

coriolanus suffered in silence watching festus become a daily guest and drowning out sejanus’ complaints about him being there. for once in his life, he agreed with sejanus. when he enters the kitchen to refill his glass of lemonade he sees her watering the plants in the kitchen.

“don’t marry him. he won’t be good to you.” she drops her head and turns to him. “and you would?” she spits back sending him into a whirlwind. “yes.” he whispers out and she takes a few steps closer to him. “festus is nice and fathers happy with this. i don’t have another choice, coriolanus. i have to do this” how does she always sound so sure of herself? maybe coriolanus could take a class from her.

their eyes finally meet, after weeks of not seeing her eyes, she’s finally looking at him. “you could marry me, instead. i wouldn’t treat you like a prize, like festus would.” she steps impossibly closer and he feels like he can’t breathe when she’s around. oxygen becomes molasses and his knees become jelly.

she looks over coriolanus’ shoulder and stands up on her toes to kiss him. he takes a moment to catch on but he his hands find purchase on her waist and he leans down. all nerves thrown out the window and all he can think of is her, how she tastes, how she smells, he can’t even remember who festus is.

her hands wind his curly hair around her fingers as she swipes her tongue against his own and he pushes her against the refrigerator, causing a few magnets to fall onto the floor. his hands are trailing up and down the waist of the yellow dress she had decided to wear that day.

festus had left the plinths the second he saw her look at him over coriolanus’ shoulder. knowing he lost and there’s nothing he could’ve done.

she pulls back, panting. “i’ll marry you, just don’t call me annoying again.” her lipstick is smeared across both of their mouths and he gives her a dopey smile. “i wouldn’t dream of it” he brushes stray hair out of her face.

“in the kitchen?! we make food there!” sejanus is standing in the doorway, seemingly traumatized. “sorry, sej.” he shakes his head walking away but throwing a secretive thumbs up at coriolanus.

[scribblecon]

A Minor Fascination

The way I’m 100% convinced Fort Max would view a human the same way one might view a small animal. But he’d feel weird about it because humans are obviously sentient. Can’t treat one like a pet but they’re also so cute. This is kind of silly lol

SFW, Fluff, GN reader

—

He’s staring at you again. You can feel it. You’ve been feeling his optics on you, ever since you set foot in Swerve’s. Why, you wonder, is Fortress Maximus glaring at you from the other side of the room for the fourth time in as many days? You haven’t even had a chance to talk to him properly in the couple of weeks since he joined the crew, so what could you possibly have done to deserve the ire of arguably the largest and one of the most powerful autobots on the Lost Light?

Fortress Maximus feels like a fool. Ever since he took notice of the little human running around the ship, he’s wanted to introduce himself. Befriend the human, even. Unfortunately, he has no idea how. It’s difficult enough to converse with his fellow autobots when it seems half of them can’t stop gossiping about his recent traumas behind his back, how is he supposed to approach a squishy alien who barely reaches the top off his pedes without scaring, or worse, hurting them?

He’d never admit it out loud, but there’s something about your tiny form that Max finds highly endearing. He’s used to being surrounded by hard metal, but you look so soft and gentle. He wants to find out how it would feel to stroke your hair or gently run a servo down your back. To have you perch on his shoulder as he goes about his day.

As he gazes in your direction, he wonders if it’s normal for a mech to feel this way about organics. Max knows about the disgust reaction a good portion of Cybertronians have towards non-mechanical species, but there don’t seem to be many who openly talk about liking organics. Most others seem to be tolerant or indifferent towards them at best. If he’s weird for his… minor fascination, however, at least he’s probably not the only one on the ship. He’s seen other bots like Skids or Tailgate gently prod at your soft spots to elicit laughs out of you, or pick you up when you need to go somewhere faster than your own two legs can carry you. Hell, you’re practically draping yourself over Drift’s arm right now, and he doesn’t appear to mind at all. Fort Max downs his drink, his gaze never straying from you.

“If you want to talk to the human so badly, Max, just go over there and say hello.” Ratchet’s voice cuts through Fort Max’s thoughts, causing him to squeeze his glass so hard he accidentally shatters it in surprise. He curses to himself as he looks for something to wipe the remains of his engex off his servos.

“I don’t want to scare them. They’re so small…”

“No offence, but the way you’ve been staring for the last hour is already scaring half the people in this room.” The medic sighs. “Saying a couple words won’t hurt anyone.”

Fort Max sighs and gets up from his seat beside the bar. Ratchet has a point. May as well get it over with and introduce himself to you. He makes his way over to your table, doing his best to avoid looking intimidating.

You’re in the middle of telling Rodimus and Drift a horror story about the old retail job you used to work in high school when you realise Fortress Maximus has had enough of staring and is now walking towards you. Oh god. You try your best to look as relaxed as possible.

“Max!” Rodimus exclaims as the larger bot arrives at the table. “What’s up, big man?”

“I. Uh…”

The three of you look up at Fort Max expectantly.

“I just wanted to say hello.” He clears his intake. Several mechs are looking over to see what’s going on. “To the human.” Max reaches an oversized servo across the table towards you.

Ohhhh. He doesn’t hate you. He’s just awkward.

“It’s, um… it’s nice to meet you. Fortress Maximus, right?” You give him a shy smile as you get up to clasp his fingertip in both of your hands. You assume he’s reaching out for a handshake. Or at least the closest equivalent, considering the size difference. Maybe he’s actually really nice.

“Yeah, okay.” Max pulls away like you just electrocuted him and promptly leaves the bar with a strange look on his face.

You share a bewildered look with the bots around you.

“Did I do something wrong?”

—

Fortress Maximus sits in his habsuite, head in his hands, replaying his first interaction with the ship’s human.

Yeah, okay.

Yeah, okay??

Max stews in self-mortification. Who says that to someone when meeting for the first time? Primus, he didn’t even think to get your name. That was a disaster. Everyone was staring at him when he left the bar too, he could tell.

He contemplates the possibility that maybe he really does need to see Rung after all. Not because of what happened at Garrus-9, he’d rather not talk about that. But because he doesn’t know how to string a sentence together in front of an alien a fraction of his size. Because he couldn’t resist reaching out to feel your hair. Because when you intercepted his servo and turned his attempted petting into a handshake his circuits almost fried from the feel of your tiny hands and the way you looked up at him. Fortress Maximus promptly discards this train of thought. Talking about this with Rung means having to outright admit he thinks you’re cute to another bot. To a psychiatrist, no less. The last thing he needs is to be officially diagnosed as some kind of deviant over something that’s not even sexual. No. Max’s desires, he’s certain, are completely innocent. He just wants to pet you a little bit. Carry you around, keep you safe, feel how soft you are.

Maybe after that display in Swerve’s he should keep those thoughts to himself for now. Let you approach him first next time. Assuming you haven’t been completely scared off.