#and why it certainly won't happen over night or even a year or more

[glossdebut]

best laid plans | MYG

✧ PAIRING: yoongi x f!reader

✧ SUMMARY: You meet Min Yoongi at a GS25 on a nothing Tuesday. You don't expect him to change your life. You certainly don't expect to change his.

✧ TAGS: strangers to lovers, angst (with a happy—but hopefully realistic—ending), smut, fluff, this is a heavy one so please heed the warnings!

✧ WARNINGS: mental health issues, depression, depressive episodes, suicidal ideation throughout, suicide mentions throughout, implied suicide attempt (sort of?), panic attacks, specifically panic attacks after (consensual!) sex, smoking, recreational marijuana use, vaginal fingering, oral (m. receiving), oral (f. receiving), vaginal sex, mentions of unprotected sex (but no real unprotected sex), MINORS DNI, please do not read this fic if any of these warnings are triggering to you!

✧ AUTHOR’S NOTE: okay. so... i said i wasn't going to post any more fics until june. and i won't post any more until then after this! i'm still on semi-hiatus! but something happened in my personal life last week, and i couldn't... not get it all out, somehow. so... here's this almost 14k monster. thank you claret @yoonmetogether for beta reading and giving me so much love and support while i was in the process of writing this! i love you! and thank you yoongi, for writing/releasing so far away (and the last) in 2016 and teaching teenage aqua how to stay, even when i didn't want to. and teaching adult aqua the same thing every year since. i hope this fic helps someone. that's why i'm posting it.

P.S. i recognize that i haven't edited my taglist since my hiatus. if you want to be removed, let me know.

✧ WORDCOUNT: 13.6k words

It’s a Tuesday night, which means nothing. Just like Monday meant nothing. Just like Wednesday won’t either.

The buzzing fluorescent lights in the 24-hour convenience store stutter overhead. You’ve been zoned out in the ramen aisle for at least five minutes now, doing the same song and dance you always do. Pretending you’re going to try something different this time, be a little spontaneous. Because you must break the pattern today or the loop will repeat tomorrow, right?

Still, though, your hand hovers over the same one you always get—the spicy one in the black package that scorches your mouth and makes your nose run. But at least it makes you feel something. So, you grab it.

Into the basket it goes, landing beside a bottle of Milkis and a crumpled bag of gummy worms. You sigh, turn around—

—and nearly walk straight into some guy you didn’t even know was in the store.

You both do that awkward side-step thing, freeze, then side-step the same way again.

“Oh. Shit. Sorry,” the guy mutters, voice low and scratchy, like it hasn’t been used yet today.

He’s wearing an oversized hoodie, the drawstrings uneven. His hair, bleach blonde, is tucked messily under a beanie, and there’s a faint line on his cheek from what was clearly a very intense nap. He’s holding a can of cold coffee and a pre-packaged egg sandwich in one hand, clutched between long fingers.

His eyes flick up to yours, and you realize, belatedly, that you’re staring. You should probably move, or say something.

“No, I—sorry,” you say, taking a step back. Your basket clinks against your knee. “Didn’t see you.”

Both of you are still kind of in each other’s way. There’s that weird, hesitant pause where you’re not quite sure who’s supposed to move next.

You clear your throat, nodding at his sandwich. “Midnight craving?”

“Something like that,” he says, eyes flicking down to the ramen in your basket. “You going for pain, huh?”

You blink, then smile a little. You didn’t expect him to be game. “Only the kind I can control.”

That makes him huff a short laugh through his nose. “Hey, no judgment. I’m out here buying coffee at midnight, so.”

You nod toward the sandwich again. “And that. Bold choice.”

“I wasn’t ready to commit to tuna.”

“Fair.”

It feels dangerously like flirting, just for a second. Awkward, clumsy flirting, sure, but flirting nonetheless. But the moment ends just as quickly as it came, like you’ve both run out of things to say at the exact same time.

You awkwardly step in opposite directions after that.

You return to your mission. First, hot water from the machine by the coffee counter. Plastic fork from the stack that’s always slightly sticky. You sit on one of the cracked stools by the window while the noodles steep and sip from your Milkis while staring out at the empty street.

By the time you make it to the register, the guy is gone. You kind of expected that. 

He was cute, you think. A year ago, when you were a different girl and sort of had your shit together, you probably would’ve asked for his number. Batted your eyelashes or something stupid like that.

But now? You barely have the energy to brush your teeth most days. You’re certainly not in a place for romance. Not when your big life plan has boiled down to ‘survive one more month.’ 

So no, you’re not mourning the possible missed connection with the kind-of-cute stranger in the GS25. Just acknowledging it.

But then, when you’ve paid and make a move to shuffle out, the automatic doors slide open—and there he is. 

Again. Leaning against the low brick wall, trying to light a cigarette with the wind working against him. The flame sputters out twice before catching.

You could leave. You should. But you linger, and since the street is pretty much desolate, he notices.

“Didn’t mean to loiter behind you,” he says, glancing up.

You shrug. “Didn’t mean to run into you. Twice.”

He waves his free hand dismissively, the other bringing the cigarette to his lips, plastic bag dangling precariously. “No harm done.”

That should be it, probably. End of conversation, end of interaction. Two strangers walk in opposite directions to wherever it is they call home.

But something about the slump in his shoulders, so similar to your own, makes you momentarily brave.

“You got somewhere to be?” you ask, gnawing at your bottom lip.

“Does it look like it?”

It doesn’t. Neither do you.

“Wanna sit?” you offer, gesturing towards the curb. “I’m just gonna eat before it gets cold.”

His eyes widen, like that’s the last thing in the world he expected you to say.

“Uh. Yeah, sure. Thanks.”

You sit. He settles a little awkwardly beside you, pulling the sandwich out of its crinkled plastic. It’s predictably silent between you, but you don’t hate it.

He eats. You slurp noodles.

And eventually, inevitably, you glance sideways.

Okay. He is cute. Decidedly. Maybe even hot, if you caught him on a better day. In a bleary, worn out way. The kind of good looks that sneak up on you, delicate and masculine all at once. Pale skin. Sharp jaw. Soft mouth. You’re not going to do anything about it. Obviously. But… still.

“What’s your name?” you ask around a mouthful of noodles.

“Yoongi.”

You nod. Don’t offer yours yet.

Yoongi takes another bite of his sandwich. Swallows. “You here often?” he asks, immediately grimacing. “God. That sounded—"

“Like a line?” You laugh. “Yeah. It did.”

“Didn’t mean it like that.”

You shrug. “I’ll allow it. Just this once.”

Small talk comes easy after that. You find out he used to live on the other side of the river and only recently moved to this part of the city because of a roommate situation that imploded. You tell him that you only planned to live in your current apartment for a year, until you could afford something better. It’s been three now.

He tells you he’s currently between jobs. You admit you’re technically not sure if you still have your night gig, because your boss hasn’t texted you in three days and you don’t want to ask.

He gives you the remaining half of his sandwich. You pass over your ramen wordlessly, letting him steal a few bites. It’s still awkward, eating so closely with a stranger like this. Sharing your dinner with someone who doesn’t even know your name. But it’s weirdly nice.

When the food is mostly gone, he holds out his cigarette pack. You take one and he lights it for you. You both pass it back and forth in silence for a minute.

“I used to think I’d be famous by now,” he says eventually, exhaling toward the gutter. “Like, not stupid-famous. Just… enough that I wouldn’t be here. You know?”

You nod. You do know. 

“I wanted to be a writer,” you offer in return. “But I hate writing. And I hate people who are good at it. And I hate that I still kind of want to do it anyway.”

“I don’t even know what I do anymore,” he says. “I was making music for a while. Then I got tired. Now I sleep too much. Avoid my friends. Pick up shifts at my cousin’s record store when he gets desperate enough to ask.”

“That actually sounds kind of nice.”

He snorts. “It’s not. But thanks.”

You tip your head back, look up at the sky, which is a washed-out navy and completely starless. Seoul smog. “I work part-time at a bookstore that almost exclusively sells erotica. And I cry like, three times a week, minimum. Usually in the bathroom. Sometimes in front of customers.”

Yoongi flicks ash onto the ground. “You win.”

You both sit with it. The warm, awful food. The too-sweet soda and the gummy worms melting in the bag between your knees. The companionship of a stranger willing to share a cigarette and half of his shitty sandwich, whose life isn’t all that different from yours.

You turn your heads at the same time. Your eyes flick down to his lips where they’re sealed around the cigarette. Inhale, exhale. To his long fingers, thumbnail bitten to shit. 

He’s really pretty, even like this, in the unflattering light of the streetlamp you’re sitting under. Long lashes and dark eyes that pierce through you. You wonder if his mouth really is as soft as it looks.

He’s looking at your lips, too, you realize. When you catch him, he looks away fast, ears pink.

“This is nice,” he says, staring at the concrete beneath his shoes.

You blink. Then, just as quietly, “Yeah. It is.”

He offers the cigarette again. You take it. Neither of you says anything else for a long time.

✧

The bookstore has been blissfully, predictably dead since you opened this morning. That’s really the only upside of the job—nobody shows up. You could count the regulars on one hand, and half of them only come in to use the bathroom, despite the clearly posted sign that says they can’t.

You’ve developed a theory about it, about the shame that still lingers around buying erotica in person. As if reading about sex is fine, but purchasing it in the flesh is something to feel embarrassed about. You could write a dissertation on it, probably. But you won’t. You don’t write anymore. You just clock in, count the till, and reorganize displays no one looks at.

You’ve already done your morning routine. Opened up. Counted money. Packed a frankly alarming number of online orders (apparently people really love vampire erotica). Now, you’re posted up behind the counter, flipping through a paperback about sexy cowboys with a bright red cover and a title that would make your mother blush.

You’re in the middle of counting how many times the author uses the word member on one page (six, and one was throbbing) when the bell above the door gives its half-hearted ding.

You glance up from the counter, fully prepared to give your standard ‘we don’t have a public bathroom’ spiel, when you see him. Hoodie. Messy, bleached hair. Soft mouth.

Yoongi.

Your mouth actually falls open a little. You eventually gave him your name that night, but you hadn’t exchanged numbers. You didn’t even follow each other on social media. And yet, here he is, bearing witness to you in all of your smut-peddling glory.

“I guessed,” he says, by way of explanation. He sounds a little breathless. “You said bookstore, and there’s like, two in the area. The other one didn’t have nearly enough erotica.”

“So you just… showed up?” 

He shrugs, sheepish. “You didn’t give me your number.”

If he wasn’t cute, you might be a little creeped out. He’s lucky he’s got such a nice face. It makes things feel romantic. 

“You want something?” you ask, gesturing to the wide variety of bodice-rippers your manager has displayed so proudly at the register.

“Yeah,” he says. “A cigarette. And maybe to talk to you again.”

You exhale through your nose, amused despite yourself. “Come on.”

You lead him through the back, past the haphazard ‘Employees Only’ sign that no one respects. Outside, the alley smells like stale piss. Very romantic, indeed.

Just like Tuesday, he lights a cigarette for you to share. You take it, and he leans against the brick wall, watching you.

“I kept thinking about you all week,” he says suddenly, no preamble. His eyes are fixed on the smoke curling off the end of the cigarette. 

You take a drag, the smoke clinging to your teeth. “I thought about it too.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You look down at your shoes. “Didn’t think you’d actually show up, though.”

He gives a quiet little laugh, almost self-deprecating. “Honestly, I almost didn’t.”

“So why did you?”

“I don’t know. Stubbornness? Hope? Boredom?” He shrugs. “I guess I just didn’t want to go another week without feeling like something mattered. Even if it’s just a conversation in a piss alley.”

That earns a smile from you. A real one. You pass the cigarette back.

“I don’t know what this is,” he says eventually. “I don’t even know if I’m in a place to have a thing. But I liked talking to you. And I’m tired of not liking anything.”

You look at him. He’s not exactly looking back, more at the space near your shoes. But his profile is soft, a little hopeful.

“I feel the same way,” you say, cheeks hot and heartrate climbing. Something you haven’t felt in a long time—not for good reasons, at least.

He smiles. It’s small, but it feels real.

“You’re gonna give me your number this time, right?”

You dig your phone out of your pocket and hand it to him.

He types in his number one-handed, cigarette dangling from the other, then calls himself so he has yours too. When it buzzes in his hoodie pocket, he hums like that settles something. Like now, technically, you belong to each other in some tiny way.

You take the cigarette back from him. Your fingers brush, knuckles stay touching longer than they should.

“You’re not gonna ghost me now that you’ve won the chase, right?” you murmur.

Yoongi raises an eyebrow. “You think that was a chase?”

You shrug. “It was something.”

For a moment, you just stand there in the alley. The world keeps moving, traffic hums in the distance. Your shitty boss is probably inside wondering why you’ve been gone more than the regulation five minutes.

But you don’t move.

You look at him. His mouth. The cigarette between your fingers. And your body makes a decision your brain is too tired to argue with.

You lean in and kiss him.

It’s clumsy at first. Your lips a little dry, the angle off, but it doesn’t matter. He makes a sound like a surprised exhale against your mouth and then he’s kissing you back, slow and warm and honest.

He tastes like smoke and canned coffee. You drop the cigarette and his hand finds your jaw. Your fingers reach for the edge of his hoodie, twisting in the fabric like you’re worried he’ll disappear if you don’t hold on.

You kiss him again. And again.

You’re not trying to make it romantic, really. You’re not trying to make it anything. It’s just—fuck, it’s been so long since someone touched you like this. Since someone wanted to.

And Yoongi kisses like he wants to be anywhere but alone. Like he gets it.

When you finally pull back, both of you a little dazed, he lets out a quiet, almost embarrassed laugh. “Okay,” he says, voice rough. “So… this is happening.”

You nod, heart hammering. “Don’t make it a thing.”

“I won’t.”

And he kisses you again, one more time for the road, hands on your hips like maybe he needs the grounding just as badly as you do.

Yoongi leaves around the back and you go back inside like nothing happened.

But he leaves with your number, and you can still taste him on your lips.

✧

Weeks pass, but you both take full advantage of having each other’s numbers.

You text mostly during lulls, when you’re hiding behind the register pretending to alphabetize the books, or when Yoongi’s stuck in the back room of the record store sorting the new arrivals.

You never say good morning or good night. It’s not like that. But he sends you photos of weird album art, and you respond with blurry selfies surrounded by piles of books with egregious titles.

There’s comfort in the ease of it. No pressure. Just a quiet thread tying your days together.

You: someone asked if we have a bathroom and when i said no they said “then what do you do?” like they wanted me to shit in front of them for proof

Yoongi: People are the worst. Come work here. The pay is shit but at least no one talks to me

Sometimes you send voice notes instead of typing because you’re too tired, and he never comments on how drained you sound. He just sends one back where his voice is raspy and low and he’s clearly half-asleep but trying anyway.

It’s not dating, but it’s not not dating. You’re not friends, not exactly, but you care, at least a little, about whether he eats. Whether he sleeps. Whether he means it when he says he’s fine. 

It’s just whatever the two of you are capable of giving right now. Somehow, that’s enough.

It’s nearly midnight when your phone buzzes.

Yoongi: You up?

Yoongi: Don’t say anything about how that sounds btw

You stare at it for a second. Then you type:

You: i am. what’s up?

You: and yes i’m going to make fun of you anyway

You: is this a booty call

Three dots bubble up and disappear. Once, twice, three times.

Yoongi: I just want to see you

Yoongi: Is that okay?

You sit up, heart doing something inconvenient in your chest.

You could say no. You could ask why. You could point out the hour, claim you have work in the morning. But you haven’t seen him since the day you exchanged numbers (and saliva), so instead, you say:

You: yeah

You: come over

You send him your address. Twenty minutes later, he shows up, in the same hoodie as last time. Holding a plastic bag with canned coffee for him, Milkis for you, and a package of cookies you once mentioned liking in a text two weeks ago.

You don’t say anything at first. He holds up the bag like it’s proof that he should be allowed inside, and you take it with a soft, bemused snort. Then you step aside so he can come in.

He enters like someone trying not to wake a sleeping house—careful and quiet and unsure of what to do with his hands.

You close the door behind him. You both fidget for a second.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he says finally, standing just inside the doorway, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Kept thinking about you.”

Your heart tips, like it’s leaning closer to him whether you let it or not.

“I’ve been thinking about you too,” you admit softly.

And then, because it’s late and you’re lonely and he’s warm and real and here, you kiss him. Again.

It’s immediate this time. No fumbling. No hesitation. Just mouths pressing together like they’re picking up where you left off in the alley behind the bookstore. His hands find your waist. Yours cup his face, thumbs brushing the sharp edges of his cheekbones. You kiss him slow, then faster. Harder.

You don’t think about what it means. You don’t try to label it. You just let yourself feel it—the weight of his body, the sound of your breaths, the sudden, startling relief of being touched.

His mouth trails to your jaw. Your neck. His hoodie bunches in your fists.

When you finally pull back, both of you flushed and breathless, he presses his forehead against yours.

“I like you,” he says quietly.

You swallow around the knot in your throat and nod. “Kiss me again.”

There's a sharpness to the way your mouths move now. You tug at his hoodie, fingers slipping under the hem to touch skin, and he makes a sound against your lips, small and desperate.

Yoongi’s hands are everywhere. Gripping your waist like he’s trying to ground himself, sliding up your back, curling in your shirt like he can’t bear to let go. He presses you up against the door, urgent, and you gasp when his teeth graze the underside of your jaw.

“Fuck,” he mutters, breathing hard. “I’m sorry—I didn’t come here for this, I just—”

“Don’t stop,” you say, voice barely there. “I want this.”

That undoes him a little. You feel it in the way his mouth crashes back to yours, the way he exhales sharply through his nose like he’s already drunk on it. He kisses you hard, lips and teeth and tongue with no finesse.

His thigh slips between yours and you move against it, just enough to chase friction, just enough to let him feel how badly you want this too.

“Jesus,” he whispers, low and raw. “You’re gonna kill me.”

You tilt your head back and let him mouth at your throat, lips wet, sucking a bruise into the skin. Your hips roll down again, slow and deliberate, and Yoongi’s breath stutters.

“I missed this,” you admit, half-ashamed. “I missed being touched. I missed wanting someone.”

Yoongi lifts his head just enough to look at you, eyes heavy, expression unreadable.

“You’re not the only one,” he says.

And then he kisses you again, deep and dizzying, and slips a hand beneath your waistband. His fingers are warm against your skin. Tentative at first, like he's giving you a chance to stop him, even now. Like some small, rational part of him is still waiting for you to say, ‘don’t.’ But you don’t. You tilt your hips forward instead, breath catching, and he exhales like that’s all the permission he needs.

He pushes his hand into your underwear and groans when he feels how wet you are. 

“Fuck,” he gasps. “You’re so—fuck.”

It’s been a long time since someone touched you like this. Since someone wanted you like this. Desperate but gentle, afraid of messing it up. His fingers slide through your slick heat and you let out a sharp breath, clinging to his shoulders, your forehead pressed to his.

“I’m not gonna last long,” you whisper, already dizzy. “This is—fuck—this is embarrassing.”

Yoongi huffs a soft, broken laugh. “Don’t care. Come for me. Come fast. I want to feel you lose it.”

He fucks you with his fingers slow, then fast, then slow again. Just enough pressure to make you tremble, to make you cry out softly into his hoodie. His thumb finds your clit, and you nearly sob from the shock of it.

“Yoongi—” you breathe, hands scrambling for purchase. “I—fuck—”

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “Just like that. Let me have it. I got you.”

You come fast. Hard. Pathetically hard. Your body locks up and then shudders violently, mouth open against his collarbone, heart pounding like it’s trying to claw out of your chest. Yoongi holds you through it. Doesn’t say anything. Just lets you ride it out with his mouth pressed to your temple, breathing you in.

When it’s over, you’re shaking. Barely upright. He eases his hand out of your underwear and presses a kiss to your hairline, tender in a way that makes your eyes sting.

You bury your face in his neck. 

“I can’t believe I let you finger me against my front door,” you mumble, mortified as you catch your breath.

“Can’t believe you invited me to,” he replies, grinning against your skin.

You both laugh. Quiet and shaky and a little shellshocked. You’re still leaning into him, your breath evening out, your body boneless. The high is fading, but the warmth he left behind is stubborn.

You lift your head, eyes still a little glazed, and give him a suspicious squint.

“I have a question,” you say.

Yoongi blinks, cautious. “Shoot.”

“How the fuck are you not getting laid constantly?”

His eyebrows shoot up. Then he laughs, quiet but full-bodied, like he’s genuinely caught off guard.

“I mean,” you continue, gesturing vaguely to your crotch, “that was—God. And I didn't even know if you’d be good at it! Like, I kind of assumed it would be decent, because you have a mouth and hands and a pulse—but that was fucking criminally good. Who taught you that? Why is this not a more widely available service?”

Yoongi presses his face into your shoulder and groans, laughing harder now. “Jesus Christ.”

“I’m just saying, someone out there is missing the opportunity of a lifetime.”

He finally lifts his head again, his cheeks tinged with pink. “Yeah, well. Most people don’t really stick around long enough to find out.”

That sobers you a little.

You study him—his messy hair, his blown pupils, the way he tries to play it off with a little shrug. But there’s something underneath it all. Not sadness, exactly. Loneliness, maybe.

You reach up and brush your fingers through his bangs, almost absently. “They’re idiots.”

Yoongi watches you for a moment. Doesn’t argue. Doesn’t deflect. Just leans into your touch. 

And then the quiet gets to you, makes you want to crawl out of your skin, so you say:

“So… uh… want me to suck your dick?”

Yoongi freezes. His mouth opens. Closes. Opens again.

“...Right now?”

“No,” you say dryly. “Next Thursday.”

He laughs. “Are you always like this?” he asks, amused, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

You ignore him and reach for the waistband of his sweatpants instead, fingers slipping under, deliberate and slow. “So?”

Yoongi exhales sharply, eyes fluttering shut. “Yeah. Fuck. Yeah, I want you to.”

His head tips back when you start kissing down his neck. His breath goes shallow. The way he touches you, light on the back of your neck, like he doesn’t know what he did to deserve this—it makes you want to give him everything all of a sudden.

So you drop to your knees in your entryway, hitting the floor with a quiet thud that echoes in the quiet. Yoongi looks down at you in amazement, eyes wide, lips parted, chest rising and falling fast.

You tug his sweats down and he helps, fingers twitching against the fabric, thick cock already hard and leaking at the tip.

“You’re serious,” he says, voice thin. Disbelieving.

You glance up at him, smirking. “That a problem?”

“Not even a little.”

You spit into your palm, spread it over the head, and he twitches in your grip. When you lean in and lick a slow stripe up the underside of his cock, Yoongi lets out a quiet, broken sound.

You’re a little rusty, but you don’t tease. You don’t take your time. You just sink your mouth down around him, spit-slick and sloppy. 

“Fuck—” 

Yoongi’s head knocks lightly against the wall. One hand finds the back of your head, loose and shaking like he doesn’t know whether to pull you closer or hold you still.

You bob your head faster, messier. Let your saliva drip down over your fingers, curled around the base of his cock while you work the rest with your mouth. He groans again, choked and startled, and you feel him twitch in your palm.

“Jesus, you’re gonna—fuck, you’re gonna make me cum.”

You hum around him. That does it.

He gasps. Buckles a little. Then pulls back. Not all the way, just enough to jerk himself through the last few strokes, breathing ragged.

“Shit, shit—I’m—fuck, baby, fuck—”

You look up at him, mouth open, lips shiny and wet, tongue out just barely. 

He spills across your mouth, your cheek, your chin. Hot and messy and so, so much. You blink through it, a little stunned, a lot turned on.

“Holy shit,” he breathes, staring at the mess he made of you. “You’re—god. You’re insane.”

You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, still grinning. “You’re welcome.”

Yoongi laughs breathlessly. “I think I just fell in love with you a little.”

You feel the shift, then. It’s small, almost imperceptible, but suddenly the air feels different. Too quiet. A little too still.

“Don’t be weird about it,” you huff, just to fill the space. 

Yoongi leans down and helps you up with careful hands. Your legs are a little wobbly. His hoodie is rumpled. His hair’s a mess. His sweatpants hang loose on his hips and his lips are kiss-bitten and red.

You glance at him, then away just as fast.

You’ve crossed some invisible threshold. You both know it. And now you’re just... here.

“I’m gonna, um.” You gesture vaguely toward the hallway. “Wash my face.”

Yoongi nods, but doesn’t say anything. You don’t look back as you walk away.

In the bathroom, you stare at yourself in the mirror, palms braced on either side of the sink. You wash your hands. Splash your face. Pat dry and breathe.

Or try to.

Fuck, are you having a fucking panic attack? Over that? Your chest is tight, every cell of your skin foreign to you. Like you’re wearing someone else’s body and she just did something you weren’t supposed to.

What the fuck was that?

Not the act itself. That part was great. The enthusiasm, the sheer filth of it—you don’t think you regret it. Maybe. It felt good, in the moment. You wanted it.

It’s what came after.

The shift. The quiet. The moment you felt like he saw too much of you. The part of you that glows when it’s being wanted, and dims just as quickly when it’s alone again.

And—Jesus, ’I think I just fell in love with you a little’? Who the fuck says that?

It takes you longer than you’d like to calm down. You do the breathing exercises you were taught, back in college when counseling was free and they handed out pamphlets on every corner of your campus. In for four, hold for seven, out for eight. You smooth down your shirt. Brush your fingers through your hair. 

Then return to the living room like you didn’t just spiral for fifteen straight minutes.

When you return, breathing still a little labored, Yoongi’s sitting on the arm of your couch with his elbows on his knees, staring at the floor like he’s afraid of what comes next. Like you’ve left him with his thoughts for too long. 

He sits up when you approach, brow furrowed at the state of you.

“You okay?” he asks.

You sigh and sit down. 

“Yeah. I just…” You stare straight ahead. “That was good. Really good. But it’s been a while. And I don’t know what I’m doing. With any of this.”

Yoongi nods slowly. “You don’t have to know,” he says. “I don’t either.”

You turn to look at him, and the thing in his eyes, the softness, it’s too much. So you keep going. 

“Not just the sex. Not just… you. This,” you say, gesturing at yourself, then your apartment. The mess that’s accumulated over the past month. “Letting someone see me when I don’t have it together. When I’m not even trying to pretend I do.”

You rest your head on the back of the couch, stare up at the ceiling like maybe it’ll swallow you whole if you keep talking.

“I don’t know why the fuck now of all times is when I’m letting myself feel anything,” you say. “It’s not like my life is better. It’s not like I’ve earned it.”

Silence. 

Then Yoongi shifts. Leans forward, elbows on his knees again, like he’s working up to something.

“You don’t have to earn anything,” he says. “There’s no quota for being okay. Or being wanted. You can be a mess and still deserve good things. You can be at your worst and still… feel.”

You laugh. Bitter and small. “So what, we’re just two disasters trying to convince each other it’s fine?”

He shrugs. “Pretty much.” And then, so gentle it nearly breaks you, he adds, “I don’t think I’m here to fix you. I just want to be here.”

How can he be so sure?

You don’t know a damn thing about him. Not really.

You know he works the stock room in a record store part-time and hates most of his coworkers. You know he smokes too much. That he eats terrible sandwiches and drinks canned coffee. That he texts like he’s trying to make you laugh even when he’s probably in the middle of some breakdown of his own.

You know he’s good with his hands.

You know he looked at you, in all of your mess, like you were still human. You know that he says dumb, grossly honest shit way too easily.

But you don’t know where he grew up. You don’t know what keeps him up at night. You don’t know what kind of heartbreaks he’s carrying, or who let him down hard enough that he walks around like he does.

And still, there’s something in your chest that won’t calm down. Something desperate. Clawing. A tightness you don’t want to name.

Why?

Why the fuck are you feeling so much for someone who’s barely more than a stranger?

Is it just the attention? The intimacy? The fact that, for once, someone touched you without asking you to be okay first? Is this what happens when you’re starving? When your skin has been untouched for too long and someone comes along with warm hands and tired eyes and lets you fall apart without flinching?

Maybe.

But it doesn’t feel shallow. It doesn’t feel fake. Instead, it just feels too easy. Like being with him turns the volume down in your head. Like you don’t have to explain yourself to be understood.

It scares the shit out of you.

Yoongi slips down from the armrest, sinks into the cushion next to you instead. Your knee brushes his. His arm rests behind you on the back of the couch, not quite around you, but near enough that if you leaned even slightly, he’d catch you.

Neither of you moves for a while. You just breathe. 

Then his arm moves and his pinky finger nudges yours.

A small thing. Stupid. Barely anything.

But it’s the first deliberate touch since everything happened in the entryway. And it’s soft. Hesitant.

“We don’t have to do… that,” he says, quiet but firm. You know he means the sex. “We don’t have to do anything.”

Maybe you don’t need to define it yet. Maybe it’s not about love or fate or healing. Maybe it’s just about want.

Two people letting themselves be wanted for a while.

You hook your pinky around his.

Just this, you think. Just this is fine. 

✧

Yoongi doesn’t push. He doesn’t label anything. He just keeps showing up. 

Sometimes at your place, sometimes at his. Sometimes at the bookstore, when he has a day off.

There’s a pattern now.

Late-night convenience store runs. Shared ramen on cracked stools by the window, making fun of people’s bad haircuts as they pass on the street outside. Socks borrowed and never returned. His hoodie living permanently on the back of your chair. Your phone lighting up with ‘Proof of life?’ on days he knows you’re at a low.

Sometimes you kiss. Sometimes you just sit in the same room and don’t say anything. Sometimes he talks and you don’t respond. And that’s okay, too.

It’s not about what it is. It’s about the fact that it keeps happening.

When you disappear, he still shows up. Like today.

It’s not a dramatic breakdown. Not this time.

Instead, it’s the kind of bad week that sinks its teeth in slow. No single catalyst, no big meltdown. Just one exhausting day stacked on top of another, until your body forgets how to move without dragging. Your sink is full of dishes you can’t look at. Your hair’s unwashed. You haven’t eaten anything substantial in days.

You didn’t text Yoongi to come over. You didn’t say much of anything at all this week.

But you must’ve sounded off, or maybe he just knows how to read silence better than most, because around three in the afternoon, you hear the soft knock at your door.

You don’t answer at first. You don’t mean to ignore him, you just can’t make your legs move.

A minute passes, and your phone buzzes from somewhere near your pillow.

Yoongi: Not trying to crowd you. Just wanted to drop off some food Yoongi: Leaving it by the door. No pressure

You muster the energy to roll out of bed and crack the door open. A plastic bag sits at your feet and Yoongi is already halfway down the hallway, hands in his pockets.

“Yoongi,” you call, your voice raspier than you expect.

He turns around.

“Hey,” he says, probably surprised that you’re upright.

You open the door wider. “You can come in. If you want.”

Yoongi hesitates just for a second, checking that you’re sure. Then he nods. He picks the bag up and slips inside without a word, setting it on your kitchen counter. 

He doesn’t try to hug you or touch you or ask what’s wrong. He doesn’t judge your apartment, the clothes strewn about, the closed curtains, the dishes piling up in the sink. He barely even looks.

“You eaten today?” he asks, gently.

You shake your head. “Not really hungry.”

“Okay,” he says. “I’m gonna make something anyway. Just in case.”

He moves around your kitchen like it’s his. Not because he’s overly familiar, but because he’s not afraid of your mess. He pulls out eggs, rice, a few green onions from the bag he brought.

You retreat back to your couch. You didn’t mean to lie down again, but the second you sit, your body droops until you’re horizontal. So you stay curled on your side, facing the wall. Listening.

The clink of metal. The whoosh of your gas burner catching. The soft sizzle of garlic hitting oil.

You don’t remember falling asleep, but when you wake up, Yoongi is sitting on the floor in front of the couch, cross-legged, a steaming bowl in his lap and another on your coffee table.

You push yourself up slowly. Your head aches, your throat’s dry, but you can’t lie. It smells good.

“You didn’t have to—” you start.

“I know,” he says, soft. “I wanted to.”

You eat in silence. The rice is soft, buttery, a little salty from the soy sauce and the eggs scrambled through it. You’re hungrier than you thought, but you pace yourself.

Halfway through, he glances over at you.

“You wanna watch something dumb?”

You nod.

Yoongi takes your bowl when you’re done, rinses both of them without comment. When he comes back, he takes a seat next to you. He scrolls through streaming apps on your TV until he lands on something you like.

The opening credits roll.

He doesn’t try to hold you. Doesn’t try to tell you it’s going to be okay. He just sits beside you, shoulders barely brushing. When your body droops again, he lets you lean into his side.

Somewhere around the fifteen-minute mark, he mutters, “You don’t have to be okay for me to want to be here.”

You don’t look at him. Your throat tightens like you’re going to cry. Which is something, at least, after the numbness of the week. 

“This could be me next week,” he says, like it’s nothing. “Or tomorrow. So. I get it. That’s all.”

And then the movie continues. One ridiculous scene after another. The light from the screen flickers across his face.

You don’t say thank you yet, but you know you don’t have to.

✧

You still haven’t put a name to it.

Neither of you has tried. There was one moment, maybe, a few days ago. Yoongi was over for no particular reason. He’d looked at you from your kitchen floor, head propped against the cabinets, lips red from kissing, and opened his mouth like he might ask.

But then the takeout came, and the moment passed.

You text like friends. ‘Want anything from the store?’ ‘This customer just asked if we sell records on vinyl. I hate it here.’ ‘What are you doing tonight?’ ‘Absolutely nothing.’ ‘Come do nothing with me.’

You hang out like you’re in a relationship. Eat cross-legged on his bed. Steal fries from each other’s plates without asking. Sometimes fall asleep shoulder to shoulder watching terrible TV.

You make out. A lot. 

Against walls. On couches. Outside each other’s doors at night when neither of you feels like saying goodnight just yet. It never quite escalates to the point it did that night—maybe once or twice it almost does, but one of you always pumps the brakes.

You don’t meet each other’s friends. You don’t ask about exes. You don’t introduce him to your sister or take photos together or exchange socials. Because that doesn’t feel like what this is.

You like the bubble you’ve built. The little world where nothing outside matters. Where it doesn’t have to matter yet.

Because outside the bubble, your life is still a mess. Rent’s overdue. Work is torture. You haven’t written anything in over a year and you haven’t figured out how to be proud of yourself again, not really.

But inside it—when Yoongi’s mouth is on yours, when he texts you ‘Made extra ramen if you’re hungry btw’ like that’s not the most romantic shit anyone’s ever said to you, you feel steady.

But, like anything else, it comes with its own set of issues.

The thing about not fucking is that it used to be about not wanting. A lack of drive. A lack of spark. A lack of time or energy or libido or options.

But now? Now, it’s something else. Because you have the option. 

Now, it’s starting to feel like a crack in the glass. Like every time you grind against his thigh with your hips twitching and your breath shaky, or every time he pulls your shirt off and buries his face between your tits but doesn’t go lower, the crack gets a little deeper. And you’re both pretending not to see it.

Because the truth is: you want to fuck him.

You desperately want to fuck him.

You think about it constantly. The way his fingers curled inside you that first night, the soft, filthy way he talked to you, the way he looked down at your face when you sucked him off like he was watching a goddamn miracle unfold.

You think about how he’d feel inside you.

You ache with it.

But you don’t bring it up. Because once you do, once you have sex, it’s not a bubble anymore. It’s real, something with expectations.

And you know yourself, you know how you get. You’ll start needing more. Wanting more. And Yoongi, sweet and quiet and lost in his own way, will become another thing you don’t know how to manage. Another thing you don’t know how to keep.

You’re scared of that. Of ruining it. Of letting your body talk you into something your heart might not be strong enough to carry.

So you kiss him like you’re dying, but when his hands drift to your waistband, you laugh, too high-pitched, and pull away. Pretend you’re tired. Or hungry. Or something, anything. Any excuse not to cross that final threshold. Yoongi never pushes. He just nods, catches his breath, and helps you back into your shirt like a gentleman.

But you feel the tension growing. Between your thighs. In your chest. In the way you wake up soaked and aching after every sleepover, body clenching at nothing. In the way your kisses are starting to come with more teeth. With soft little growls in your throat you didn’t mean to let out.

Tonight, he’s at your place again. It’s late. You both know he should’ve left hours ago, and the crack is splintering even further, faster than you realize.

You’re straddling Yoongi on the couch, your knees bracketing his hips, your mouth fused to his. Your hips are rocking down, slow and aimless at first, but building. You can feel him getting hard beneath you, feel the press of him through his sweats as you drag your clothed pussy over him like your body is starving.

Yoongi groans into your kiss. His hands grip your thighs, fingertips twitching. But, like always, he doesn’t push. He just lets you move, lets you grind down on him with that ragged little gasp in your throat, lets you take what you need without crossing the line you’ve both carefully danced around for weeks.

Except tonight, something’s different. You’re different.

Because when he tilts his head and mouths at your neck, hot and slow, and mutters, “you’re gonna make me come in my fucking pants,” you snap.

Completely.

You pull back just enough to look at him, breathing hard, eyes wild. “I want to fuck you.”

He blinks. Catches up slowly, like he’s not sure if he imagined it.

“I want you to fuck me,” you amend, a little louder. Desperate.

Yoongi just stares at you for a moment, mouth parted, chest heaving. His hands tighten on your thighs. 

“You sure?” he asks, voice rough.

Once you say yes, it happens fast. 

Yoongi’s hands are everywhere. Gripping your hips, your waist, sliding up your back to tug your shirt over your head. He peels it off and tosses it somewhere behind you, eyes locked on yours like he’s giving you one last chance to change your mind.

You don’t.

Your bra’s off next, fast, and he curses the second your tits are bare, like he can’t believe this is happening. Like he’s been thinking about it for weeks too, and now that it’s real, he doesn’t know where to start.

So he starts with his mouth.

He palms your breasts and groans low in his throat, then leans forward and takes one into his mouth like he needs it—hot tongue flicking over your nipple, lips sucking gently before he bites, just enough to make you gasp. His fingers find the other, circling and pinching lightly.

“Fuck,” you whimper, arching into him. “Yoongi—”

You grind down on his cock again, still half-dressed from the waist down, the friction sharp and unbearable. You’re soaked. You can feel it. Your panties are useless at this point, clinging wetly to your folds, and you’re half a second away from tearing them off yourself if he doesn’t move faster.

“Condom,” you breathe. “Please. Where—?”

“Yeah—fuck—yeah, hold on.”

You scramble off his lap at the same time he stumbles off the couch, both of you half-laughing and swearing under your breath. He digs through his bag on your floor, frantic, muttering, “I swear I had one—fuck, wait—yes.”

He holds it up like a prize, and you don’t even give him the chance to rip it open before you’re tugging your shorts and panties down in one go, stepping out of them and crawling back onto the couch.

Yoongi stops cold, stares at you for a second.

Hair messy. Chest heaving. Legs spread. Eyes hungry.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, tearing the foil open and shoving his sweats halfway down his thighs with shaking hands. His cock bobs free, hard and flushed and so ready, and your mouth actually waters.

He rolls the condom on with practiced ease and climbs back over you, settling between your legs like he belongs there. Like he’s done it a hundred times in dreams and is finally allowed to touch.

He presses inside you slowly, inch by inch, and the stretch knocks the breath from your lungs. You’re soaked, but it’s still so much, been too long, and you cling to his shoulders with a gasp.

Yoongi groans, forehead dropping to yours.

“Jesus, you’re tight,” he rasps. “Fucking wet.”

You whimper, hips already rolling up to meet him. “Been wanting this,” you whisper. “Needing this—”

“Yeah?” he murmurs, voice shaking. “You gonna let me give it to you?”

“Yes, please—”

And then he starts to move. Just the brutal press of his hips to yours, every thrust deep and deliberate and filthy, like he’s trying to bury himself somewhere he won’t be able to crawl back from.

Your head tips back against the couch, eyes rolling up, mouth falling open on a gasp that barely sounds like a real word. He’s got one hand gripping the arm of the couch behind your head for leverage, the other wrapped tight around your thigh, keeping you pinned wide open beneath him as he fucks into you.

“Fuck, Yoongi—fuck—”

“You like it, baby?” he growls. 

You whimper, nodding helplessly, your hands scrambling up under his hoodie to claw at his back, his sides, anywhere you can touch.

Your skin’s on fire. Your thoughts are gone. All you know is the sharp, perfect drag of his cock, the sound of your soaked cunt every time he slams into you, the guttural noises he makes when your walls flutter around him.

“You feel so fucking good,” he groans, eyes squeezed shut, jaw clenched. “Tight little pussy just gripping me—shit, baby, I can’t—”

His pace stutters for half a second, like your body is pulling the soul out of him.

You cry out when he hits deep—too deep—and he groans, pulling your legs higher around his waist to get the angle just right.

“There,” he growls when you shatter under him, thighs shaking, cunt clenching so hard he nearly loses it. “Fucking cum.”

You come like you’ve lost control of your body. Loud, legs locked, nails in his back. It hits hard and fast and doesn’t stop, rolling through you in hot, humiliating waves. Yoongi hisses, desperate now, chasing his own end, rhythm starting to break.

“Gonna fill you up,” he pants, even though the condom’s there, even though it’s just a filthy fantasy, and you sob at the idea of it. “Fuck, I wish—wish I could come inside you—fuck—you’d let me, wouldn’t you? Let me ruin you for anyone else—”

“Yes,” you gasp, not even sure you mean it, but it sounds right. Feels true.

That’s all it takes.

Yoongi groans like it’s been punched out of him, hips jerking as he comes hard, cock twitching inside you, face buried in your neck as he spills into the condom.

You both stay there, gasping against sticky skin through the aftershocks. He kisses your neck once. Then again. And again.

“Holy shit,” you breathe, dazed. “I think you just rearranged my internal organs.”

Yoongi laughs. “Cool. I was aiming for your soul.”

The couch cushions are half off the frame, your legs still trembling where they’re spread open around his waist. Yoongi pulls out slowly, careful, and your body aches from it, clenches down involuntarily, already missing the stretch. 

He ties off the condom, looks around for somewhere to put it before settling on the empty takeout bag from earlier. Pulls his sweats back up.

You sit up with limbs like jelly, not bothering to put your underwear back on just yet, and run a hand through your hair. Your thighs are sticky. Your lips are swollen. You feel fucked out and raw and wrung clean.

Your body is so satisfied.

Predictably, your brain is a different story.

You glance over at Yoongi. He’s slouched against the other end of the couch, head back, eyes closed. His hair is damp at the temples, chest still rising and falling like he hasn’t quite come back to himself yet.

He looks gorgeous.

You want to kiss him.

You also want to run.

That tight, itchy feeling—the one you’ve been avoiding since you first let him touch you—comes roaring back. You just crossed the line. You fucked the one good thing in your life that wasn’t tangled in expectations. That didn’t ask anything from you.

You broke the bubble.

He opens one eye and glances over at you.

“You okay?”

You nod. “Yeah. Just…” You trail off. Shrug. “That was intense.”

Yoongi huffs a soft laugh. “Yeah. You think?”

You stand. Your legs are still shaking.

“I’m gonna, uh… go pee,” you say, already heading toward the bathroom. “Before I die.”

He doesn’t stop you. Just nods, eyes following you for a second before he looks away.

You close the door and sit on the edge of the tub. Breathe.

You want to feel good. You do feel good. But also… you feel like maybe you’ve fucked up. Or you’re about to. Or like this is going to change something that shouldn’t be changed.

You think about what you’ll say when you go back out there.

You think about whether he’s getting dressed. Whether he’ll leave. Whether he should.

You think, I don’t want this to become another thing I have to recover from.

✧

When you finally open the bathroom door, the light feels harsher than it should, and your skin’s still warm from the shower you didn’t really want but took anyway. Just to delay, to think, to scrub away the sweat and the way his hands felt on your hips and the way your body sang for him.

You step into the living room wearing clean underwear and a fresh shirt. Your face is bare. Your hair is damp. Your expression, despite your best effort, is a little too tight.

Yoongi looks up from the couch, where he’s still sitting, this time in his sweats and hoodie again, elbows on his knees, fingers idly twisting the hem of his sleeve.

His eyes meet yours. He doesn’t smile, but his gaze softens. Immediately.

“Hey,” he says, quiet.

You nod, cross your arms. “Hey.”

He watches you for a second, then leans back, patting the space next to him.

You hesitate, but you lower yourself onto the couch anyway. Not quite touching, not quite distant. A safe middle. 

“Wanna tell me what’s wrong?”

“I’m fine.”

“Okay,” Yoongi says, disbelieving. “Then why do you look like you’re trying to figure out how to ghost me while I’m still in your apartment?”

You wince, staring at your knees. “I just—I didn’t mean for this to turn into, like… a thing.”

He nods slowly. “Okay.”

“I mean, we’re not, right? A thing?”

You look at him now, really look. Your heart’s racing. Your stomach’s twisting. You’re not sure what kind of answer you want.

Yoongi looks back at you for a long moment. Then he leans back again, scrubbing a hand through his hair.

“I don’t know what we are,” he says. “I wasn’t trying to make it anything.”

You swallow hard, because part of you thinks that should make you feel better. Instead, it just makes your chest ache. You were the one who let him in, even when you swore you wouldn’t. You’re not trying to make him feel like he’s the one at fault here. It’s you. It’s always you.

“But,” he adds, eyes flicking to yours again, “I like you. I care about you. And if we’re fucking now, yeah, that’s gonna mean something to me. Even if we never put a label on it.”

“Doesn’t that make it worse?” you ask, voice thin. “If it means something?”

Yoongi doesn’t speak for a long while. You sink into him without meaning to, thigh to thigh, arm to arm. You don’t really know why.

He exhales, slow and deliberate, and says, “Can I tell you something?”

You nod against his shoulder.

“I wasn’t supposed to be at that convenience store,” he starts, voice shaky in a way that makes you sit up, just slightly. “I mean, I didn’t have a reason to be anywhere. But that night… I think I was sort of… walking around to see if I’d change my mind.”

You still. Your heart trips over itself, because that could mean a lot of things. Because you know, just by the tone of his voice, that he means the worst. 

He keeps going.

“I’d been thinking about it for a while. Not in a loud way. Not even like a plan. Just… wondering. If things would be better. Easier. If I just stopped. Just disappeared.”

You don’t interrupt. You don’t breathe too loud. You just listen.

“And that night, it felt close. Like maybe I was ready. Like maybe no one would notice.” He lets out a shaky laugh. “I hadn’t talked to anyone in a couple days. I didn’t even brush my teeth before I left the house. I just started walking.”

Your eyes sting. You try not to let it show.

“I stopped at the store because I thought—fuck it. One last shitty sandwich. One last can of cold coffee.” He huffs. “Really poetic, right?”

You let out a breath. “Yoongi—”

He shakes his head. “I’m not telling you this so you’ll feel bad. Or because I think you saved me. You didn’t. You just… made it a little easier to stay.”

You’re crying now, because god, you didn’t know, but you know. You know how it feels to always have that in the back of your mind, to convince yourself that there would be relief in giving up. Letting go. 

He turns his head toward you now, not quite meeting your eyes, like he’s still unsure if he’s allowed to say all this out loud.

“I still think about it. Sometimes. Not all the time. But… it comes back. When it’s quiet. When I’m alone too long. But since that night, it’s been easier knowing that someone gets it. That I don’t have to pretend I’m fine all the time.”

He finally looks at you, and it’s not a dramatic, sweeping kind of moment. There’s no soft lighting or music swelling. Just his tired eyes, and your tired heart, and the shared weight of knowing what it feels like to want to give up—and choosing, for whatever reason, not to.

“Maybe that’s all this has to be,” he says. “Not a love story. Not some perfect, clean thing. Just… two people who don’t always want to be here, making it a little easier for each other to stay.”

You can’t speak. You nod, and your eyes blur, and Yoongi presses his forehead to yours like it’s the only way he knows how to say thank you for seeing me.

✧

Days later, things aren’t better—not in the way people usually mean. Your life is still a mess. His is too. 

But something’s changed. Settled.

He lets himself in now. Doesn’t knock. Kicks his shoes off like he lives there, shrugs his hoodie off and drops it somewhere near the couch, grabs two cups and fills them with whatever’s in your fridge.

And you let him.

You sit next to each other, thigh to thigh, flipping through shows you won’t finish. You kiss during the commercials. You fall asleep with his hand on your waist.

You still haven’t said you’re together. You still haven’t said what you mean to each other. But when you’re quiet for too long, he looks up from his phone and asks, “Okay?”

And when he’s too quiet, you ask, “Wanna stay the night?”

And when you both lie awake in the dark, not talking, not moving, you think: I’m still here.

And so is he.

✧

It starts with scraps. Half-sentences in your notes app. A phrase here, a sentence there. Something you jotted down after Yoongi left one night, when your chest felt like it was holding more than usual and your bed still smelled like his shampoo.

Then it becomes a little routine. You open your laptop without the usual dread. You stare at the cursor blinking in a half-finished document and think: maybe I can.

It’s not for meant to be published. It’s not for anyone but you. But it’s something.

One night, Yoongi finds you sitting on the floor with your laptop on your thighs. You’re so focused, you don’t even hear him come in.

He just watches for a second, quiet.

“Writing?” he asks eventually, and you jump.

“Jesus—” You slam the laptop shut on instinct, and he raises both hands in surrender, shoulders shaking with laughter.

“You don’t have to show me,” he says, setting down the drinks he brought. “But… that’s new.”

You shrug, embarrassed. “It’s nothing. Just… stuff.”

Yoongi sinks to the floor beside you. “You haven’t written since we met.”

“I haven’t written in a long time.”

He doesn’t ask why not. He already knows.

Instead, he leans his head on your shoulder and says, “I’m glad you’re starting to again.”

He doesn’t push. He doesn’t ask for details. He doesn’t ask to read it. He just sits with you, there on the floor, eyes closed. Like your writing means something just by existing.

You open the laptop again.

You keep writing.

✧

Yoongi is sitting cross-legged on your bed while you type, cradling a cup of tea you made him because he clearly needed something to do with his hands. 

You can tell he’s nervous. He’s got that look on his face like he’s about to say something serious but is trying not to scare the shit out of you. It isn’t working.

“So,” he says, after a long stretch of silence, “I have a friend.”

You glance up from your laptop, blinking. “Amazing.”

Yoongi huffs. “Kim Namjoon. He’s an old friend. College. We used to mess around with production stuff, back when I thought I was gonna be a genius producer with a Grammy by 25.”

You smile a little at that, set your laptop aside. “What’d he say?”

Yoongi hesitates, fingers drumming softly against the side of his mug. “He got some seed money. Not much. Just enough to rent a space, get a couple of half-decent mics, some gear. Says he wants to start a small label.”

Your stomach does a little flip. Not because you’re worried. Not yet. But because of the way he’s saying it. Like he’s trying not to want it too much.

“He wants me in on it,” Yoongi continues, staring down into his tea. “It’d be three of us, working in a basement, surviving off cup ramen. Maybe getting a local artist to sign on eventually.”

You exhale. “That sounds… really fucking cool.”

Yoongi finally looks at you. He’s smiling now, just a little, but it’s tight at the edges. “Yeah. It does.”

“And?”

He shrugs, but it’s not a real shrug. It’s that shoulder-lift people do when something matters too much. “And I don’t know. I don’t know if I’m ready to give a shit again. I don’t know if I’ll fuck it up. I don’t even know if I still have anything to say.”

“You do,” you say, instantly.

His jaw flexes. “Yeah, well. Maybe. He’s starting soon. Wants me to come by next week. Just to mess around with some demos, get a feel for it again.”

You nod slowly. Try not to let the ‘what if’s start swirling. What if it pulls him away? What if he leaves? What if this tiny, fragile thing you’re building—whatever it is—gets buried under a dream he's only just remembered how to want again?

But you don’t say any of that.

Instead, you say, “You should do it.”

Yoongi searches your face for a long time, hesitant, like he’s trying to catch you in a lie. 

“Yeah?”

You reach over and take his mug, set it on the nightstand. You curl into his side, your face pressed to the crook of his neck.

“Yeah,” you whisper. “I think maybe… we’re both starting to remember how to want things again.”

You feel him breathe out. Slow. Unsteady.

But he nods.

✧

Yoongi doesn’t stop texting. He still sends you memes, voice notes, the occasional photo of his workspace—a cramped basement room with exposed pipes and cords spilling out over his desk, coffee-stained notebooks piled next to a MIDI keyboard.

But he’s not around as much.

The nights you used to spend together—half-draped over one another on the couch, kissing during reruns, sleeping side-by-side without labels—are fewer now. Sometimes he falls asleep at the studio. Sometimes he doesn’t respond until 2 a.m., when you’re already asleep.

It’s hard. You won’t lie to yourself about that. You feel the absence like a low-grade fever. Always there, dull but insistent.

And there’s still no word for what you are. No boyfriend, no girlfriend. Just… you, and Yoongi. And this thing you’ve built together, quiet and warm and undefined.

But when you do see him—when he walks through your door smelling like coffee and sweat and work—you can see it on him. The spark. The momentum. The low, buzzing joy of trying again. Of wanting something bad enough to bleed for it.

He’s tired. But he’s tired for a good reason, now.

And that makes you want to try, too.

So you keep opening your laptop. Not just to scribble down half-formed ideas, but to finish. You sit with the mess of it, the aching in your fingers, the voice in your head that says ‘why bother’—and you write anyway. You dig up old stories, rework scenes that used to make you cringe. You find your voice again, piece by shaky piece.

Sometimes, late at night, you send him snippets. Just to say, look. I’m doing it, too.

And he always responds, eventually. Usually something like:

Yoongi: Fuck yes

Yoongi: Proud of you

Yoongi: Also the studio toilet flooded again. I’m going to kill Joon

You laugh. You keep writing.

It still hurts sometimes. Missing him, wondering what all this means. But now the hurt is paired with movement. With hope.

✧

Eventually, you finish something.

It’s not perfect. Not even close. There are typos and sentences that feel like strangers to themselves, and places where the ending is still a little jagged and wrong. But it’s done.

A full manuscript. Your name at the top. Your words, your voice, your pain and hunger and stupid hope wrapped into a whopping 112 pages.

You think of Yoongi when you submit it with an application to a graduate school program. A program you’ve read and re-read the description for more times than you care to admit. You don't know if it’s good enough. If you’re good enough. But for the first time in a long time, you do it anyway.

And then you don’t tell anyone.

Maybe it’s selfish, but you want the hope for yourself. Just for a little while. You want to keep it quiet and sacred, untainted by expectations or well-meaning encouragement or the crushing weight of what if it doesn’t happen. You just want it to be yours.

You keep seeing Yoongi, of course. When he can. When he’s not tangled up in late-night meetings and studio sessions. You see each other in stolen hours, sleep-heavy kisses, lazy dinners eaten on the floor.

But lately, even those small moments feel bigger.

And then one night, you get a text.

Yoongi: You home?

You are. You say yes.

He shows up ten minutes later, breathless, hoodie damp from trying to dodge light rain, cheeks flushed with joy. Real joy. The kind that lights his whole face from the inside out.

“I had to tell someone,” he says the second you open the door. “I had to tell you.”

You let him in, confused but smiling all the same. You’ve been doing a lot of that lately. “What happened?”

He doesn’t even sit. He paces back and forth, rakes a hand through his hair, practically vibrating.

“We signed someone,” he finally says. “Tentatively, but, this artist from Busan, she’s insane, she’s so weird and good and her voice is like—fuck, I don’t even know how to explain it. But Namjoon loved her. We all did. And she said yes. She said yes, to us.”

You blink, stunned. “You—Yoongi, that’s—holy shit!”

He grins, wide and unguarded, and you’ve never seen him like this before and it just makes you so fucking happy. You’re up on your feet before your brain catches up. 

You hug him tight, breath caught in your throat. Because he’s shaking a little, and he smells so good, and this is what he looks like when he’s proud of himself. When he’s living.

You pull back to look at him, hands on his jaw.

“I’m so proud of you,” you whisper.

And Yoongi’s expression shifts. Softens. Deepens. He takes a breath. 

“I love you,” he says.

Like it’s not sudden. Like it’s been sitting on his tongue for weeks, waiting for the right moment to fall out.

“I just—I do. And I didn’t want to say it while things were still messy, or early, or whatever. But this is what I wanted. That night, at the convenience store. This. You. Someone who gets it. Someone who doesn’t fix me but lets me stay. And I love you.”

Fuck. There it is. 

You don’t speak right away. You reach for him instead. Pull him back in. Rest your forehead against his and let yourself feel it. All of it.

And then, soft and steady, you say it back. 

“I love you too.”

✧

It’s not frantic, not this time. 

Not messy or rushed or born of need. It’s slow, reverent, deep. Yoongi’s hands cradle your face like you’re something fragile, something he’s terrified of breaking now that he knows what you mean to him. His thumbs stroke your cheeks. His breath catches when you tilt your head and kiss him harder but just as slow, open-mouthed and aching.

You walk him backwards toward the bed. He lets you. He goes willingly, grinning against your mouth like he can’t believe this is happening again, that you’re his, and that this time, it’s not just comfort or heat or distraction. It’s love.

He sinks onto the mattress, and you climb over him, straddling his lap, kissing him again and again, hands tangled in his hair, grinding down against the hard line of his cock through his sweats.

But then he pulls back. Barely. His hands settle on your thighs. His eyes are dark and shining and hungry.

“Let me eat you out.”

Your breath catches.

“I—what?”

Yoongi licks his lips. “You don’t get it,” he says, too far gone to filter it. “I’ve been wanting to. Since the night I fingered you against your fucking door, I’ve wanted to get between your thighs and just live there. I love you, and I love your pussy, and I’m gonna make you come so hard you forget every single bad day you’ve ever had.”

You stare at him, slackjawed.

Then you exhale, soft and wrecked, and whisper, “Okay.”

Yoongi repositions you onto your back, gentle, lips back on yours. His hands slide down your body like he’s mapping out every inch. He tugs your shirt off, unhooks your bra, kisses down your neck, your chest, your ribs, like he has all the time in the world.

And then he pulls your shorts down. Your panties too.

He groans when he sees you. Like, actually groans.

“God, baby. Look at you.” He kisses your inner thigh, drags his nose along the crease, eyes flicking up to yours. “So fucking pretty.”

And then he licks into you.

You cry out, sharp and sudden, because it’s so much. He’s warm and wet and greedy, tongue flat against your clit, then pointed and precise, then everywhere, like he can’t choose, like he doesn’t want to.

He moans against your pussy like he’s the one being touched. Like he could cum just watching you feel good, because of him.

“Yoongi—shit—” Your hands fly to his hair, thighs trembling, already shaking, already close.

He wraps his arms under your thighs, holding you open, keeping you grounded, mouth working you over like he’s worshipping you. He sucks on your clit, gentle but firm, and you arch off the bed.

“I’m gonna come,” you warn, voice breaking. “Fuck, Yoongi—”

He groans, messy and eager, never once letting up. And then you do.

You come hard, thighs clamping around his head, hands in his hair, eyes rolled back. It’s hot and overwhelming, your body jolting and twitching, his name a broken whimper on your tongue.

He keeps going until you push him away, overstimulated and trembling.

“Jesus,” you breathe.

He grins, climbs back up your body, presses his mouth to yours without hesitation. You taste yourself on his tongue.

“You love me,” he murmurs, like it’s the best thing he’s ever been told.

You nod, dazed. “I do.”

He kisses you again.

“You’re gonna let me do that every day, right?”

You laugh, breathless. “If you keep doing it like that, yeah. I might not survive, but yeah.”

You let Yoongi kiss you for a while, slow and soft and full of so much love, but eventually, you push at his shoulder. He pulls back instantly, eyes wide and brows furrowed.

“Lie down,” you murmur. “Let me take care of you.”

Yoongi blinks, lips swollen and wet. But he lets you push. “Baby—”

“You’ve been working so fucking hard,” you say, crawling into his lap, straddling his thighs. “Let me ride you. Let me make you feel good. Please.”

Whatever protest he might’ve had dies in his throat the second you reach down and palm him through his sweats. He’s hard—has been since he had your pussy on his tongue—and he groans, low and helpless, as you slide your hand beneath the waistband.

You stroke him slow, loving, watching the tension bleed out of him with every pass of your fist.

“Fuck,” he whispers, eyes fluttering shut, hips twitching into your touch. “Feels good.”

You smile. Kiss his chest as he fumbles for the condom in his wallet.

When you finally sink down onto him, Yoongi lets out a groan. His hands fly to your hips, gripping hard, eyes squeezed shut, jaw clenched so tight you can see the tension in his neck when he leans his head back.

“God—” he gasps. “Fuck, baby, you—”

“I know,” you breathe, grinding your hips in slow, careful circles. “I know. Just relax. Let me do this for you.”

You ride him slow, deep, dragging his cock through your tight, wet heat over and over. Every inch of him feels like it was made for you, thick and perfect and pulsing inside you, your cunt already fluttering from how good he made you feel earlier.

Yoongi can’t keep still. His fingers squeeze your thighs, your hips, then your waist, like he can’t decide where to hold on. Like he’s barely holding on at all.

He opens his eyes to look at you and whines, higher than he probably meant to. Because you’re riding him like you love him. Because your tits are bouncing with every slow roll of your hips, and your face is flushed, and your eyes are locked on his like there’s nowhere else you want to be in the entire fucking world.

It springs him into action.

He sits up, wraps his arms around you, mouths at your tits like he’s starving. He sucks at one nipple, then the other, licking and kissing and biting softly like he can’t stop, like he needs to touch you.

“Yoongi,” you gasp, fingers tangling in his hair.

He moans into your chest. Hands moving down to your ass, guiding you up and down on his cock in that same slow, dirty rhythm, like he wants to make this last forever.

“Can’t even think,” he pants. “You feel so fucking good—too good—fuck, I love you—”

You ride him harder, faster, your hands on his shoulders. Your whole body shakes with how good it feels to be full of him, to see him like this—wrecked, undone, yours.

“I’m so close,” you whisper, hips stuttering. “Yoongi—”

“Come for me,” he begs. “Please, baby, come on my cock, wanna feel it.”

You do.

You fall apart in his arms, gasping his name, pussy clenching around him so tight it nearly rips the orgasm out of him too. You’re shaking, sweating, still grinding through it as he buries his face in your neck, groaning your name, fucking up into you just a little, just enough—

He comes with a low, broken ‘fuck,’ arms locking around your waist, cock pulsing inside the condom. He’s so loud, so needy, and god, you’ve never loved anyone like this.

You collapse against his chest, both of you breathless and slick with sweat, still joined, still trembling.

And Yoongi holds you like he never wants to let go.

✧

You stay like that for a while, pressed to his chest, his arms strong around your back, the rhythm of his heartbeat still racing under your cheek. The room smells like sweat and sex. Yoongi’s hand is stroking slow lines up and down your spine. 

He hasn’t said much since you both came down, but the silence isn’t uncomfortable. Just full.

You’re the one who breaks it.

“I did something,” you admit.

Yoongi hums, not missing a beat in the way his fingers trace over your skin. “Yeah?”

You nod against his chest, then force yourself to sit up, just enough to look at him. His hair’s a mess. His eyes are half-lidded and lazy, but sharp with attention the second he realizes you’re serious.

“I applied to grad school.”

Yoongi blinks.

“For writing?” he asks.

You nod again, heart hammering. “Yeah. An MFA. I submitted a portfolio. Finished something for the first time in forever. I would’ve told you sooner, I just—” You shrug. “I didn’t want to jinx it.”

His mouth opens. Then closes. Then opens again, like he’s still processing.

And then he grins. Slow. Genuine. Gums showing and eyes shining.

“Holy shit,” he breathes, sitting up and grabbing your face in both hands.

Your eyes sting. “I don’t even know if I’ll get in. It’s probably stupid—”

“It’s not,” he cuts in, firm and quiet. “It’s not stupid. It’s huge.”

You try to look away, but he keeps your face in his hands, thumbs brushing your cheeks, grounding you.

“I’m so fucking proud of you,” he says. “Seriously. I’ve watched you try so hard to find something again, and you did it. Whether or not you get in doesn’t matter. You tried. That’s fucking everything.”

You bite your lip, blinking fast. Yoongi kisses your forehead, then your nose, then your mouth.

“Thanks for telling me,” he murmurs. “I’ll keep it safe.”

And you know he will.

For the first time in a long time, the future doesn’t feel so terrifying.

✧

The email comes on a Wednesday.

You’re not expecting it. You’ve nearly forgotten the timeline, pushed it into the back of your mind like a daydream you didn’t want to get too close to. You’ve been telling yourself not to hope too much. Not to want it, even though you do. Badly.

It hits your inbox around 11:42 a.m., and you stare at the subject line for a full minute before you open it. And then—

You’re in.

You read it twice, then two more times. It still doesn’t feel real. You read the phrase We’re pleased to inform you like it’s in another language. Like it’s not something anyone was ever supposed to say to you.

Then you laugh. A startled, breathless sound that turns into something half-sobbing.

You call Yoongi.

He doesn’t pick up on the first try—he’s a busy man these days—but he calls back two minutes later.

“Hey, baby. What’s—?”

“I got in.”

There’s a long pause.

And then, softly, “what?”

You swallow hard. You’re pacing your kitchen now, barefoot and trembling. “I got in. Grad school.”

“Holy fuck.”

You laugh again, breathless. “I know.”

“Holy fuck.”

“I know! Yoongi—”

“You got in,” he says. “You fucking got in.”

He sounds like he’s smiling. Like he’s trying not to cry. You’re trying, too.

“I’m so proud of you,” he says. “So fucking proud of you. I’m gonna lose my mind.”

Your throat tightens. “I don’t know what to do now.”

“Come to the studio,” he says instantly. “No one’s here today except me. I’ll order food. I’ll roll a joint. I’ll kiss you a lot. Do some very dirty, celebratory things to you on the desk, if you want.”

You’re already grabbing your keys. “Okay. Yeah.”

“Meet me out back.”

When you get to the studio, he’s outside. Leaning against the back of the building, waiting. The joint is already rolled, tucked neatly behind his ear, and he’s got that look on his face—that slow, lazy grin.

“You,” he says, pushing off the wall the second he sees you. “Fucking you.”

You don’t say anything. Just drop your bag on the cracked concrete and launch yourself into his arms.

He catches you easily, wraps you up in him—hoodie and warmth and the faint smell of cigarettes and detergent and Yoongi. His arms curl tight around your waist, and he lifts you slightly off the ground as you bury your face in his neck.

“You got in,” he murmurs again. “You really—baby, you did it.”

You nod against him, laughing and sniffling all at once. “I did.”

He sets you down but doesn’t let go. Just pulls back enough to kiss you. Once. Twice. Then a third time, slower. Deeper. Like he’s trying to memorize this version of you—buzzing and breathless and so fucking proud of yourself.

When he finally pulls away, he grins and taps the joint behind his ear.

“Celebration?”

You nod. “God, yes.”

He lights it. Takes a drag, passes it to you, and you both sit on the loading dock out back, knees bumping, fingers laced, smoke around your heads. The sun’s low in the sky. It’s chilly, but you don’t feel cold. Not with his hand in yours.

And everything’s… okay. Not fixed. Not perfect. But better.

Because loving Yoongi didn’t save you, and you didn’t save him. You still have bad days. Panic attacks. Guilt. Long, unbearable silences you have to claw your way out of. He does, too. Life is still life.

But he holds your hand through it.

And when things are good—like now, like this—you feel it in your bones: you love him. You fucking love him.

You lean into his side, head on his shoulder, and you think:

I can do this. I can live this life. 

Especially if he’s in it.

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[pretty-little-mind33]

Dad!James Potter x wife!fem!reader

Summary: Telling James you're pregnant again is scary.

Genre: pure fluff

Warnings: reader is pregnant, vomiting

~ set after Santa Baby and before Snow On The Beach ~

JAMES POTTER MASTERLIST

Date nights were extremely important to James. Since Henry's birth, he was adamant that his alone time with you was something he didn't want to neglect, even if there was a child in the picture.

Now that Henry was nine, convincing Sirius and Remus to babysit wasn't hard. Especially since they would bring their four year old, Cassiopeia, with them and Henry would graciously play her while you and James went out. 

Tonight's date isn't any different than the others, except that you're a bundle of jumping nerves. It certainly doesn't help that James looks positively stunning with his dark hair slicked back, a few loose curls arrayed across his forehead, and his dark suit, which conveniently matches the velvet navy dress you're wearing.

The restaurant is fancy. It's James's favorite and you secretly think one of the reasons is he likes showing you how much he can spoil you, as if he hadn't been doing just that for the past thirteen years. He'd ordered this fancy appetizer, along with some wine you haven't touched and was currently talking about work. Taking over his father's company was putting some stress on him, which you understood. 

"You know, I can't wait till Harry starts school, not that I won't miss the little bugger," James chuckles behind his wine glass, his mind wandering, "but because we'll have more time. Just us."

His words cause your stomach to sink. How are you supposed to tell him now, you think. James, always observant to your emotions, frowns when he sees your expression. 

"You okay, you look like you're going to be sick—" 

As he speaks, the nausea hits you hard and you stand, holding a hand over your mouth as you rush to the nearest bathroom without any warning. You clumsily throw yourself on the ground, vomiting into the toilet and you choke on an embarrassed sob. 

James is hot on your heels the moment you leave dinner so abruptly, running into the women's bathroom without a care in the world. The older women, who'd been mildly appalled by your vomiting, send him some dirty looks but he doesn't pay them any mind as he opens the stall. He kneels next to you, gently gathering your hair in his hand as he uses the other one to rub soothing circles on your back.

"Hey, my love, what happened?" He asks between soothing words, his hand strokes your hair as you slump against him, tears glistening in your waterline. 

Your husband isn't stupid and he knows you. He looks into your eyes and he understands instantly. His breath hitches as he remembers just how bad your 'morning' sickness was when you were pregnant with Henry, lasting and becoming even worse in the evenings. His gaze softens instantly and clicks his tongue. "Why didn't you tell me?" he scolds half-heartedly, still rubbing soothing circles on your back. 

You sniffle, wiping your mouth with an enormous amount of toilet-paper as you whimper, "I felt like I was going to disappoint you, you seemed so happy for time alone and—"

"And now we are going to have another baby," James finishes for you, kissing your temple as he helps you up and brings you to the sink. He pushes hair behind your face as he gently takes some paper-towel, wets it, and gently runs it under your chin and around your mouth. You look miserable and his heart breaks. 

He doesn't say anything for a moment as he washes your hands, washing his in the process as well. Your mind races. You don't know what to think, what to feel about this new life growing inside you.

He places his large palm on your stomach. You're not showing, yet. You flinch, sniffing. "Why so sad, love?" he whispers as he tries to comfort you.

"You're upset," you whisper, looking at your appearance in the mirror. You look like a mess.

James grins. "Says who?" He laughs and presses a kiss to your forehead again. 

You look on the verge of tears again and your husband's smile falters. He leans down, catching your gaze so you're looking at him properly. "Hey, love, please don't cry okay? I'm not upset, I promise. I'm happy. So so happy, really," James reassures you, a familiar glint of sincerity in his eyes. "We are having another baby. This is the best news, okay?" 

Tension eases in your shoulders and you finally relax. The warm feeling of happiness seeps back into you. You sniff again, looking into his eyes. "Promise?"

He straightens himself and holds out his pinky for you to take. "I pinky promise." You hook your pinky with his and he leans down, kissing his closed fist. You hesitate, finally cracking a small smile as you do the same. 

"Excuse me? This is the ladies room," a snark voice calls from behind you both and you look towards the voice. A woman is standing tensely in the doorway, gripping the hand of her young daughter, and she's glaring daggers at James.

The little girl looks confused and she's clearly feeling the fear her mother is and you can tell from James's expression he feels bad. 

"Sorry." He waves his hands in the air, his cheeks dusted pink, as he points to you, "My wife was sick—I was just leaving—" James looks your way and mouths, "You coming?"

You nod, taking his hand, as he leads you out the door. You mumble a small apology to the woman and James sends a small reading smile to the girl, hoping not to scare her.

Once your back at your table, James gulps down his wine and looks at you sheepishly. "Oops," he mutters. You smile and cover your giggles. James's smile widens when you laugh and he reaches over, resting his hand over yours. 

"Seriously, baby," he says, seriously now, "I'm really happy. And Henry will be happy too."

You rub your temples, taming some of the wisps of hair that fall in front of your eyes. "Yeah? You think so?"

James laughs, "No. He's gonna be furious," he pauses when he sees that his joke isn't landing and he squeezes your hand. "I'm joking. He'll be the best big brother. He's already so good with Cassi, he's practically an older brother already."

You smile. "He is, isn't he?"

James hums, that giddy smile of his returning. "Pregnant. Again," he muses, "I can't believe how lucky I am," he says and looks at you like you're the brightest star in the universe. You feel your cheeks warm. "I love you."

"I love you more," you say back, bringing his knuckles to your lips. 

James grins and when he catches glimpse of your untouched wine glass, a smirk curls his lips and shake his head, clicking his tongue. "Can't drink this, baby," he teases you and slides it over to his side. You roll your eyes. 

"I wasn't," you argue playfully.

"Hmm?"

You swat his hand, knowing he's teasing you on purpose to lighten the mood. Still, your nerves have calmed and you aren't feeling as nauseous anymore. In fact, you can finally truly feel excited now. Another baby. You smile.

Once the food arrives and the topic of conversation had changed to James excitedly coming up with new baby names, you feel at ease again and warmth spreads in your stomach.

You move your foot under the table, gently touching James's ankle—just to let him know you love him. James doesn't mention it but his smile widens as he speaks, a look of adoration and love sparkling in his eyes. 

[pakhnokh]

some of you have wondered why Lan Wangji just brings in the food, says some short stuff and proceeds to leave instead of staying. Well, there are several reasons for that... I just felt like it's a very Lan Wangjiesque thing to do at this moment of time.

It's the end of the day, curfew time is reaching, both of them are tired both physically and mentally from the events of the day, and Lan Wangji feels like Wei Ying needs his privacy and rest.

Even though Wei Wuxian is under his custody, and in all honesty he can enter and exit this house as he pleases, he doesn't want it to be this way. He doesn't want Wei Ying to feel like he has no free time or free time to himself, as if he's always under supervision.

Also don't forget that they had this "deal" in Arc 1.

Lan Wangji doesn't want to linger any additional moment in Wei Wuxian's private place, especially this late at night, so it won't seem as if he's trying to impose his presence and demand certain things that Wei Wuxian certainly doesn't really wish to do. He wants to gain Wei Wuxian's trust by showing him that he's not there to control him, supervise him, or demand anything of him for his own gain.

Another reason is something that this AU didn't mention yet, but is a huge deal that will be dealt with in future arcs: Don't forget that our poor Lan Zhan is seriously injured from whip lashes that happened only around 4 months ago. Like it's said in the original novel, It took him years to regain his strength.

So how is he out and about in this AU? It's because in order to watch over Wei Wuxian, make his life in the Cloud Recess more comfortable, and protect him should he need to

(like here)

He uses all of his physical and spiritual power to constantly heal, but in fact, he is very vulnerable.

Wei Wuxian thinks that when Lan Wangji isn't with him, then he must be attending the matters of the cultivation world or going to night hunt, but in fact, everytime Lan Wangji isn't with him, it's because he's in the Jingshi or in the springs, healing and strengthening himself T^T

So at this time in Arc 3, he brings in the food, and as you will see in future pages he is less calm and patient, and his manner of speech is not that nice like it was in arc 2. The man is simply exhausted.

[pomefioredove]

If the flirtatious lines event is still happening, I do have a little request, and this is absolutely not forced!

Could you do “You’re a shy little thing, aren’t you?” With Leona x reader? Here’s a little twist, though; The reader is the one saying that to Leona! I absolutely adore the idea of Leona being super shy when in love, seeing normally tough characters be out-of-character when they have a crush is ADORABLE to me! Plus, I don’t see enough of reader being the teasing one in Leona x reader fics.

Thank you for listening, have a lovely day/night!

ooh this makes SO much sense though, I see your vision!!

summary: "you’re a shy little thing, aren’t you?" type of post: short fic characters: leona additional info: romantic, reader is gender neutral, reader is yuu, probably really ooc idk

It's not the first time you've run into him, and it won't be the last.

It was annoying at first; your clumsiness, and that perpetual look of confusion and awe in your eyes...

You didn't belong here.

That was the first thing Leona thought about you.

Your good nature, the way you stupidly stumbled into trouble time and time again, even that look on your face; you'd make an easy meal for any predator.

And, as luck would have it, that would be him.

Though he certainly doesn't feel like the top of the food chain now.

"Talk to them," Ruggie pesters, hovering around his boss like a fly. Leona is tempted to swat him away.

"No,"

He puts a hand on his hip. "I don't see what the big deal is. You deal with being a prince your whole life, but you get choked up at the Prefect?"

Annoying. Leona is tempted to make a rude gesture, but his social etiquette gets the best of him.

"I am not choked up, but you're going to be unless you get lost," he says in a tone far too quiet.

He's lucky that Leona is in a merciful mood today.

"Suit yourself," Ruggie shrugs, sticking his hands in his pockets and heading towards the exit.

Good. Leona didn't come here to talk about the Prefect, anyway.

Of all the stupid things...

He lies back in his original position, trying to drown out the sound of your voice and get some sleep. You're here with a group, doing some potionology thing, he figures. Great.

One of your friends makes you laugh, and he feels a strange sense of jealousy.

"I'll get the poppy," you sound rather pleased with yourself.

Though, as hard as he tries, he can't seem to dislike you.

A rustle, and then another beam of sunlight hits the secluded little spot, illuminating the both of you.

"Oh!" you say, eyes wide. "Sorry, Leona. Didn't mean to disturb you."

Always so polite. He wonders if that's just for show, or if you're being genuine.

"Mhm," he hums. He can't find it within himself to tell you off. It's like he's forgotten how to speak.

And he can't look at you.

"It's not over here..." you say under your breath. You're not even doing anything and he finds you endearing. "Well... sorry again."

Ruggie's words are still fresh in his mind- the pest- and he sighs.

"Wait," Leona says, standing. "You're looking for poppy? I know where it is."

You seem to hesitate. Not a good sign. "...I don't want to trouble you..."

"It would be more rude to turn down such a generous offer," he rebuffs. That's more like it.

And, so, you follow him. It feels nice, stringing you along for once.

Leona says nothing. With anyone else, he would've made at least one comment by now- no, with anyone else, he wouldn't have offered his help in the first place.

He brings you to another part of the botanical gardens, and shows you a row of potted poppies. Crewel had the second years move them yesterday.

"Ah, here they are. Thank you!" you smile. It's almost... cute. Ugh.

He says nothing.

You collect your material, and begin the walk back with him. He can feel your eyes on him, and he can tell there's something you want to ask.

"...You don't say much,"

Great. Leona huffs. Why does he feel so hot, all of a sudden? "I just have nothing to say,"

Even he sounds unsure of what he's claiming. You raise an eyebrow, a small smile gracing your lips.

"You’re a shy little thing, aren’t you?"

And you're driving me mad, he thinks, but all he can do is grunt in response.

He feels nervous. Always so nervous around you.

Leona would never admit what those words did to him, but he didn't need to. He could feel the embarrassment on his face.

You stop at the mouth of the gardens. Your friends are waiting outside.

"Thanks again," you smile. It's genuine. He can't keep eye contact with you.

"...Sure,"

"Just, ah..." you say, looking between him and your puny first year friends as they call you over. "Let me know what I can do to repay the favor, okay?"

So naive. You're practically serving yourself on a silver platter. Like he originally thought, an easy meal for any predator.

...But, for once, that predator isn't him.

And he's actually going to have to work for this.

[azrielstaylorsversion]

Scars to match mine

Azriel x reader

Warnings: torture, burns

Part 2

When Y/N is captured by the Autumn Court they try to torture information out of her. But what better way to torture someone than with fire?

I wake up with a pounding headache. The world around me was dark. I try to gather my thoughts, remembering where I was.

The last thing I remembered was being outside in the Autumn Court, gathering information on their movements. Then I was attacked. It all came back to me now.

I groan, trying to sit up. My arms and legs hurt, like I had been thrown in here. I manage to get to my feet, in need of finding a way out.

I try reaching out to my mate, but like I expected, there was no sign of the bond.

That was a good thing, I remind myself. This would mean Azriel would know something was wrong. He knew about my whereabouts. He would come looking for me. I just had to be patient.

I slump back against the cold wet wall of the cell I was currently in. It wasn't big, there was nothing but stone in here, along with a strong steel door leading to god knows where.

A sigh escapes my lips, trying to ignore the pain in my body.

I couldn't wait to get home to Azriel, to just get this over with. Rhys would probably give me a lecture about being stupid, even though he never meant it in a bad way. This time it had really been my fault. I knew I was getting too close, the possibility of being attacked very high.

The door to my cell unlocks and gets thrown open, revealing one of the sons of the High Lord of the Autumn Court.

I don't move an inch, keeping my eyes on him and the two guards behind him at all times.

"Good. You're awake." he says rather happily.

I don't give him the satisfaction of a reaction. I just keep staring ahead.

He moves his head to the guards. "Haul her up." he orders them. They do as they are told to.

A small flash of panic flashes through my body, but I push it down.

Their hands are harsh against my body, certainly trying their best to leave bruises. I stand out of free will, but they still keep their strong hold on my body.

"So, you care to explain your plans?" the Autumn son asks.

I stare at him, keeping my mouth shut. He was a fool if he really thought I was going to answer his question. I've been through worse things than torture. This was nothing compared to that.

"Well, if you aren't going to talk I unfortunately have to hurt you." he says with a smile. "But I will try it without that one more time."

He opens his hand, a small ball of fire forming inside of it. I do my best to hide the flicker of fear flashing through me.

Knives, whips, beatings. I could take all of that. But fire.. Fire was one of the worst kinds of torture. Especially with what happened to my mate.

"Tell me why Rhysand send you. What are you doing here?" he tries again.

I let out a small laugh which sounded more like a huff. "You really are dumb." I say to him. He looks offended.

Good.

"I would rather die or be tortured for years then tell you anything about the Night Court." I tell him.

His smile disappears at that. "I kind of wished you would've just answered the question right away. Now I need to ruin your pretty body." he says, his lips tilting upward again.

The ball of fire in his hands grows. A sickening feeling fills my body.

"I think you would like some matching scars with your mate, won't you?" he tells me happily.

This time I don't hide my fear. I thrash against the hands that hold my body, but they were to strong. I couldn't move.

I try to move my hands away, but one of the guards holds them up. There was no way in moving them.

In panic I try to reach for the bond, only to remember it wasn't there.

Yet I keep screaming Azriel's name in my head, hoping for a small way through the blockage.

He now hold the fire dangerously close to my hands. The warmth was terrible.

"One last chance."

"No." I say firmly, preparing myself for the pain to come.

He moves my hands into the ball of fire. Excruciating pain fills my body. Worse than ever.

I cry out, not even trying to hide my pain.

The male was laughing as I keep screaming, begging him to stop.

Everything after happened so fast. I couldn't remember if it had been a few seconds or minutes.

Flashes of blue crossed my vision along with the red of blood.

I fell to the ground, curling up to myself, trying to somehow push my hands away. To get rid of the terrible pain that lingers.

Everything was blurred. But one thing I knew, was that the hands that picked me up were familiar. The voice talking me through my pain was familiair. It was nice.

I could vaguely remember flying. The next vague memory I had was of entering a house, voices yelling and people gathering around me.

I remember telling someone I felt so much pain. I also remember that someone telling me I was going to be okay. That he loved me so much and he wouldn't leave my side.

It was only when someone started touching my hands that I lost consciousness.

The thing I do remember is waking up. My eyes flicker open slowly to find the sun setting outside.

I look around in confusion. I was in my room. In my bed. Mine and Azriel's.

A warm hand places on my arm. I turn my head to find my mate smiling at me. "Are you feeling okay?" he asks gently.

I nod, a bit unsure, still having to process most of it.

His hands cup my face. "I'm so sorry about what happened. And I'm so glad you're okay."

I smile at him, lifting a hand to touch his face... only to find it wrapped in a thick bandage. Both my hands.

Realization shoots through me, along with panic and a bit of pain.

Azriel immediately reaches for me. "Hey, don't panic. It's okay. I'm here." he tells me, staying perfectly calm.

"I-.." I couldn't find my words. "I can't feel anything." I say.

Azriel gives me a sad smile. "Madja gave you something strong against the pain. That's the reason you don't feel your hands." he says. "Hopefully.." he adds quietly. He doesn't need to explain what he means by that.

Azriel's warm smile has disappeared from his face, sadness having taken over.

"Is it bad?" I question quietly.

"Yes. It will hopefully heal with time, but the scarring will stay. It will probably look something like my hands." he explains to me softly.

I always thought Azriel's scars were beautiful. But I never thought I would have to live with them myself. This felt different.

"I will not love you differently because of your scars." he tells me, his hand on my cheek. He must've felt my negative thoughts.

"He told me we would have matching scars." I tell him, not even sure why I was telling him this.

Azriel's body stiffens. He shifts a few seconds later, the bed dipping slightly from his weight. He wraps his strong arms around me carefully, tugging me against his chest. I gladly let him as I keep staring at the wall in front of me.

"Do not think differently about yourself. I know how hard it is, I've been there. I will help you through it, like you have helped me through it."

I snap my attention back to Azriel, my eyes locking with his. I nod, knowing and feeling he meant every word.

I bury my face against his chest, trying not to cry.

He holds me tightly, his hands moving up and down my back while whispering sweet words in to my ears which eventually lulled me back to sleep again.

[neverthatsirius-jo]

CONGRATS ON 200 FOLLOWERS MY TWINNIE 😋 had to jump on this fic fest and request something with my babygirl james potter <3 and i got these from the gifs !

randomized a song from a playlist and got about you by the 1975 :3 and mayhaps u could add a sprinkle of mutual pining?? 🥰 THANK U LOVE U 🫶🏼

| SOMETHING ABOUT YOU ⊹₊⟡⋆

“In which James is more oblivious to your drunken love confessions than you think and he eggs you on into an even more embarrassing one in a broken lift.”

pairing: james potter x fem!reader

genre: fluff <3

w/c: 1.6k

tags: muggle au, coworkers to lovers, kinda drunken confession, mentions of alcohol...

jo’s note: how could i NOT write my twin @foodiegoogie's request first? thank for requesting and i hope you enjoy reading this, even though i think i was bit stingy with the pining. LOVE YOU RESE <333

also i know i received all the event’s requests back in january, but school and my own perfectionism won't let me do things in a timely manner. i'll be posting all the other requests over the next few weeks <3 nerve-wracking to be posting after so long helpp.

“No, no, no, no, no. Shit! Shit!”

You smash the buttons of the lift as if that will magically make its doors open. You press floor after floor and buttons you’ve never even touched before and don’t know what they do.

You lean forward with your hands on the door; your back cracks after sitting for hours typing away on a computer. You’d had to stay late and so had James, it seems, who clears his throat behind you.

“Alright, spill.” 

You close your eyes and purse your lips but don’t turn around just yet. You can’t face him; not after what happened.

The same bubbles of the fizzy, sweet alcoholic drink one of your coworkers had given you were running through your blood and getting to your brain, getting in the way of your neurons and their synapsis. Quickly. 

Weirdly enough that hadn’t stopped you, accepting a few more drinks that would only deteriorate your capacity to make decisions further. It was New Year’s! Not yet really… and it was an office party but still…

“We’re doing—hip!—karaoke! Come!” A hiccuping woman, in a much more grave state than you, grabbed your arm. You were pretty sure it was one of the secretaries but you couldn’t tell, not even squinting your eyes.

The events that followed are one of the most mortifying experiences you have lived and you wish a wizard would come down from the skies and give you a magical object with which you could erase said events from everybody’s memories. Especially James’, who you have been ignoring since then.

“There was something ‘bout you! That made my heart surrender! It’s the same darn thing, something, something surrender,” you ended with an off-key mumble, forgetting the lyrics.

You had pointed! Pointed at James Potter.

James who definitely wasn’t in any need for you to stroke his ego. James Potter whose self-esteem definitely wasn’t a topic he needed to discuss in therapy. James Potter who would show no hesitation in using your little show against you.

To be frank, you had no idea why he hadn’t already started doing exactly just that.

As much a blur as that night had become, the only thing that you could still replay in your mind and in great detail, like under a magnifying glass, was the way he had looked at you. Smug smile, arms crossed, and the promise of future bullying in his eyes. 

If you now have to stare at the grey, metallic wall of the lift until someone comes to your rescue then so be it. 

Ironically, there’s a sign taped to the wall informing about the upcoming halt of all lifts next monday due to an inspection that you can use as a prop and pretend to read.

You make a sound, something in between a question and what you imagine an ant sounds like as they’re about to be stepped on, when he asks his question. You mean to articulate something, but it doesn’t quite come out. You certainly feel as small as an ant.

“You’ve been ignoring me,” he clarifies. “Is it some kind of new year’s resolution?”

You smile despite yourself. “Of course, James. All my new year’s resolutions revolve around you.”

You turn around, leaning back on the wall and swinging one leg about in an ‘I’m so bored, you see?’ way but still not looking up.

“Alright, then. What is it?” He asks.

“Don’t be patronising. It’s not a good look.”

“I’m not. Swear.”

When you look up at him, you’re surprised to see his expression matches yours. You roll your eyes when you look down and see him holding up his pinky finger in sign of a promise. 

Weirdly enough you know he’s being truthful, given he didn’t take the opportunity to respond that ‘every look of his is a good look’.

“Okay, then.” You shrug. “Then it doesn't matter.”

He nods, pursing his lips unconvinced. “Matters to me. Doesn’t make for a good work environment if you can’t even look at me.”

“I am looking at you.”

He scoffs. “Congratulations. First time in this whole week.”

“You’re so insufferable. Anyone ever told you that?”

“I would rather call it persistent.”

“Semantics.” You click your tongue on the roof of your mouth.

“Quite an important branch of—”

“Keep talking, and I’ll start jumping until the lift takes pity on me, gives in, and we both fall to our deaths. I mean it.”

He smiles in the way you only see when he knows he’s managed to get under your skin. The silence that follows bothers you greatly but he navigates it with ease, waiting for something, not concerned in the slightest.

“So…” He starts.

“Oh, bloody hell!”

He laughs, and if your face wasn’t burning in anger you’d have relished in the sound, as you usually do but never admit, not even to yourself. 

“I know it’s about the party.” He shakes his head to emphasise his statement as obvious.

“Great observation, Sherlock. How did you manage that?”

“Then I really don’t get what the big deal is.”

You look straight at him and blinking rigidly, like your eyelids weigh triple what they used to and opening them up again costs you greatly.

“You don’t get,” you grit your teeth, “what the big deal is that I serenaded you, drunk, in front of all our coworkers?” 

You don’t break eye contact even when it becomes almost physically painful.

“And all because I have the most embarrassing crush on you! Yeah.” You turn around mumbling petty insults at him. “You don’t see how that could be a big deal? Bloody hell.”

The chuckle he lets out from the deepest part of him makes your head turn at a neck-break pace. 

If looks could kill and what not.

“Now you’re laughing at me. Very mature.”

“I’m the immature one?” He pretends to be offended, bringing a hand to his chest.

“You always have been, I’m not sure why the surprise.” You try to act nonchalant but the wavering in your voice gives you away.

You begin pressing the lift buttons frantically again. Not because you believe it will actually do anything, but because you don’t think strangling James is the way to get the promotion you so desperately want and have been fighting him over. It’s not a good marketing strategy for yourself either, given he’s quite beloved within the company.

Unfortunately, you understand better than anyone why.

He brings both his hands, intertwined, right before his mouth, like he’s pondering about something; not unlike when you stare from across the office to catch him in between files of paperwork. “This is about to get a whole lot more funny for me.”

Most of the time you understand why all the love, anyway.

Not right now.

“Why on earth,” he starts, bringing his hands up with a big grin on his face, as if to cup your face except he’s a few feet back, “would I take your drunken karaoke show as a serenade specifically dedicated to me?”

A feverish chill makes its way across your whole body; your clothes all of a sudden feel too tight, as does the lift you’re standing on. 

“You’re—” you lick your lips; a nervous tick. “You’re saying you didn’t know.”

“That is exactly what I’m saying.” He snickers. “I must say, I’m extremely fla—”

You huff before he can squeeze another word in. “I don’t like you, James. Matter of fact, I find you quite insufferable; and just because I can’t handle my alcohol and it makes me lower my standards to a degrading point, doesn’t mean that you have me in the palm of your hand. Not by a long shot.”

Your feet have taken you only a few centimeters before him, and you can feel his breath, almost as ragged as yours, tickling you. 

You’re fuming but he finds the whole of it exhilarating, which you can see and it doesn’t help your emotional state at all.

“See, I don’t believe you anymore.” He goes to flick an imaginary something off your shoulder. “I reckon the exact words were—”

“Don’t.” You give him a warning look but he’s too busy examining all your face, except your eyes.

“An embarrassing crush?” He rearranges a strand of hair that falls in your eye and tucks it behind your ear. You wonder if he can tell its temperature it’s at boiling point. “On silly old me?”

“You never shut up,” you barely manage to breathe out but he makes out the words somehow.

“I can be persuaded into it. Definitely.”

Without you realizing it, he’s cornered you into the opposite side of the lift. It’s only when the back of your head hits cold metal that you notice you’ve been walking backwards trying to get away from him.

“Plus, my dilemma is far, far worse, y’know.” He tilts his head down to find your eyes that keep trying to evade him. “I happen to be mortifyingly in love with you.”

He inches his face closer to yours, and your stomach drops. You have to look at the side to make sure it’s not the lift falling down.

“It’s too mortifying to even call it a crush, really,” he whispers with a shrug of his shoulders, before he joins your lips and his.

You don’t have time to process much of anything. Not when he has you like this. 

Your initial reaction is to freeze and you can feel him starting to pull away, thinking maybe he’s misread the situation. 

You reassure him he hasn’t by latching onto his hair to pull him closer if that even is possible. 

“Does that make us even? He whispers into your lips once you pull back to get some air. “Or do I need to jump on my desk and sing you something first thing tomorrow?”

You bite your lip to stop from smiling.

He smiles back. “You know I’ll do it.”

You know he would. Which is why you press your lips to his once more before he can start thinking of his choice of song.

thank you for reading, reblogs and replies are appreciated <3

back to masterlist

[a-random-weeb]

Hello! Can I request yandere chuuya with a fem reader he accidentally broke and now he’s trying so hard to un break her by letting her go outside and go shopping but little does he know she’s Been normal the whole time and it was all just an act so she tries escaping by chuuya catches her?

omg yes I love this idea. Tysm for the oneshot prompt btw!

Ok, this is kind of cringe but I had a lot of fun writing so fuck it

I hope you like it as much as I do

Warnings: Yandere, physical abuse, mentions of isolation, slight nsfw mention. I wanted to make it fluffy at the end, so you can read the end if you want or settle for when he beats you. let me know if I missed anything

Disclaimer: this fic is not romantisising Yandere behavior, it is fanfiction. If any of this is happening in real life, seek help, it's not romantic even if it's great in fanfiction.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

He didn't mean for this. He didn't mean for the punishment to go THAT far, and he certainly didn't mean to break you. Yet here you were, after all that screaming and crying you held an emotionless look on you're face, and he hated it.

He drags you outside, normally you're not allowed out of your room unless he's by your side, then you can wander the house, but you haven't been outside the penthouse for the last year! You were excited, but you had to maintain the façode of being broken.

When Chuuya sees that nothing has changed about the look on your face a wave of sadness washes over him. He missed how cheerful you used to be, how you would giggle over every dumb thing he did, how you were always so positive. Sure, sometimes his punishments were a little harsh, but you had a lot of fun together too! He racks his brain for anything he could do to get you back to your old self, then he comes up with what he hopes to be a good idea. He should take you shopping, girls like shopping don't they? Well he'll have to hope.

You both arrive at the mall, a fun place to spend your life savings. Lucky for you, Chuuya was rich, so you could spend as much as you wanted! The relief in Chuuyas eyes at the slight excitement in yours was adorable. Though, that excitement is gone as quick as it came, leaving him disappointed.

You almost slipped up! You were too excited at the thought of running around shopping you almost let your gaurd down! You desperately hope he didn't notice. As much as you would love to spend his money, running around like a little kid, but unfortunately (and fortunately) it was the perfect time to escape. You slip into the crowd while in the food court the second he looks away. Running to the nearest exit, strategically avoiding his gaze.

You guess you didn't do well enough, because when you bolt outside, you feel two strong arms wrap around you from behind. You look up in horror to see an angry chihuahua Chuuya glaring daggers at you, but... There is also a look of hurt in his eyes

"Why the hell did you try to escape huh?! To hurt me by pretending to be broken, only to hurt me more after I allowed you outside!! It'll be a long time before you ever go outside again. We're going home. Now." He tightly grabs your wrist, not caring about the amount of pain he's causing you, or how much you beg for him to forgive you. He throws you in the backseat of his car, slamming the door before driving the two of you home.

The night is certainly a long one, he's very rough despite you crying and begging, throwing you in the floor of the bedroom, fucking you and beating you til you pass out.

The next morning he felt bad about actions that night, and feels you've had enough punishment, so he'll cuddle you and pamper you. You get breakfast in bed and nothing but cuddles, apologies and words of praise, though, he still believes you deserved what came to you last night. He know you probably won't try to escape again after the hell he put you through, and even though he feels bad, he does not regret it...

[marshallpupfan]

Ten Things I LIKED About Season 11!

Okay, that post I made last night about season 11 was, at times, pretty negative. I don't always enjoy being like that, so instead of focusing on the bad, I figured I'd talk about some of the good! No sarcasm, no hate... just positive (paw-sitive?) vibes in this post!

A lot of these are in no particular order, by the way. They're more or less listed as I remembered them. 😄

1 - Sending Off the Old Animation with A Boom(er)!

Again, the last two Rescue Wheels episodes, despite looking like they belong in season 10, are officially listed under season 11! They're also the last to use the old animation.

And, for my money, it was a fine sendoff! Rescue Wheels: Pups Save a Runaway Truck is, in my opinion, one of the best episodes in a long time! For starters, they brought in a new writer for this one, and he really knew how to bring in some genuine humor to the mix! Boomer, himself was also legit great here, which further cemented him as another one of my favorite pups in PAW Patrol. The mission, itself was also quite good, and it gave me my dream team of Chase and Marshall, so bonus points there!

Overall, it's a fun episode, and a fine goodbye to the animation that stuck with us for over ten years.

And now, one of my favorite exchanges from the segment;

Danny: I'm sure you've got a big monster truck stunt to do! Boomer: Uh, yeah, biggest stunt, ever. Danny: I bet it's something X-treme! Like, a big jump! Oh, over the draw bridge! OOH, WITH FIREWORKS!! Boomer: Uh... yeah. It's... definitely all that. And more! Danny: No way! Can I watch?? Boomer: Are you kidding? Bring your camera and live stream it so everyone else can watch, too. Danny: Good idea! Boomer: [to Frankie].........we're gonna need fireworks, fast.

2 - An Air Rescue Fire Emergency!

As I've mentioned before, fires were more or less banned in the TV series for the longest time. Sure, we saw relatively harmless ones, like camp fires, but what about uncontrolled fires? We got one in season 1, and we didn't get another until season 10! Whether we have the theatrical movies to thank for that or something else entirely, I'm just glad the ban has finally been lifted! After all, it lead to Fire Rescue being a thing!

Before that subseries hit, however, we got even more fires in "Air Rescue - Pups Save A Rocket-Powered Pogo Stick". Depending on who you ask, it's arguably the best episode of Air Rescue! Fun mission, actual stakes, and even the ground crew got to help out! It was good, and it let us know that fires are here to say, and we won't just see them in Ultimate Fire Rescues.

3 - Zuma and Hurricane Harrigan

It's not too often we get an episode that involves Zuma at the center of the plot. It's even rarer still when Hurricane Harrigan shows up. In all honesty, the two are practically made for each other! Thus, when this segment popped up, I think most of us enjoyed it due to that aspect, alone! No doubt many of us want this team-up to happen again... soon, we hope!

4 - Marshall and Everest are... PENGUINS??

Okay, this looks so weird... and I love it. It's silly moments like this I tend to appreciate, since it's the pups just goofing off and having pure fun. I think I can speak for most of us when I say that, when the pups are having a good time, we, the viewers, will likely have one, too!

5 - Hey, Humdinger was Pretty Funny Here!

"Hum-Patrol to the Rescue" was, much to my surprise, a fun episode! What's even more surprising? Mayor Humdinger was legit good in it! And funny! Despite how often he shows up, and how often a lot of us tend to get tired of seeing him involved in the plot, I must admit, I still like the character, and it's segments like this that remind me of why. When done right, Mayor Humdinger can be quite entertaining, and this is certainly proof of that.

I know it's not everyone's cup of tea, but I even enjoyed him breaking the fourth wall in this one. Hey, as much as I still like Marshall's wipeouts, even I get a chuckle out of Mayor Humdinger questioning whether he actually does this every time or not. 😄

6 - A Forgotten Gag, Brought Back!

Naturally, because of how much I love Marshall, I tend to take notice when certain things about him disappear. His EMT Gear being absent (again) is a good example. Strangely, Marshall's gag of falling down his firetruck ladder was another thing that just seemed to vanish over time. Admittedly, I never fully understood why.

Much to my surprise, season 11 brought it back! Twice, in fact! And hey, both were rather good and got a chuckle out of me. Personally, as long as no one gets hurt, it doesn't happen too often, and it's done in pure humor, I'll always enjoy it. I just love his "I'm good!" after it happens. 😄

7 - Robo-Arrby

Okay, how can you not like this?? "Pups Save the Baddies", from what I've noticed, tends to be a personal favorite for some fans, and no doubt Arrby is one reason why. In fact, even I must admit that, when this pup shows up, it's almost always worth it! That's certainly true here, too. Although his time in the segment was brief, it's certainly one most of us won't forget!

...And yes, everyone fell for his disguise, if only for a brief time. I guess Arrby's just that good at what he does! 😅

8 - More Handicapped Representation

When done right, representation can be a great thing. We got our first handicapped character in season 7, when Rex joined up with the pups to help them out in the Dino Wilds. Although his back legs can't function, it didn't stop him from still being a major asset to the team. A handful of seasons later, we finally got another handicapped character. This time, it's a human named Lizzy, and she's the owner of Adventure Bay's new lemonade stand. As you can see, she's missing her left hand, but the cartoon makes it clear that such a thing won't stop her from doing what she wants to do in life.

I'm not handicapped myself, so I'm not the best person to talk about this sort of thing. However, I have to imagine something like this can be inspiring, at least to some degree, to viewers... especially any child who might be handicapped and can relate to this, in some way or another. That, alone, can be powerful. What's just another character to me, might mean the world to someone else.

9 - The Many Cute Moments from the Pups!

Okay, in all fairness, every season gives us cute moments... but hey, I still wanted to give it a shout out, anyway! And one that jumps out to me right away, outside of Marshall and Everest acting like penguins, was the wipeout from "Fire Rescue: Pups Save a Baby Goat's Birthday". During the chaos, Marshall got some cake icing on his face, and it formed a monocle, a mustache, and top hat. A little crazy, and perhaps forced, but dang, did it ever get a chuckle out of me. I know some believe Marshall's wipeouts aren't as good as they used to be, but I'd argue they still manage to deliver every now and then, and this one's no exception! Welcome back, Dapper Marshall! 😆

10 - Last, and Hopefully Not Least... Fire Rescue!

Despite what others might say, I still profess that Fire Rescue is a highlight of season 11. Regardless of its flaws, for my money, there's still plenty to like here! Seeing the clumsy yet fully capable Marshall lead the team, the great-looking vehicles and outfits (I'll admit, I like that they made Marshall's outfit brown, like an actual fireman's outfit), the cartoon continuing to feature fires, among other things. It may not be the best subseries, but hey, it doesn't have to be! Despite its shortcomings, I still thought it was fun! I enjoyed my time with it, and I'd love to see it again... perhaps someday soon, I hope!

Incidentally, while the final episode of season 11 didn't involve Fire Rescue, we could still see the new fire station in the background at one point. I like this! It lets us know that, just because it's not in use, the cartoon's not going to forget about it. It assures me that we very likely will go back to it, someday ! Nice, nice!

Honorable Mention - THIS GREATNESS

Although Marshall's my favorite pup in the cartoon, and hands-down one of my all-time favorite animated characters, I'll happily admit that Chase is pretty high up on my list of favorite PAW Patrol characters, too. As far as I'm concerned, he's the man, and he'll always be great in my books. Besides, he's the reason I first started watching PAW Patrol, so I gotta love 'em. And, naturally, I really like the friendship he and Marshall share, and I especially love it when the cartoon allows them to hang out and, of course, work together. It's my dream team, as I often mention... a lot, no doubt.

And, as you can imagine, when one of the Fire Rescue episodes gave us this moment, the two side-by-side like this... oh yeah, a big ol' thumbs up from me! Hey, say what you will about the episode, or even about me, but I'll never get tired of this. 🤩

[kitnjon]

I know you were asked before about your fav high school Jonsa fics, so I was wondering if you had any college fic recommendations.

Yes! Some fic recs

1. Your heartbeat next to mine by @cellsshapedlikestars

“Riiiight,” Harry says, and Sansa stiffens up when she hears the change in Harry’s tone. “I remember you now. Theon always said you thought you were better than everyone else.” “Yup, that’s me,” Jon deadpans. “Better than everyone. You should go find your friends and tell them all about it. I’m sure they’ll love the gossip.” Harry’s face reddens. “Is that why you’re still a virgin? Can’t find anyone worthy enough to stick your dick in?”

2. trojan horse by @cellsshapedlikestars

He’s only known her for an hour, but he’s pretty sure he’s in love with her.

3. across the universe by @cellsshapedlikestars

“How did you find out I live here, stalker?” “I’m not a stalker,” Jon grits out, his whole body going hot. He can’t tell if it’s anger or embarrassment. “I’m just a student.” She doesn’t respond, and he holds up his hands and backs away from her. “Forget I said anything. I won’t bother you anymore. I won’t even look at you.” He starts walking for the gate, but that tense heat in him stops him, makes him turn back.  “You know what?’ he calls. “I don’t even like pop music.” When he realizes how petty that sounds, he spins back around and hurries down the path, out the gate, and onto the road.

4. On a Edge of a World so Cold by @thewolvescalledmehome

When Sansa Stark, the darling of Winterfell, had been told she’d have to transfer to Castle Black College for her final year, she knew it was for the best. It would be easier to do what her parents asked of her this far north--to keep her head down and stay out of trouble. The media would never think she would be at CBC. And really, Sansa didn’t want to return to the Vale. Not after what happened. A new, fresh start sounded appealing to her. But CBC is nothing like she expects, with an entire social system that no one prepared her for, and no sororities like she had been hoping for. Instead of joining a sisterhood, she winds up in a house with seven men

5. I Bet You Look Good on the Dancefloor by @kit-kat21

“Jon can give you a piggyback ride if you need it,” Ygritte offered. “I’ll make it,” Sansa instantly said to that suggestion. There was no way she was going to be getting a piggyback ride from some guy she had just met; even if he and Ygritte obviously knew one another and had something between them – whether that be friendship or something more. And even if she did want a piggyback ride, she wouldn’t get one. She wasn’t here for boys; not even an obviously attractive one who somehow didn’t look completely stupid with a manbun.

6. I've dreamed about you nearly every night this week by @cellsshapedlikestars

Sansa really has no idea what comes over her when she decides to follow the WhiteWolf on Instagram. She knows nothing about him - not his name or what he looks like or where he lives. All she knows is that he has a cute dog, a nice set of abs, and now an OnlyFans. But she only follows his Instagram for the photos of his dog - definitely not the abs. And she certainly doesn't need to follow his OnlyFans. (Until one night, she does)

7. Shock You Like You Won't Believe by @chispas-and-broken-bindings

Sansa is homesick. When she spends the night at her brother's apartment to escape the dorms, she might have picked the wrong bed…or is it the right one?

[joels-shitty-puns]

The Key to Your Heart - Track 1

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x Musician!Reader

Summary: After writing your feelings for Pedro into a song, it gains a lot more popularity than expected. Ultimately it brings both criticism and support, with new possibilities around the corner.

Warnings: 18+ only (MDNI). Potential for puns/dad jokes (name of my blog, and the fic) should give that away. This is my first fic which should be its own warning, lol. Also some cursing. Mentions of masturbation (f) maybe more smut later idk. Sadness, reader is pretty depressed. Poor body image. Rude people. Bullying-ish and just lack of support? Anxiety. Age gap! Reader is in her mid 20's, Pedro is current age (48).

Other stuff: Reader is plus sized. AFAB. Inexperienced. Also has a dog, but you can pretend it is another creature probably.

Word Count: 1.9K

Series List: Here!

Thank you for checking it out :) let me know what you think. I made this probably more wordy and personal than I should've... OOF.

The clock was nearing 4 AM when, with a sniffle, you closed the app you were on and clicked the power button on your phone. A single tear ran down your face as you rolled on your side and hoped that maybe in your dreams you could experience the love you craved so desperately. For the past few hours, and every night you didn't have work in the morning, or had free time before bed, you would read fanfiction. You knew people had a lot of poor opinions about fanfic, but the best thing about them is that unlike other stories, you were in these. You could imagine it was you in the story spending time with your favorite characters.

The worst part of fanfiction, however… is when you realize it isn't real and won't ever happen. Sure, you can imagine it, and you can feel the emotions and even give yourself pleasure at the thoughts, but when it wears off, you realize that it's just you. You're alone, and not your mind, nor your hands, can give you what you truly want. What you need.

You aren't so dumb or delusional as to think it's real, or to think you have a chance. If your own mind didn't tell you that enough, your family and friends would remind you plenty. At the mention of your crush, you'd get comments that had a playfulness, or childlike connotation at the idea of you crushing on someone famous. If not that, you'd get pity, or told you should put yourself out there and find someone you actually have a chance with… as if you chose to have these feelings. Why would you choose to fall in love with someone you have no chance with?

For a while, you could pretend it was just a crush and that you couldn't be in love with someone you've never met. But ultimately you accepted that it wasn't true. This isn't the first time, and you're sure it won't be the last. With the previous crush lasting several years, you knew you'd just have to wait it out. 

This time around, the crush was on Pedro Pascal. Current heartthrob of the world, starring in some of the most popular franchises of the time. If people didn't know his name, they certainly knew a character of his; unless they lived under a rock. 

With this information in the back of your mind, the fact that everyone knew him and everyone loved him and he could have anyone he wanted, you sighed, hoping it would finally get through your head, and rolled over to your other side. Unable to sleep, you pulled out your journal to write down your feelings before eventually drifting off, pen in hand.

Letting out a groan, you awoke too few hours later to your dog Skipper crying in your face. "Gotta pee, buddy? Alright.." You climbed out of bed and he spun in a circle before galloping through the house towards the patio door. Humming a song you don't yet know, you sit by the door and think about what you wrote the night before. It wasn't uncommon for you to write songs, and you found it comforting to play instruments and sing your feelings out into the lyrics. Although you often recorded and purchased the copyrights to your music, you never posted it.  Maybe someday…you always told yourself, pondering with the idea of some extra money. 

After letting the dog in, you sat at the piano with last night's journal and wrote a song which spilled your feelings for Pedro. You recorded it and went about your day, but it kept nagging you. Finally, after another sleepless night, you posted it onto some music streaming websites. Using a stage name of just your first nickname, you added the song, which you titled "Imaginary Love." It never mentions Pedro by name, only talking of the strong feelings you have for someone famous that you'll never be with. 

Once that was out of the way, you didn't check your accounts for several days. Eventually, however, you began receiving emails. Radio stations wanted to play your song, record companies wanted to sign you, they wanted an album. Your head swirled, and you agreed to put out an album with other songs you've written, still maintaining your stage identity. I'll just be like Hannah Montana, you thought, with a laugh of disbelief. 

About a month later, you and your music were still a mystery to people. People loved your song. People related to it. But of course, there were critics. Negative impressions spurred about you being childish, immature, naive, and silly. Others just wanted to know the gossip. Who were you? Where did you come from? And WHO were you singing about?!

Trying to ignore the chatter, you noticed a new interview of Pedro being posted, as advertisement for his newest film. Finally something to look forward to and get your mind off of this! Flicking on your television, you broadcast the interview of Pedro from your cell phone. Your heart skipped as you looked at him, his messy brown curls falling near his ears that held his large black framed glasses. His brown eyes twinkled as the interviewer talked to him about his work.

Eventually they broke into more casual conversation, discussing current favorite movies, what he last saw in theaters, what he's binge-watching, last concert he saw, and finally… the current song he can't stop listening to. 

"Oh, man… I can't stop listening to "Imaginary Love," he answered without hesitation, hand on his heart.

Your stomach lurched. Your heart stopped. You forgot how to breathe. What. The. Fuck. Shit shit shit shit shit. This can't. Be real. You rewound the video. This HAS to be a dream. But it wasn't. "Imaginary Love," he said. Oh. Crap. You replayed it several more times, but it didn't make it more real. The interviewer replied "oh… here we go. The song everyone is talking about! I am curious though, what are your thoughts on it? Who do you think it's about?" Pedro's smile faltered a bit at the man's tone, but he remained his usual genuine, sincere self when he answered. "I… I'm also curious about who she is and who the song is about, but I think that ultimately it's up to her whether she decides to reveal that. I think we can all relate to the pain of love, especially unrequited, and I think it's brave of her to share that level of open vulnerability with the world. I can't expect her to share more than what she already has."

Your heart fluttered.

Yet the interviewer continued. "Don't you think it's a little… I dunno… naive? I mean, you get it, you're in show business. The average kid really doesn't have a chance, and even more so, isn't it a little… creepy? The way she's put this guy on a pedestal? Claims she's in love with a man she doesn't even know?"

Pedro's fingers twitched around the base of the microphone, his eyebrows furrowed, and he slowly nodded while pondering his response. I can't watch this anymore.. His pause felt like a lifetime, and you couldn't handle the tension. The interviewer was an ass, but his words were nothing new. He was probably right... You are creepy and naive. You reached for the remote to turn off the television. It had only been a few seconds, but you couldn't bear the potential heartbreak that you knew would come. This is exactly why you haven't revealed yourself or the subject of your lyrics.

Pedro cleared his throat before speaking. "You're right… I am in show business and I get it. I get that in order to get what you truly want in life, we all seem a bit naive. I've spent my life trying to make it as an actor, sometimes struggling if it hadn't been for the help of my friends. I was naive, and I suppose a bit delusional. Obviously this is a bit different though. Unlike jobs, we can't choose who we love. I think we've all had celebrity crushes at some point in our lives."

Your breath was caught in your throat and you could feel tears welling up in your eyes. He doesn't even know you, and he's somehow able to reach into your lyrics to understand exactly how you feel without the judgment or pity you often feel from those who know you personally. And yet… the asshole interviewer kept on. Seriously dude… how long are you going to drag this on? Talk to Pedro about his achievements. Quit ranting. The interview has completely gone off the rails. "Okay.. I gotta ask though.." Ugh what now??! He continued, "this girl is a fan. The only thing she knows is what's made public. She's keeping her identity hidden but doesn’t seem to wonder what her so-called “love” is hiding from the world. Would you, as a celebrity, genuinely consider someone like her, a fan, if she came out and said the song was about you? I mean, would any of you out there? We're not just talking about a normal person, or even a slight fan. We're talking write-a-song-about-him level obsessed."

Pedro answered without hesitation. "Sure I would consider it. You can already feel her emotional vulnerability and passion. I think she's deserving of happiness just like anyone." If only you knew.. It is you, Pedro.. But your negative thoughts filled your consciousness. Like he'd want you.. he's almost twice your age.. look at yourself. He can have anyone he wants. He'd never actually choose you. Look at your blemishes. Your big stomach, flab, and stretch marks. Nobody has ever wanted you. You've never even been kissed, you fool. A grown adult.

You frowned and finished watching the interview, swept away in your self-hatred. You slunk onto the floor, cuddling your dog, seeking the only comfort you're able to receive. This is why I prefer animals, you think. They love you no matter what you look like or who you are.

A few days later, the events of Pedro's interview went viral, spurring both negative and positive responses.

"Pedro Pascal Defends Unknown Artist"

"Mandalorian Actor Slams Interviewer"

"Watch: Pedro Pascal Interview Gets Heated"

The headlines get more and more dramatic, acting as if fist fights broke out or a gun battle ensued. It was all pretty tame. A simple conversation of differing opinions. However… you still couldn't help but feel guilty that he put his own reputation on the line for you in a way. He doesn't even know you. What was in this for him, that he felt the need to defend you?

It was at this moment that you decided to log into Instagram from your stage artist profile. Hopping into the message section, you typed out Pedro Pascal and clicked his profile, writing out a message. "Hi Mr. Pascal! I recently watched your interview and I can't begin to express my gratitude towards you. I feel terribly guilty that this is beginning to weigh on your own image, but I would like to say thank you from the bottom of my heart. Thank you for your defense, thank you for your support of my music, but most importantly, thank you for seeing my lyrics as they were meant to be… from my heart. Thank you for your kindness."

You tapped send and waited with bated breath. After ten minutes of staring at the screen, you decided you needed a break from the internet, dropped your phone, and went for a walk with Skipper.

Meanwhile, from the couch at home, your phone lit up with a notification.

Instagram

Pedro Pascal (pascalispunk): replied to your message

Thanks for reading!! Interested in track 2? Read it here!

[andielle]

prologue|chpt. 1|chpt. 2|chpt. 3|chpt. 4|masterlist

You and Bucky have shared this relationship for almost a year now. He sleeps with you to relieve stress, you sleep with him to free you from your slight crush on him. But what happens when Bucky breaks the rules of your relationship, and yearns for more?

MODERN! Office AU! Bucky x Reader

prologue | 1.0k words | warnings: implications of sex

You're slowly awakened by the beams of sunlight peaking through your binds. Still groggy, you opened your eyes to an empty bed. You still felt the warmth radiating from your side, while the memories of the night before flooded your brain. Kisses, warmth, skin on skin, metal on skin, you remembered how you and Bucky turned into mere creatures of flesh, indulging in each other. He used you, but that didn't matter because you used him too.

It all felt like a dream, but does it matter? Dream or not, you'd still wake up with an empty bed either way. You lay on your side for a bit, feeling your hand on the bedsheets where Bucky laid on. He must've left a few minutes ago, because his warmth and sultry scent still lingered heavily on your sheets — You were used to this even though you wish you weren't.

Couldn't he at least wake me up for work before leaving? You thought to yourself, finally sitting up to give yourself a good stretch before scrambling to get ready for work.

—

God, you already hate this day. Your eyelashes feel like there are weights attached to them, you're constantly having your back slumped, and it's only... You look at the clock... 8:43 am?! You sat drooped over your chair from the revelation, your eyes still groggy, and the cheerful sunshine coming from the windows certainly did not help with your predicament.

"Hey— Oh my God... Who did this to you?" a feminine voice calls out to you. You don't exactly see who it is, but from the corner of your vision, you can tell that the crimson coloured head of hair belonged to the one and only — Natasha Romanoff. Your eye twitched.

"Good morning to you too, I guess," you replied quietly, not even bothering to care about how you looked right now, or to look up. "Bad night huh?" Nat questions, but the answer was obvious enough. With a small tap, she places a cup of coffee on your desk.

"Nat..." you quickly took the cup and sipped, sweet and with a bitter aftertaste, you gulped, eyes closed. With a sigh of satisfaction, you thanked Nat; "Thank you so much... You're my saviour, really."

"'Must've been a long night for you — you know, going back to your place with B-" Nat was interrupted with your look of panic. Instead of finishing her sentence, she gave you mercy by smiling. With a click of her heels, she moved from the front of your desk to your side. She kneeled facing you, holding onto your desk for support. "Why do you still sleep with him? I mean— he's a total hunk! But, like, are you still sure about this?" She says in a hushed tone.

Oh Nat, she has always given you a piece of her mind, albeit a bit brutally sometimes, but she's always been there for you ever since your earlier days in the office.

She was like the older sister you've never had. She knew your ins and outs, and you both often shared secrets with each other that otherwise would not be shared with anybody else.

"Relax, I don't mind, you know how complicated it is," you smiled softly at your best friend, appreciating the concern. She raised a well-groomed eyebrow, scanning your face.

"I promise... I could leave anytime," you added. She didn't look persuaded though. Damn it, she could see right through you easily, which was one of the reasons why she knew about you and Bucky in the first place, a tiny falter in your expression gave it away.

"Well, I trust you, but that doesn't mean I won't care, okay?" she says before standing up and giving you a pat on the shoulder. She strutted back to her desk.

"Okay," you said, right before you were out of earshot.

Another sigh left your lips when you realize Nat has also left some blueprints on your desk when she gave you your coffee. Today is going to be a really long day. You read through the papers, reading all the numbers carefully while occasionally sipping your coffee here and there. You looked at the prototypes and added your own edits all the while doing calculations on your computer, everyday work stuff.

You stood up from your desk and walked to the elevator, hoping to talk to Tony about some adjustments you've made. With a ding, you picked your floor and the elevator doors closed up.

But, when the elevator door was about to completely close, a metal hand cut through, and it opened up again.

You were met with a set of blue-grey eyes. "Good morning," Bucky greeted you as he walked in. With your voice stuck in your throat, you managed to cough up an enthusiastic enough good morning! back. He looked significantly less shitty than you did, despite being in the same situation the night before.

He was wearing a plain black tee and jeans— a typical Bucky outfit. He didn't have to wear anything formal, like you did with your short-sleeved button up and slacks, lucky him. Your eyes wandered from his chest to his arms as he walked to stand next to you. Never mind, lucky you. You snapped your head forward before he noticed you staring.

This was a normal routine. Once a week, you both would spend the night together, and the next morning pretend like nothing happened. It was awkward for you still, but to him it's like it's nothing, well, what did you expect? The tension in the air was really evident, and you were itching to touch him again. But you remembered your agreement with him, so you couldn't act on your thoughts.

You tried your best to not turn your head to admire him again, his piercing eyes, his cute stubble, his dark hair, this man was truly the embodi-

Ding! the elevator made a sound that broke your train of thought.

Bucky moves from your side to exit the elevator, not saying a word. You felt disappointment replace your earlier emotions, wishing to be close to him a little bit more. You opened your mouth to say goodbye, "Have a nice da-" the elevator closed on you before you could even finish, leaving you standing there whilst it moved again.

Yeah, today is going to be a really really long day.

[a4th]

Snow White; oneshot

SOUKOKU Beast AU | words: 695

skk ff written by me long time ago, translated from PL to EN (so there might be some minor errors sorry!) No explicit content, just canon-typical mentions of Dazai's s*icide.

Angst. Inspired by Dead Apple art. Enjoy!

Summary: One man grapples with the weight of a past sacrifice, while another feels an inexplicable pull towards something he never knew. A story of inner struggle and hidden bonds.

One fights for oneself one's whole life, most often – quite unsuccessfully, because even the strongest will eventually succumb to the weight of what they must sacrifice. It's better to fight without winning than to win while losing the most.

Dazai understood this too late, when blood already crowned his victory. He held in his arms the limp body of someone who could have even been considered his truest friend all those years, if only he hadn't remained such a soulless blind man – the dead Chuuya. He hadn't made it in time, cruel time had betrayed him, and the Book, capable of reversing the course of an unfortunate history, had long since disappeared somewhere!

Today, his still distant gaze, wandering in search of something he had lost long ago, and time won't turn back, no longer cries, only the Sun doesn't cease to hypocritically laugh straight into his tired face, encircling with its sharp glare the soaring, pitch-black buildings of the Port Mafia, where the gloomy king hid on such beautiful days as this.

He was a coward, and he will be one tomorrow and the day after.

That is why, as he parted with life in his final flight – the flight of a completely freed bird, which with broken wings headed straight for concrete arms – he felt not the slightest fear. All thoughts scattered somewhere, finally releasing him from earthly worries. Confirming these feelings, a smile did not leave his face until the end, although it was a very sad smile, one in which happiness was obviously absent despite all his earlier words.

Dazai smiled until the last second, undoubtedly deceiving himself just as he had deceived those unfortunates above, whom he made the recipients of his art, before red flowers bloomed below, as if someone had picked roses and then scattered them. Without applause, in deafening silence.

Snow White lay breathless on the ground. She was dead.

The Book itself did not bring happiness, because it's hard to find in logic, but it gave a choice. A life for a life, and that was something, so before it happened, before a garden full of red blossoms bloomed at the foot of the black towers that had been his tomb from the beginning, Dazai didn't hesitate for even a moment longer. He had written this fate for himself, and he was somewhat proud of it, for his poor literary talent. He liked excessive drama, so it's no wonder he didn't deny it to himself, especially on his last day.

That was the real reason for sacrificing his own life on this altar. To atone for his sins with sacrifice, how cliché! All for a better tomorrow for people better than him.

He didn't notice how the Demon's words had become his own.

Chuuya. If I was the cause of your death, let me be the cause of your life. Ah! It's so pretentious and boring to be a hero. What a waste of time! I don't think this pose suits me, Chibiko. You know me well. I'm leaving. I have to leave to save face. Otherwise, I'd burn with shame! You don't need me anymore. So it's best if you never find out about this. Well, and now I'm going to sleep for all time! Oh. I think something cracked in my back. No, it's not from lying down. Aaaah, I'm getting sleepier and sleepier... I need to rest more now. Good night, Chuuya. You take care of yourself too. Oh, I almost forgot. Try to surprise me and grow a little taller, okay?

One wish was certainly fulfilled.

In this world without Abilities, Chuuya never met Dazai. Until the end of his life, he didn't know what that feeling was that sometimes came over him when, from the window of his apartment, he would cast a fleeting glance at the clear evening sky of Yokohama, which was no longer whispered to by black, steel towers, spreading a shroud of terror over the port city in their terrifying might.

Here, Dazai Osamu was never born.

Chuuya involuntarily held his breath, often enveloped by the spring-infused wind, because that's when the strange feelings intensified the most. With sparkling eyes, he chased after something that only eyes couldn't see, meanwhile he felt with his whole being as if it were right there, within reach of a hand reaching out for flowers in the rain, on which cherry blossoms would remain, just like today. As if someone had always stood beside him and had only stubbornly refused to speak, trusting that words were not needed to announce:

I'm here.

Snow White lay in her coffin for a long time, but death had not left its mark on her. She looked as if she were asleep, still as white as snow.

Such Yokohama was beautiful.

Thanks for reading! | wattpad PL

[dandelion-wings]

Kicking around a new omegaverse scenario on Discord last night/this morning (I make. so many omegaverses. that I am gradually trying to uncringe enough about to actually talk about) and was just seized with the need for Lisa's POV about it, mostly because "Lisa sees Kaeya's reaction vs. Jean's reaction to Diluc's return and tries to decide whether she needs to do a subtle murder or not" is a trope I made up myself for me but nonetheless absolutely adore. So:

---

It's a lovely day out, a warm sun cut with just enough of a breeze to keep her from getting sweaty, so Lisa has insisted on tea out in the gardens below the Ordo instead of indoors. Jean isn't joining them this afternoon, which is a shame, but Eula and Amber are both in from the field and happy to be invited. Kaeya has, as often happens, invited himself.

Eula is in the middle of indignantly complaining about her family's latest shenanigans when Kaeya tenses, and he, she, and Amber all look almost simultaneously towards the garden entrance. Lisa, less vigilant than any of them but certainly interested, follows their gaze.

There's a gentleman heading their way, dressed in an unseasonably heavy black coat, his red hair vivid against it. Eula's eyes narrow in recognition, and Kaeya sets down his tea and sits even straighter. It's entertaining to watch both Eula and Amber do the same in response. Lisa settles back in her chair and takes another sip of her tea, watching closely.

"Kaeya," the man says, without even a glance at the rest of them. "Jean told me you would be out here. I wanted-"

Kaeya flinches. It's a tiny movement, just enough to be visible, and then a smile spreads over his face that Lisa doesn't believe for an instant. She sees Amber sniff the air and brace her hands on the table to stand.

"-to talk to-" The man cuts himself off, going white. He takes a step back almost defensively, then shakes his head. "Never mind."

He turns his back and flees the garden as if Amber and Eula are actually after him. Lisa takes another long, thoughtful sip of tea, looks at Amber slowly relaxing in her seat and the glances she and Eula are exchanging, watches out of the corner of his eye as Kaeya slumps in his own seat and then regathers himself enough to stretch out and casually take a cookie, then lowers her cup and smiles sweetly at him.

"I take it that was our newly-returned Master Diluc Ragnvindr?"

"You have a good eye." Kaeya gives her very nearly the same languid smile he had his long-missing alpha, every genuine emotion shuttered away.

Lisa wonders what Master Diluc had gotten down their bond in the moment that Kaeya flinched. Surely much, much more than any of them, even Amber with her alpha's nose, picked up on. There are reasons why Lisa is willing to let Jean keep their relationship quiet and bondless until the Grand Master comes back, and the thought of having Jean's anxiety in her head day in and day out is certainly one of them.

"I don't like him," Amber declares, loud and decisive. "He didn't even look at Eula!"

"Oh?" Kaeya smirks at her. "He didn't look at you, either. Is our little Outrider getting big enough that that's a problem?"

Amber sputters angrily. "No! I'm not- it's not about stupid alpha stuff! It's because he was *rude*."

"He was at that. Maybe you should call him out next time." Kaeya's smirk broadens. "You do want a rival or two to face down if you want to catch anyone's eye, you know."

"I'm not trying to!"

"Amber doesn't need to get into foolish fights in order to impress anyone," Eula says, taking the bait, and Kaeya, eye gleaming, immediately begins needling her as well.

Lisa sits back to watch again, ready to rein him in if he needles either of them a little too sharply. The subtle shifts in their relationship this past year constitute delicate new growth, and she won't see it wilted. But Kaeya's shoulders are relaxing again as he teases them, and it *is* an effective distraction.

***

While Lisa insists on quiet in her library, she doesn't insist on absolute silence. It's interesting, and sometimes useful, to listen in on the patrons' gossip.

"I heard Diluc Ragnvindr is back in town," someone whispers, back in the natural studies section. "But everyone says he isn't going to return to the Knights...."

"Of course he wouldn't," their companion scoffs. A little more loudly, but not loud enough to scold. "Master Jean would never let him. Not now that Master Kaeya's the quartermaster. She'll keep Master Diluc well away from him."

"But aren't they mates?"

"They're *bonded*, if that's what you mean. But Master Diluc wasn't even a knight yet and Master Kaeya was even younger when it happened. Master Crepus hushed it up, but... well, they may not be Lawrences, but the Ragnvindrs *are* aristocrats. Why else would Master Jean have taken him away from the Winery as soon as Master Diluc left it?"

It would explain the flinch, but something about it doesn't taste right. Lisa knows that Jean and Kaeya have secrets between them, but Jean *would* have told her. If not before, then when Master Diluc did return, so that Lisa would know to intervene if she had to. Besides, Jean had been genuinely delighted by the news that he was back in Mondstadt. She wouldn't be if that was the story.

"Why wouldn't Master Jean challenge him for his claim, then? I've heard that- you know- not that Master Jean would ever do anything inappropriate. But it wouldn't be, if she did challenge him."

The voices are drawing closer, and Lisa makes sure she looks like she's paying close attention to marking returned books, though she could do this simple little spell in her sleep.

"Politics, probably. She needs some kind of excuse, and until Master Diluc gives her one- Oh! Miss Minci," the knight says as they round the corner, smiling nervously. "I didn't realize you were in."

"I came in after you," Lisa says, with a gracious smile. "Do you have books to check out, cuties?"

She checks out their books, pretending not to notice their awkward silence and making no comment on their discussion. No point in taking offense when she and Jean *are* keeping their affairs quiet. They aren't the first people to assume that Kaeya lives with Jean for prurient reasons, or, more kindly, to imagine a star-crossed forbidden romance between them.

To be fair, Lisa had probed at that exact possibility before she dedicated herself to acquiring Jean's affections. But she's quite certain, bond or not, of Jean's loyalty.

***

If Master Diluc's return is causing a resurgence of such rumors, though, Lisa would rather Jean and Kaeya not be blindsided by them. She doubts that Kaeya *would* be, even if no one says them to his face--he's quite good at tracking such whispers and rumors. Jean, though, relies on him and Lisa to keep her informed of such things, and Lisa isn't sure Kaeya would share this one.

Lisa can also confess to some personal curiosity. It may not be the one the rumors claim, but there is a story in that blighted interaction in the garden.

"I overheard an interesting conversation in the library the other day," she tells them over dinner the next time Jean invites her over for the night. "It seems there's an interesting theory going around about you refusing to let Master Diluc return to the Knights. Mixed in with that old nonsense about the two of you being secretly, passionately in love."

"If that's so, I can guess which one it is," Kaeya says, smiling ruefully. "Unfortunately, no one's put me in a position to deny it."

Jean frowns. "Oh, no. Not the one Father had to investigate when you were younger? I thought he'd settled that years ago."

"You know how it is. A good rumor never dies entirely. All it takes is a few people willing to be convinced that Father paid the Church off to hide the evidence, and, well." Kaeya shrugs. "The cavalry won't be convinced that their Saint Diluc did any such thing, so as long as I stay friendly with them, it'll eventually die down. The other half we won't be able to do anything about until I move out."

"Do you want to?" Jean asks, bracing herself as she does for bad news.

"And live where? I'm not quitting as your quartermaster." Kaeya gives her a reassuring smile and reaches for the wine, refilling his glass. He offers it to Jean, who waves it off, and Lisa, who holds her own out to be topped off, before setting it back down. "Let me handle it."

"I may be able to help, if you'll tell me enough of the truth to do it with." Lisa smiles innocently in response to his amused look. "And I *am* curious."

Kaeya salutes her with his glass. "The only part the rumor has right is that Diluc *was* acting on impulse, but it was hardly the salacious one everyone likes to think. It wasn't that long after Father took me in, you see, and Father wanted to adopt me formally, but circumstances fell out such that it wasn't possible. If Diluc had one flaw at that age, it was that he was bad at thinking out plans. Since my birth parents abandoned me, if I was his mate, I would be as close to legally Father's son as possible without actual adoption. And both of us were a little too young to understand what we were actually getting into."

"Neither of them thought to bring it to Master Crepus first," Jean adds in affectionate exasperation. "Diluc presented it to their father as a fait accompli, and it did cause some terrible trouble at the time. But Father proved that... that all Diluc did was bite him, which was the only legal problem."

"The rest was merely an issue for the Ragnvindr reputation, and Father was excellent at handling that."

A very childish action indeed, but unless Jean's father actually *was* complicit in far more than she realizes, it still doesn't explain the flinch. Lisa lets prurient curiosity get the better of her and leans in. "So did you end up childhood sweethearts?"

Kaeya chokes on his wine, splutters a moment, and wipes his face with the napkin Jean hands him while she uses his to blot at the tablecloth. "No, that wasn't- no." Regaining his composure, he sets his glass down, leans back, and smiles at her, just as he had in the garden after Master Diluc left. "Do you recall that book I loaned you? The childhood favorite of Jean's, where the honorable alpha knight sits in front of the beautiful omega's door with her sword drawn through her heat?"

"Kaeya, you *didn't*."

"I thought it was adorable," Lisa assures her, before turning back to Kaeya. "Don't tell me-"

"Jean made him read it too, before I even came to the Winery," Kaeya says, with relish. "I suspect it was his model, because that's exactly what he did, for six years straight. He always was the picture-perfect noble knight and alpha. Jean was the only one who could exceed him, in either area."

"That's not true. He was my better and you know it. I admired that about him very much."

"Mmmm. Well. If Commander Fredrica had died to Eroch's machinations, I doubt you would have...." Kaeya waves his hand briefly, and his smile slips. Jean goes sad-eyed, but nods.

*There*. Lisa would swear to it that right there, in that trailing-off and waved hand, is the reason for that flinch. She doubts Kaeya would respond to further prying, no matter that he's nearly finished that second glass of wine, but that doesn't matter. Jean clearly knows what he's referring to. Lisa will push with her, later, when she gets her alone and finds a good window to ask.

For now she smiles, and says, "*I* would certainly agree that Jean exceeds him in knightly dedication, though I will confess to being biased," and enjoys watching Jean blush.

[chuubian]

Kinktober week three:

Guilty Pleasure

Tags Vampire Nikolai x gn reader, age gap, blood, tree sex, no prep, rough sex, no protection, pls try not to fuck strangers in the forest who drink your blood

Summary Ever since you were little, everyone in the village had warned you about what lurked in the woods. You should've listened.

A/N I felt like i should start making them actually Halloween themed, so from now on they'll be a little creepier and about supernatural things hehe. Also this was supposed to come out yesterday but its a little longer so it came out late sorry !!

An abyss of mystery had you completely surrounded. The small, glowing lantern in your hand was the only thing illuminating the way. This was so stupid. How could you possibly have thought this was a good idea? For years, the elders in your village warned you. It has been ingrained in your head that the woods are the one place that needs to be avoided. At all costs. When your cat had run into the trees you didn't even think twice- following behind it frantically. Unfortunately, she had a good sense of direction and you didn't. Knowing her, she was probably back home already, complaining loudly to be let in.

Hours have passed by and you still haven't found the exit. The dense greenery surrounding you started blending together after a while, making every landmark that might help you escape imperceptible and utterly useless. Now, the sun had completely hidden away. Although you had thought to bring your lantern- thank god- the shadows swallowed up the last remaining fragments of illumination shining from your lamp. It's like the forest knew that there was a small bit of warmth and light left inside, and it was trying to put it out as soon as possible.

Of course, at this perfect moment, your stomach started growling- twisting painfully and nagging at you- begging for food. If the wolves didn't know you were here before, they certainly did now- courtesy of your noisy digestive system. Seriously? It just had to happen now of all times? Now more than ever, you're determined to find your way out. Squinting, you try to see what's up ahead but the only thing your eyes can discern is the silhouette of a few trees right in front of you. Everything else is lost to the abyss encircling you. After nearly slamming your face into the rough bark of a few trees, you try to use your other hand to feel the air in front of you. Now, instead of hitting the tree face first, you'll be able to feel your way around it. It doesn't work. It's only taking you deeper into the dense jungle.

Not even the moon aids in your journey- cloaking herself under the veil of obscurity. Is it even worth it to try and get back right now? A few hours of hunger won't kill you, maybe it'd be best to rest for now and try again when the morning arrives. Sleeping on the floor isn't an option, what if an animal comes by and tries to eat you? So with great effort, you manage to climb a relatively small tree nearby. Your white nightshirt had gotten caught in a few branches and ripped near the bottom hem. Why did you think this was a good idea again? Especially in pajamas. Sitting on a wide branch, you contemplate what you'll do next. Maybe you could sleep- though that could be dangerous. 

As you set the lantern down next to you, the candle trapped inside starts flickering vigorously. Oh no. Had you let it burn for too long? It had not failed you this entire time, why did it have to be now? You just put a new candlestick inside the lamp, it's not even halfway burnt and there's no wind. How?? Desperately, you put your arms around the lantern- protecting it from whatever breeze may be trying to put it out. After a few more minutes of you huddling around the fire, it goes out completely. Leaving you alone in the cold night.

Adjusting your eyesight to the darkness proves to be harder than you thought. You can't even see your own hand in front of you.

A gentle current of wind brushes over your skin. Shivering, you put your hands on the still-warm glass covering the candle. Was it always this cold? You hadn't noticed it before, but maybe with the light out, you were forced to feel the true environment around you. The heat radiating off your dim lamp was comforting, soothing your forlorn soul. Leaves rustle and owls coo softly around you. Goosebumps rise all over your arms and legs. The heat warming your fingers, was struggling to thaw the rest of your body- leaving your feet frigid and tingling.

This was so stupid. Thinking that you could possibly survive in the woods was terribly naive. Now, you can't even sit in peace. There's an awful sensation in the pit of your stomach. Your hairs stand on end, pricking you painfully. Sweat forms a thin layer, coating the surface of your skin underneath. Anxiously, your eyes dart around. It's difficult to see when your eyes haven't adjusted to the blackness.

A small giggle cuts through the tense stillness. What was that?? Your muscles seize up, letting go of the lantern and sitting up straight. In your haste, the lamp is pushed off the edge of the branch- falling down to the ground below and shattering into a million pieces.

“Fuck.”

This is just your luck. Not only were you stuck here, now you have no light or warmth, and there's some freak roaming around who probably heard the glass smashing. Your throat tightens, nails digging into the rough bark- you had to hide. There was no other choice. With no chance of escape, what else could you do? At least it sounded far away. It should take a few minutes before they get here, if they even want to. When you try to get down from the branch you are on, a large hand settles over your shoulder.

“Got you!”

Your arm and neck are overcome by an intense pressure, the hand curls, digging its sharp nails into your flesh. A snake feels like it's wrapped itself around your throat- constricting any sound or air that may escape your lungs. Moving your body is a fruitless endeavor. As soon as you try to get out, the grip tightens, stopping any action in its tracks.

“Uh-uh, I didn't say you could move.”

Cold calloused fingers thread themselves through your hair, tugging your head back. How did he even get here so fast? especially without you hearing. Could it be the monster your village had warned you about? As sharp fangs brushed over your exposed throat, your heartbeat speeds up. Oh no. It is him for sure. Your worst fears are realized- the vampire.

If only you had listened. Your cat probably would have been fine by herself anyways. Why did it have to be you? Did god hate you that much? Honestly, you thought the legend about Nikolai Gogol was an urban myth. You had never seen him yourself, and sometimes you would stay near the edge of the forest but nothing would happen. You should've known. Those disappearances were not a coincidence.

You don't get the chance to protest before serrated teeth sink into the soft flesh on your neck. Pain blooms all throughout your larynx, down to the tips of your fingers- painting your skin flowering reds and purples. Nikolai’s tongue laps up the sweet droplets that seep out of your twin wounds. Like it was a five star meal.

His cold solid chest presses against your back, arms caging you in. Your mouth dries, like it's filled with cotton. You blink rapidly, trying to rid your eyes of the tears that started to build up. He- no- It only found it more amusing. Chuckling, it unlatched itself from your neck, leaving behind a wet spot on your neck of saliva and blood. It was sure to stain.

“You're crying? I didn't think you'd be so weak.”

“Go to hell.”

Twisting over to face him, you plant your trembling hands on his torso. When did you become so shaky? Your muscles feel so weak and heavy… how? Ignoring the instability, you shove as hard as you can, but he doesn't budge. Your eyes- now starting to adjust to the low light- can make out his wide grin and glowing iris. He doesn't see you as a threat in the slightest. Without hesitation, he smacks you down against the branch. Like you were nothing more than an annoying bug. Your head bangs against the bark painfully, bouncing up slightly from the sheer force it went down with. A searing ache washes over the back of your head, extending out to the tips of your fingers. Forming proper thoughts is a struggle. Fear paralyzes you, rendering any plan your muddled brain could come up with pointless. Pulling firmly on your hair, he exposes your throat to him again. Your scalp burns but you can't find it in you to move.

“You tasted good before.. I think I need a little more.”

Nikolai's freezing lips make contact with the side of your neck, right by your jugular. A shiver runs down your spine, blood running cold. This is how you die. Would your friends miss you? What would have happened if you stayed home? Your belly would have been full with a nice, hearty, warm stew and you would have already been in bed, resting peacefully. God would not have forsaken you like this. Would not have left you to this monster- this devil. He was an abomination. Your throat spasms under the strain of his needle-like fangs piercing the surface of your skin. But for some reason, this time, it doesn't hurt. A sense of satisfaction sweeps across your body.

Embarrassingly, a small whiney squeal escapes your throat. You can feel his lips stretching wider- enjoying your dilemma. You shouldn't like this. It's wrong. He's a curse, a mistake. A monster who was abandoned by its own god. But the sparks of pleasure dancing down your spine makes it hard to resent him.

“You like this don't you?”

He detaches himself from your throat, slurping up the small drops that dribble out like he was starving. Up until now, you hadn't realized how lightheaded you felt. He definitely drank far too much. Heat flashes over you, your heart never felt so confused. On one hand, you could die at the hands of this man. He's already far too eager to drain you completely. But on the other hand, you couldn't escape anyways and it felt so… good.

Nikolai giggles, running his cold hand down your sternum. His thigh slots itself between your legs, pushing them apart. In this position, you can see his features much easier. He has a weird black and white costume on and a card eyepatch. The scar over his blue eyes is oddly attractive. Unconsciously, your fingers come up to graze over it. The skin is raised and smoother than the rest of his face. A soft shininess is evident on the reddened blemish.

“How did you get that?”

Maybe it was rude to ask, but your curiosity got the better of you.

“A tiny little fight, only a few hundred years ago.”

He says it so comfortably, like it's not absolutely insane.

“… Hundreds..?”

Eye widening, his lips purse into a little ‘o’.

“Oh no, I let it slip!”

The white haired man seems genuinely surprised at this point, almost disappointed in himself. His eyebrows furrowed together- hands pulling at his own hair. After slapping his own forehead a few times, he sits up straight. All distress is washed off his face, replaced with a wicked grin.

“Of course it's hundreds.. Do you humans not go to school? Do you even know what a vampire is? its vampire, vaam-piieee-eeerr.”

Okay that's just insulting. Your face heats up in embarrassment as you nudge his shoulder lightly.

“But you know… I guess that means you think I look young. I guess my 20 step skincare routine came in handy hehehe?”

Nikolai gets up closer, showing you his skin, dragging your fingers over his cheek.

“See? Feel.”

Soft skin makes contact with the tips of your fingers. He's ancient. Your mind drifts back to all those horrible legends. The rumors of him cutting his victims open cruelly, draining them completely, and bathing in their blood. You're not gonna let him think that acting in such a ruthless manner was working for him.

“You could use more moisturizer.”

He laughs sarcastically, face twisting like he's bitten into a lemon. A narrowed eye pierces into your soul. The air around you grows thicker, and it felt like something was pressing down into your chest.

“Ha ha. You shouldn't talk to me that way you know. I'm capable of horrors you couldn't even imagine. So behave. It's for your own good.”

Patting your cheek condescendingly, his lips spread into an ominous smirk. Your hands clench nervously- knuckles brushing against the rough bark underneath you. Was he going to kill you?

“Hehehe! Did I scare you??”

He bursts into boisterous chortles. Leaning in until his nose touches yours, he stares eerily- hot breath fans over your face, sending shivers down your spine.

“You're not funny…”

Grumbling, you turn away, looking at the bushel of branches and leaves beside you and all around. Frigid fingers dig into your cheek sadistically, making you look back at the vampire hovering over you.

“Look at me.”

His leering gaze travels up and down your body, taking in the ripped pajamas and exposed skin. It leaves you feeling dirty. Carefully, he lets go of your cheeks. his big hands go down to rest beside your head- holding his weight up as his body settles itself between your legs.

“… You're kind of pretty for a human.”

Pointed nails catch on your nightshirt- snagging the fabric on his way down your sides. A trail of fire rushes his touch. Your breathing picks up, from this place on your back, you can see the way his pupil dilates, how he keeps licking his lips. Like he wants to devour you whole. Electricity surges between you when he makes eye contact. His fangs are still out, hanging over his bottom lip- a small part of you wishes he would sink his fangs in your neck and drink more.

For a moment, you forget where you are. Time trickles by slowly, weighing down all your movements with its dense pressure. Your heart pounds in your chest, pumping the blood through your veins so vigorously your limbs are wobbling. His eye darts down to your lips before glancing back up again- you don't even notice when he leans closer. 

A muscular arm slides around your waist, pulling your body against his big one. Nikolai does not wait any longer before slanting forward and pressing his lips against yours. His tongue is hot against yours, nibbling on your bottom lip lightly- he deepens the kiss when you gasp, teeth clashing against yours. Your hands travel up his suit, clutching onto the lapels of his jacket and pulling him closer. As the flavor of iron fills your mouth, he lets out a deep groan- pressing his hips against yours.

“Fuck.. I can't hold back any more.”

The white haired man only pulls away for a few seconds before diving right back in. But this time he doesn't go in for a kiss, instead nosing at your windpipe, longing to bury his canines in your flesh. A small whine threatens to escape- your head tilts bare your throat for him. Impatiently, your hands lurch forward, trying to hold him still. You can't let yourself enjoy it. It would ruin you.

“Ah-ah. I didn't say you could touch.”

Nikolai seizes your wrists in his hold, pinning them down against the rough branch under you. They were sure to have colorful bruises and gashes painted across your skin tomorrow. His voice is cold, freezing you in your place. Fierce warmth fills you up. Squirming uncomfortably, you find it hard to breathe. It's hot. Too hot. The nightshirt is suffocating your skin, making you feel itchy. Your body is begging you to rip the stupid fabric off- to obtain at least some level of relief.

“Y-you're too slow.”

His hands are frigid. You can recognize them working on pulling you free of your pajamas, soothing your boiling form beneath him. Your body jerks, frantically helping him. When he finally manages to wretch it off you, he tosses it away, watching as it descends down, fluttering in the gentle wind. Your brain is clouded in pleasure, torso arching into his touch as he presses searing kisses down your sternum. He leaves small nips here and there- enjoying the way your body shivers, the way blood rushes to the surface and stains your skin pretty colors.

“H-hurry I need-”

His nails bite into your sides. He tsks, scolding you.

“Shut up. I know what you need.”

Something in your head buzzes- keening as Nikolai drags his canines over your nipple, refusing to commit, refusing to finally bite. He's being so mean. You squirm, pushing up into him, desperate for more. Icy fingers smooth over your exposed lower tummy, forcing your back against the tree holding you up.

“Poor thing..”

An explosion of electricity tumbles over you when he pierces your nipple with his pointy fangs. You choke on your own breath, staggering as a pitchy wail streams out of your lungs. His tongue eagerly sucks and licks at the little nub. It feels like your nerves are on fire, raw and severed. Dark red stains the corners of his mouth, lips shiny and slick with spit.

A series of kisses are left down your torso. Saliva and blood mark the spots Nikolai embraced. Like a proof of ownership. Claiming you as his. His teeth tug at the edge of your underwear, pulling them off you slowly, hands pushing your legs apart and slipping between them. The air nips at your skin, forming goosebumps up your exposed frame. A violent shudder wracks your body, pelvis twitching down to roll against his.

“Fuck this, i cant wait any more.”

Ridding himself of his pants, he drags his pointy nails up your thigh relentlessly. They’re like knives, cutting you open and watching the sweet liquid rush out. It drips slowly, fighting against gravity pulling it down. Pushing your thigh up against your chest, Nikolai spits into his hand, and wraps his slick fingers around himself. The blood drizzles down onto your chest, leaving small red beads of fluid on your torso.

The blunt head of his cock bumps against your entrance, slowly nudging itself inside. It burns- stretching you open, forcing your body to adjust to him. You moan weakly, hands finding purchase in the muscles on his back. Your veins pulse with want- need. A distressed sob traps itself in your chest, your body spasms in an attempt to keep down the embarrassing sound.

“Nghh.. N-Nikolai…”

Your tongue feels too big in your mouth, stiff and struggling to form the proper shape necessary for speech. Nikolai coos softly, angling his hips until the tip of his cock nudges against your sweet spot. A low mewl bubbles in your throat.

“Shhh… I know I know.”

You're so full, he's hot and throbbing inside of you, pushing in until his pelvis is pressed against your ass. Tears form in the corner of your eyes, blurring your vision of the man above you. As his lips draw back and slam back in, your back is dragged against the rough surface of the tree under you. You cry out weakly, sweat beading down your forehead. His hips roll into you deliciously- punching the air out of your lungs, lighting your veins on fire.

Brain clouded with lust, your arms shakily wrap around his shoulders. He leans down, tongue lapping at the little drops of blood that had gotten on your chest, moaning softly.

“So good.. You taste so good.”

The head of his cock crashes against your sweet spot, scattering violent jolts of static through your body, fogging your thoughts. The brutal pace makes his pelvis strike against the flesh of your ass. Carving out a space for himself inside you.

Your body is overloaded by sensation, body sticky and blistering. The heat sinks from the surface of your skin to your core, pooling and forming a boiling hot spring- threatening to burst out like a geyser. Your ears are numbed. Your legs are trembling, muscles struggling to hold themselves together. Nikolai can feel you clenching around him, sucking him in hungrily, like you'd die if he left your clutches. He groans, nuzzling at the sensitive spot behind your ear.

“I just- hah- want to drain you.”

His needle-like canines scratch over your neck. Hips slam against you brutally, driving his cock into your sensitive spot. Your mind is blissfully empty, focusing only on the pleasure he brings you, submissively baring your throat for him. Unintelligible babbles burst out of your lungs.

“P-please… mmmnng..”

Nikolai’s sharp fangs bury themselves in the junction of your shoulder and neck. White hot pleasure flows through your veins, stealing the breath from your lungs, bursting the knot that was forming in the bottom of your stomach. Waves of satisfaction roll over your body, quenching the burning heat that had engulfed your body for so long. He growls lowly, releasing hot spurts into you. Your nails dig into the flesh of his thighs, struggling to hold onto your lucidity. Red liquid drips down your neck as drool pools in the corners of your mouth.

It sounds like white noise is playing inside your eardrums as time moves in slow motion. One second you're staring up at the man above you blankly, and the next you're fully clothed again in a luxurious bed. Where was this? You couldn't even move to look around- your body was so weak and sore from the night before that sitting up was a significant struggle. Your eyes flutter closed, body turning to bury itself further into the soft sheets. The bruises and scratches littering your figure left a painful reminder of what had taken place. Of him. As your body starts to relax and fall into a restful slumber, your brain barely manages to make out the sound of a mischievous giggle from outside the room.

[anonymooseforever007]

Bubbles at the Fair

(Tommy Shelby x daughter reader)

Summary- What should have been a peaceful family fair trip still has that hint of Shelby Chaos..... John learns what happens giving Katie to the wrong man, Arthur tries to explain how Infants get fed, and Tommy leaves with a mouth tasting like soap. But hey, Y/N and Finn won't stop talking about the fun they've had.....

A/N: Hi Y'all! No it's as trigger warnings for this one really. There are mentions of an arranged marriage and we actually learn more about Tommy and Marie's relationship in the beginning and it's a bit angstyish, but the rest is mostly fluff! Oh and in one part Y/N does have to wash her mouth with soap but she's not being punished, I promise! Also remember this is prewar Tommy, so he's probably different (happier) than he usually is in cannon especially since he's with his daughter! Enjoy ❤️based off a real story ❤️

WC- 5.6K

Series Masterlist Main Masterlist

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Birmingham 1912

Thomas Shelby held tightly to the rope he'd tied to his four year old daughter's pants. 

Well, technically they were her uncle's pants, but none of her dresses had any loops and Tommy didn't want to lose her. The bouncy child had a habit of shooting off these days, ever since she'd learn to run, she'd see something that excited her and go directly for it. It didn't matter who else was in the way. There had been many a talk between father and daughter about not just taking off in a heavy crowd and the young girl seemed to understand. But Tommy was still a bit worried. Especially since there were so many people around now. 

The sky was clear and the air was cool as it shown down on the edges of the land. It was almost June and the schools had just gotten out. 

Not only that, but the fair had come to town. 

Dozens of children and their families flocked to the usually empty plot of land, now decorated with small colorful tents and circus acts promising amazing excitements. 

And the Shelby Family was no different. 

All of them had decided to close the shop early for the day and visit the fun that seemed to have drawn everyone in the city to its colorful signs and entertaining games. Even Marie was in a good mood and decided to come along, chatting quietly with Martha who was carrying newborn Katie. 

Lately, Tommy had noticed his wife had seemed to be come less content with the cards dealt to her. And while he still couldn't say he loved her (nor that she loved him) they'd seemed to find some sort of friendship for the in between, if only because of their daughter. And truthfully he couldn't blame her. It had been a one night stand that had turned into a shotgun marriage once her aunt and uncle found out why she was getting sick every morning. Originally from America, her aunt and uncle had made her stay with Tommy even after the baby was born. And while in the beginning she hadn't minded, their short lived lust still in full run, the thrill seemed to be over for her. Tommy knew Marie had begun to felt trapped by the result of that one night. And while he sympathized for her feeling the same way at time, he didn't like how her feelings lead her to treat their daughter. Everyone could see that Maria had begun to draw away from her daughter and resent the young girl almost. In the beginning she had seemed to fawn over the child just as much as her husband had, but when Y/N began to grow and cling to her father more, Maria slowly stepped back. It wasn't that she didn't love her daughter. She did, but as the years past it got harder for her to ignore what her life could have been if she hadn't met Tommy that night. It was as if Y/N had become a reminder of where Marie's life could have gone and why she was stuck where she was. In a small, overcrowded house, surrounded by dirt and grime where few ever left. It certainly wasn't the life she'd planned when she came over to stay with her Aunt and Uncle for the summer, and her heart was beginning to feel more and more of its toll. She'd still let Y/N talk to her and grab her hand on the sidewalk when going to the park, but her responses had become shorter and park trips became less frequent. And the worst part about it was that little Y/N didn't seem to notice how her mother didn't smile as brightly at her drawings anymore. She didn't notice how her mother was always to busy too play tea party. She didn't notice how often her mother's side was empty, the nights she'd snuck into her parents bed. Y/N didn't notice her mother's hardening heart, but everyone else did.

Nevertheless, there were some days, like today, when Marie's heart warmed again, and she'd join the family on their outages, conversing with Polly or telling Arthur off for letting Y/N yell to loud. Those days were Y/N's favorites when both her parents were around and she was able to grab both their hands as they walked down the streets, chattering away about what she'd done with Finn. Sure, she could do that perfectly fine with her Father and Lizzie when they'd meet at the park. But for the four year old girl, there was just something special about being able to be near both of her parents, especially during the day when everyone was awake. After all, they were her parents. They were suppose to be the ones who loved her most right? So why shouldn't being around them be her favorite thing? The young girl loved nothing more than being around her family, even if it was only for a meal.

"Look Y/N there's a bear!"

Y/N squealed, turning to hug the speaking Finn as they both shook with excitement when the family passed under the colorful entrance sign. It was no surprise how close the pair was. Finn and Y/N might as well have been conjoined twins with how often they were together. Only separated by a couple months, the two had spent practically every moment together since Y/N was born. They even shared the same sleeping space as babies in the small room with Tommy and Marie. In fact, they were raised so closely Finn still had a habit of calling Tommy "Daddy" or "Da" often like Y/N did. After all, it was only natural he learn that since it's what everyone called Tommy when Y/N was around, seeing as he didn't want his daughter calling him by his name. And since Finn was always with Y/N he'd picked up on it too. Where Y/N went, Finn went, and where Finn caused trouble, Y/N was sure to follow. Almost always together, and always smiling with each other, the pair of four year olds were the light of the Shelby Family. And everyone was sure that in a few years, when Katie could walk, she'd be causing trouble right along with them. At his niece's joy, The four year old boy beamed, just as excited and he hugged onto his best friend. Finn didn't have a rope tied to his pants. Everyone knew he was less likely to run off and besides, there wasn't need for two ropes when Y/N was always holding on tightly to her Uncle some how. Be it the hand or shirt, Finn and her always had a grip on each other in some way when out in the streets. It was as if they weren't afraid of anything more than losing their other half. 

"I see Finn! Daddy look! There's a bear! Ohh and there's a duck.... and there's a clown and there's that man eating fire and.. and... ahh there's so much..... Daddy it's loud." 

Though she had been excited when she first saw everything, the crowd and the chaos immediately became a bit much for the young girl. Overwhelmed, she dropped her uncle's hand and stepped back until she ran into her father's legs. Still facing forward, eyes darting back and forth at the loud people and sights before her, Y/N reached behind her and tried to grab the fabric of her father's pants. She liked the fair and was still excited, but the sudden abundance of possible opportunities before her startled her a bit. She had no clue where to begin. It was a bit much.

Looking down, Tommy saw the look on Y/N face and knew she was at a bit of a loss. Reaching down, he began to run his fingers through her hair. But before he could bend down on one knee to speak to her, Finn had crashed into her, wrapping her in another hug that consisted of her, him, and the lower part of Tommy's legs. Unable to bend down Tommy could barely hear what Finn whispered to Y/N when he released the hug and grabbed her face forcing her look at him. Her cheeks were squished between his hands as he spoke with a determined look on his face. His best friend was nervous and Finn would do anything to fix that.

"Y/N. Hi Y/N! Look at me. It's Finn. Look at me."

Cheeks still squished between small hands, Y/N stared uncertainly at her favorite uncle before answering.

"...hi finn. It's kinda loud."

"Yeah but it's ok. It's ok. It's just noise."

"Just noise?"

"Yeah, like Pol bangs pans in the kitchen or Ada yells at Johnny for stealing her pillow. Or when Da says naughty words if he hits his hand on the door? Only noise. Like when Artie snores so loud Ada tries covering his head with a pillow so he can't make it any more."

Y/N smiled at her uncle's words, laughing quietly at the image of her aunt smothering her oldest uncle with a pillow. 

"Promise?"

"Promise."

Y/N smiled again and hugged her uncle closer for a minute more. The adults all watched in with small grins on their faces. 

Then not moments later, the pair of children began to rock. Gently at first, nudging the other back and forth before, still clinging tightly to each other. Then their giggles began to grow and soon the children were twirling around in fast circles, trying to see who would fall first. It ended when they both tripped over Arthur's left foot and landed in a heap in the ground. Finn and Y/N stared at the others for a moment, blankly, before bursting into giggles again.

"All right twiddle de and twiddle dum. Ready to have some fun," Arthur chuckled as he dragged both children to their feet. Grinning eagerly at the eldest Shelby man, they both nodded.

"YESSSSS!"

"Alrighty then. Let's get to it!"

Grabbing each child in one arm, Arthur lifted them on to opposite arms and ran farther into the crowd, Y/N and Finn squealing as he speed up. The rest of the family laughed as they watched him run. John slid up by Tommy, Katie now snuggled in her father's arms as the women broke off to enjoy some time of their own without any scheming children. 

"Which one do you think he's gonna drop first?"

Tommy looked a John with a raised eyebrow, his sticking arms out for his two month old niece. Adjusting the baby in his arms, Tommy was surprised at how even now, she was bigger than Y/N had been at three months. But then again, Y/N had been a month early. And Katie obviously got John's baby genes, weighing more than Finn and Y/N had combined. She was a squishy little thing full of baby rolls, burps, and love. Y/N had been so excited when she first met her cousin, eagerly stating that it was the cutest potato she'd ever seen. Martha nearly peed herself laughing when she heard, while John stood by the couch, mouth open in shock at the three (almost four) year old's audacity. From the pillow she was laying on in the her cousin's lap, two day old Katie had only stared wide eyed at the girl, while Finn dared squeeze her cheeks curiously. Now two months old, Katie made a sweet cooing sound from her uncle's arms as he tickled her belly slightly. Tommy smiled at her, before looking at John....his smile dropping. John realised it was a mistake to let Katie go. She was his only protection. With one arm, Tommy childishly shoved his brother back a few steps in retaliation, causing Katie to coo again as her Uncle laughed.

"Your Daddy's being silly isn't he Katie Kat?"

Rolling his eyes, but still chuckling himself, John stepped back towards Tommy, reaching his arms out for his daughter again.

"Ha ha, very funny, steal a man's baby and shove him while he's distracted by her singing huh? What kinda of example is that, ya shit uncle?"

Tommy only grinned at his brother and held the baby out of her father's reach. It was the same way John had done it when Y/N was this age. Now Tommy was finally able to get his retaliation. Thank you Martha for falling for his stupid brother's stupider pick up lines...

"It's a good one John Boy. Teaches her never to give up her greatest protection. If you hadn't given her to me, you wouldn't have that shit colored mud stain on your ass now. I bet Martha will find that real attractive won't she?"

Eyes wide, John spun in circles looking for the offending mark.... Only to find nothing as his brother started laughing again.

"Oh fuck you Tommy, I fucking outta-"

"What shove me? You wouldn't shove a man with a baby in his arms now would yah John boy?," Tommy grinned smugly, in the way only a big brother could. Holding up Katie and squishing her cheeks lightly he continued, "I mean you wouldn't want to knock this squishy potato now would you?"

Katie giggled and reached out her arms for her father, as she was bounced in her uncle's arms. Huffing, John rolled his eyes and stepped up to Tommy. Then as hard as he dared with his daughter's safety in mind.... John poked Tommy's shoulder aggressively as one could.

"You're a right ass you know that."

"Ada reminds me every day John Boy."

"Oi! Are you two ladies done making faces or are we gonna play some fucking...shit don't say that word tinys...or that one....Are you gonna play with us?"

Arthur had called over to his brothers from the bench he now sat on as Y/N and Finn crawled all over him. The first time he'd cursed, Arthur had remembered he wasn't suppose too around the kids, grabbed their heads and shoved them against his chest, one hand over each to muffle any more possible "naughty words" they might have heard. In protest at being restrained, Y/N and Finn struggled back to free themselves of Arthur's grasp, laughing as he playfully battered their attacks off.

"Yeah alright, just as soon as Tommy gives me my kid back."

"I was just trying to teach her a good lesson John. Ya know. Good uncle shit and all that." Tommy shrugged his shoulders and finally relinquished his niece.

Hearing mentions of her cousin, Y/N scrambled off of Arthur and over to John where she grabbed his knee in hopes he'd kneel down. He did, and soon Katie was laughing again while her cousin poked her belly the same way Y/N's father had only moments before. She talked eagerly to the baby who didn't understand a word being said.

"Are ya having fun Katie Kat? Are we gonna play some fair games?"

Katie just cooed (it was practically all she could do) and grabbed on to her cousin's finger. Tommy smiled down at his daughter and noticed something. There was a faint rim of chocolate around her mouth, and already he could tell the girl was bouncing more than usual. Looking over to the bench, Finn displayed the same traits.

"ARTHUR!? Did you already give them ice cream?"

Looking anywhere but his brother, Arthur stood up, swooping Finn onto his shoulder and started heading towards the games again.

"Ohh would you look at that! A line's forming! We better get there quick before it's too long shouldn't we Finny?"

Rolling his eyes at Arthur's antics, Tommy smirked and swooped Y/N up on his own shoulders. As long as John, well technically Katie, was besides her, Y/N would have no problem being carried. Especially if it was on her father's shoulders where she could see everything. 

"Right then sweetheart, ready to beat Artie and Finny at darts?"

"Yeah!!! DARTS!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It had been an hour since the family had arrived at the fair and everything was going great. Tommy, John, and Arthur had all won a handful of prizes from a shooting game, as Finn, Katie, and Y/N cheered them on, clapping. Well, Katie clapped and cheered. Finn and Y/N just cheered, while taking turns with one another holding Katie as the other covered her ears from the shots. Luckily it was only pellet gun so it still didn't make too much noise. Against common sense and their promise to Polly, the older men had also given Y/N and Finn the chance to shoot the small pellet guns at the paper targets. Sitting in Arthur's lap, each child had been given the chance to pull the trigger while the older man aimed the pellet gun. The whole time Tommy was also telling them all the important parts of the gun and how to safely use it. Sure they'd definitely get chewed out for it later when Polly learned, but it was still fun to watch the children's faces light up as "they" hit the target like the older men they adored.

In addition to the shooting game, they'd also played a game involving rolling a bowling ball over a hill. This one was more fun for the kids, but Arthur's leg had ended up being a step stool for Y/N and Finn to stand on as they rolled the balls. After that the group stopped for another ice cream break. They bought three ice creams and split it between the five of them. Y/N wanted to feed Katie a small bit off her finger, but then Arthur ended up explaining why she was too young to eat any of it herself.

Why was Arthur the one to do it? Because John himself didn't know why, actually curious to try, and Tommy had run Finn to the bathroom. And so the slightly blushing man fumbled through explaining where her two month old cousin's food came from, hopefully in a way that wouldn't get Arthur hit by his brother, for his description of his sister in law if he accidentally brought up too many barn animals. Martha would kill him for doing that, and then Polly would start.

"Well Y/N, Katie doesn't eat like the rest of us. She doesn't got any teeth."

"Why? Did she loose them? I can help her find them if she wants."

"No, she didn't lose them they haven't come in yet. See, right now Katie gets her food from Martha."

"Oh because Martha makes her and John food at night. But John doesn't just eat Martha's food does he?"

"Well, actually Y/N, the stuff Martha makes isn't too ba... gaaaahh!" John opened his mouth, about to announce something that would absolutely get him wacked for saying to a four year old, but Arthur's foot on his heal stopped him. 

"Ignore him tiny, the icecream has shot to his brain."

"Oh no! Does his eye hurt?"

"What?"

Y/N rocked on her feet as she stood on the bench to feel John's right eye.

"Sometimes when I eat icecream too fast it makes my eye hurt, and I go MY EYE! MY EYE!" She responded, holding her own eye for dramatic effect. 

"What the fuck did you do to my kid?"

Appearing from the crowd again with not only Finn, but the women of the family, Tommy had arrived just in time to see his precious daughter grab her eye, call out for it, and fall into Arthur's lap. Seeing Finn return again, Y/N bounced up, and ran to him.

"FINNY! Guess what! Artie is telling me how Katie eats!"

Immediately, all heads shot to Arthur who seemed to shrink in his seat, aware that with the women around he'd have to tread more carefully. 

"Yeah. Right. So it's like... well she doesn't have any teeth so she can't eat hard food like you or me right."

"Yeah! Artie said that she can only eat Martha's food! And Johnny said he likes it a lot too!"

Ada hid her face in Tommy's shoulder to muffle the laughter coming from her mouth, while Marie didn't even bother hiding her smirk as she supported Martha who was almost bent over laughing. Eighteen year old John looked anywhere but his Aunt's eyes.

"That's not true." 

"Yes it it."

"Not it's not"

"YES IT IS!" Y/N stomped her foot glaring at her Uncle, not liking being called a liar.

"Fine!" John quickly relented, not wanting to start a yelling match he knew he'd loose. Y/N nodded her head before looking for Arthur to continue. Arthur just sputtered for a moment, not really sure how to continue or why he was the one answering. Aside from Finn, Arthur was probably the last one who should be answering this question. He was the least equipped, having no kids or tools of his own.

"Well....right. She only eats food from Martha. And Martha kinda...in a way... makes it for her."

"Ohh like a recipe. Does she get the stuff from the store like when Polly goes to buy bread?"

Arthur's face was a red as Katie's dress now. 

"No no... ya see Y/N... she doesn't get it from the store, she just kinda...." Arthur gestured vaguely in the direction of the still laughing Martha's chest hoping that would've be enough to quell the girl's questions... It wasn't.

"That's Martha, Artie. Correct. You still haven't said where she gets the food from."

Arthur just groaned, wondering who he'd pissed off upstairs to deserve such humiliation. Y/N only smiled innocently, eager to hear her Uncle's words..... But Arthur gave up.

"Ya know what, why don't you ask her because I ain't telling ya. She's the one who makes it yeah? So she's the one who knows it best."

"OK!"

Skipping over to Martha, Y/N motioned for the eighteen year old girl to lean down so she could whisper in her ear, as if they hadn't been having the conversation in public only moments ago. Obliging, Martha bent down. It only took a few minutes for Martha to whisper in Y/N's ear before the four year old pulled back and looking wide eyed and pointing to Martha's chest.

"There?"

"Yep. It's pretty normal."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Like a bottle. Your mum probably did it too when you were a baby."

"Really?!" Y/N looked at her mother who just nodded in confirmation.

"You can... you can like have snacks wherever you go!"

The adults laughter at the child's innocent idea while, Arthur was just glad he didn't have to talk any more.

"But wait? Why did Uncle John say he...."

"Moving on!" Tommy put a hand over his daughter's mouth to keep her from opening that can of worms.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Alright! I think we have time for one last game and then we have to go home alright?"

Y/N and Finn looked decisively at the booths around them, trying to decide what game to play. They'd gone around to most of the games already, but there were some they hadn't played yet. Over by the edge of the tents, Y/N noticed a small green one that seemed to have a pool of some sort underneath. Hoping there was maybe a fish she could see, she nudged to Finn and pointed over in that direction.

"Wanna do that one? It's got a tub so maybe we can get a fish! But you can't lick it this time ok."

Finn's eyes widened with excitement at the thought of a pet, while every adult present internally hoped it wouldn't be true. 

"Ok! If we gets fish can we name him Jethro?"

"....I like that name, sure!"

Running over to the tent, the rest of the family followed, confused to where Finn had heard such a name. Though when they reached the tent, much to Y/N and Finn's disappointment, the tub wasn't filled with live fishy friends, nevertheless they were still excited to play. The tub was instead filled with toy rubber ducks. Tommy knew this game. It was incredibly simple, only requiring the user to pick up a duck with their hands and see what size prize they'd won. A easy game, it couldn't be any harder to get wrong, which is why it seemed perfect for the last game of the day. With something so simple it couldn't go wrong. The man running the game stood up and walked over to the group.

"Fancy a play? Everyone's a winner at the duck pond!"

"We wanna play! We wanna play!" Y/N and Finn cheered eagerly while Tommy handed over the money for each kid to play a round. 

"Alright you know how to play? You get duck from the pond and whatever shape is on the bottom is the prize you get, understand?"

"Yes! Me and Finny played a game like this with our Aunt Ada once!" Y/N explained to the stranger, eager to start. She remembered having so much fun with it last autumn.

"Ok then. Start whenever you're ready."

Grinning at each-other and then their family behind them, Y/N and Finn faced the tub while Arthur gave a count down.

"Ready..... Set............GO!"

Finn immediately stuck his arm into the water and picked up a duck. 

Y/N stuck her head in.

Somewhat horrified Tommy jumped for his daughter, intending to pull her head out, only now noticing how dirty the water was with its sickly green tint. John and Polly immediately started laughing, while Ada and Marie just stood in shock. Martha put her hand over mouth while Katie just gurgled happily at the water splashing her. Arthur gagged and pulled Finn back from the tub, who looked like he was about to do the same thing. Not that Y/N noticed of course. Her head was underwater.

Tommy had only just touched his daughter's shoulder when her head popped back up out of the water. She turned around dripping wet and proudly showing off the small yellow rubber duck, whose head was in her mouth. 

Tommy didn't even give her the chance to spit out the duck before he picked her up and practically ran with her to the makeshift sink by the outhouses. Really it was a tub under a water pump, with a few bars of soap on a nearby stool. Placing her down firmly on her feet, Tommy grabbed the nearest soap bar and couched down by his daughter. 

"Spit it out."

Confused as to why her father didn't seem happy she'd won, Y/N's brow pinched as she shook her head.

"Y/N spit the duck out now."

The four year old girl still shook her head. She'd won the duck, why did she have to give it back? Tommy's face grew stern and he took a tone he rarely did with the kids.

"Y/N spit the duck out NOW!"

Finally listening, Y/N finally pulled the rubber toy out of her mouth and pouted at her father. Tommy ignored it for now more concerned about the fact he'd seen a used cigarette butt in the water as he went to grab his child. Fuck, there were probably so many diseases in there she'd be dead by dawn. Who even allows such a filth game at a fucking fair, Tommy thought, especially without explaining how to play. Evidently the game was harder than he thought, and the standman should have made the rules more clear. Now his beloved daughter probably had the plague or something like it.

"Good, now open your mouth."

Again Y/N complied, only to be met with a small bar of soap being placed on her tongue as Tommy urgently tried to get whatever filth was in the water out of his daughter's mouth. Her nose wrinkled as the taste of soap covered her mouth and Y/N tried to hit her father's arm, knocking his scrubbing off her tongue. And though she hadn't been strong enough to do so, luckily a few moments later her father pulled out the soap. Refusing to close her mouth Y/N could feel the bubbles on her tongue and angrily tried to kick her (usually) beloved father. Tommy caught her leg, looking her in the eyes, and from his pocket pulled out a small flask with a thin green ribbon around the cap. It also had a few small flowers on top a train engine carved on the metal sides.

"Yeah yeah, I know it sucks and I'm sorry but it's almost over sweetheart. I'm gonna pour some of this in your mouth and then you're gonna close your mouth, but NOT swallow it. You're gonna shake your head and then spit it out. I repeat you WILL NOT swallow it, it's only to rinse your mouth."

The flask didn't contain alcohol. It was actually filled with juice, and he carried it around with him most times incase Y/N got thirsty on an outing. Polly and Marie had disapproved of him getting it for her, but Y/N have been delighted to receive the "small can" like she'd seen her father carry around. It had taken two months to find a jeweler willing to etch the odd design on it too, but it was worth Y/N's smile as she lit up seeing her gift, and began immediately talking about where the flower train could be going. He also carried one for Finn, but that one was currently in Arthur's jacket. It had also been etched, but with the image of the deer and turtles Finn liked to watch by the pond the family took picnics at occasionally.

"Y/N swish and spit it right now."

Narrowing her eyes, but knowing she had no other choice, Y/N stuck out her tongue letting her father pour a small amount of juice inside the mouth. Then after shaking her head twice she purposely spit the liquid back out.... right onto the toes of her father's feet. Crossing her arms, Y/N glared at her father wondering why he had to go and ruin a perfectly good day.

Tommy looked at his shoes and then back up to his daughter's hurt face. Shit. Taking his jacket off Tommy wrapped it tightly around the dripping Y/N, who now looked to be on the verge of tears. Wincing, Tommy realized that maybe he should have explained what he was doing first. Here she was, a thinking she's won a game, and he had to go and practically punish her for it. Tommy had never washed her mouth out with soap before, but he now remembered Polly half threatening to do it to him before, while Y/N sat playing on the floor. She probably didn't realize Tommy was just briefly panicking about her getting sick from whatever had been in the water.

"Y/N?" 

The mentioned girl averted her gaze looking down at her feet as small sniffles began to come. 

"Y/N, sweetheart I'm sorry I just did that," Pulling his daughter closer, Tommy, fully on his knees now, gently placed a finger under her chin so she'd meet his eyes. Tommy's heart sank seeing the tears beginning to form. "I'm so so sorry I did that sweetheart, I was scared that you put your head in the water yeah? It's dirty and I'd don't want you to get sick."

"I ...I didn't... I didn't know that though."

Y/N looked to the side whimpering slightly as Tommy's hand came up to wipe away any remaining tears.

"I realize that sweetheart and I'm sorry. I wasn't expecting you to do that, and it surprised me yeah? I reacted badly and I'm sorry I didn't tell ya why I was doing it before I scrubbed your mouth. I promise it won't happen again yeah. Do you think you can forgive me sweetheart?"

It wasn't often Y/N was mad at Tommy, atleast  not over big things. But it still didn't stop the pain in Tommy's heart everytime he made his daughter cry, even if he was mad at her for something else at the time. It hurt anytime he saw her cry, but knowing he'd been the cause made him feel that much worse. Staring at her father a bit longer, Y/N shuffled her feet and wrapped her father's jacket tighter around herself. Her father really did seem sorry and besides he'd never done anything like it before so maybe he was telling the truth.

"Do you promise you won't do it again?"

"Yes, Y/N, sweetheart I promise I won't do it again."

She dragged her feet in the ground for a bit, watching the mud seep in to her father's pants. 

"Ok."

"Ok?"

Time and time again, Tommy was often surprised by his sweet daughter's willingness to forgive and put the past behind her. It certainly wasn't a trait she'd gotten from his side of family. But then again, her and Finn always were a bit different. They were the family's chance to be raised better than the rest were. Especially since Arthur Sr. wasn't around anymore to cause the pain he always did. Maybe Y/N and Finn were a bit softer than the rest, but Tommy didn't think that was a bad thing. He didn't necessarily want the youngest two involved in the darker part of the growing family business. The one that meant he had to swap out his caps in the garage after work before coming inside to see the kids, lest they hurt themselves grabbing the blades sewn inside his usual one.

"Yeah it's ok Daddy. I'm not mad anymore. You said sorry."

Relieved he hadn't totally ruined his relationship with her, Tommy pulled his daughter close, not caring that his other clothes were getting wetter by the second. Y/N wrapped her arms around her father in response as they remained that way for a few minutes. Then Tommy let go and stood up, ready to rejoin the family.

"Wait!"

Looking back down to his daughter, Tommy saw that she was holding not only the duck, but the small bar of soap. Tommy chuckled.

"What love? Do you want to clean the duck before we go back?"

"Yes, help me please."

And so he did.

Tommy Shelby helped his four year old girl wash the small yellow duck, making her laugh with the terrible duck impressions he did. Tommy was much better at neighing like horses than quacking like a duck. Once finished, she dried the duck off with her father's coat and held it close to her chest. 

"Alright? Now are we good to go," Tommy asked again. Y/N began to nod and then stopped. She smiled innocently, but Tommy recognised the look in her eye. Tommy thought his daughter had the face of an angel, but he couldn't quite deny the bit of devil in her angel eyes. That was the part she got from him. Y/N offered the small bar of soap to her father once more.

"I want you to try it."

Tommy's eyes widened.

"What?"

"Daddy, I want you to taste the soap since you made me try it. It's only fair."

Tommy's mouth opened and closed a few times, trying to come up with a reason why he shouldn't have to try eating the soap. Besides the fact it was SOAP. But his daughter was right. He'd made her try it, and so logistically it was only fair if he did too. Damn himself for trying to teach her about taking responsibility for one's mistakes. Good parenting evidently had some drawbacks. Tilting his head, Tommy tried appealing to Y/N one more time. 

"Are you sure I have to try it? It doesn't look too good."

Y/N shook her head.

"It's not. At ALL. That's why you can't swallow it. Now here."

Sighing in defeat, Tommy took the soap. Looking around to make sure no one was watching, he did as his daughter asked. If only to teach her a lesson about making up for her mistakes. Lord knew he needed to get better about it himself, instead of ignoring them or making more problems to hide the small ones. Breaking off a small piece, he stuck it on his tongue, nose immediately wrinkling at the taste. Y/N's eyes never left his face, watching intently as he closed his mouth and rolled the soap around like it was a piece of candy. All of the sudden, Tommy inhaled though his nose and the piece of soap shot to the back of his mouth. Gagging, Tommy spit out the soap, grabbed the flask and desperately tried to swish out the taste. 

"That is fucking disgusting....Don't tell Polly I said that word."

Y/N laughed at the small bubbles coming from her father's mouth with each spit. And despite the lingering taste it was enough to turn Tommy's own lips upwards. She clapped her hands at her father's problem, satisfied with the fate he'd been dealt. Rinsing his mouth one more time, Tommy straightened up again and brushed Y/N's hair back from her face before moving to fix his own too. Thankfully, no one else saw the dangerous gangster almost meet his end.... choking on a piece of soap.

"Now can we go back? You still haven't picked your prize yet sweetheart."

Y/N grabbed her father's hand and began to lead him back towards the booth.

"I know exactly what I want."

Hand in Hand, father and daughter walked back to the tent where their family was waiting. As they got closer, Tommy could hear Arthur threatening the vendor.

"When that little girl comes back you are going to give her whatever fucking prize her little heart desires, I don't care if it's the shirt off your fucking back, do you hear me? As far as she's concerned she won anything alright?"

Nodding fearfully, the game man accepted Arthur's words. Finn was the first to notice the pair's return, smiling wildly as he held his new stuffed deer.

"Y/N look what I won!"

Eagerly, Y/N raced over to Finn, lightly running her hand off the top of the soft stuffed animal. 

"Finny he's so pretty!"

"I'm gonna let him sleep by my stuffed chicken I think."

"What's his name?"

"I'm naming his Deery because he's a deer."

"Ohh that's perfect!"

Eager to loose the threatening gaze of Arthur, the vendor cleared his throat nervously, gaining the attention of both children.

"If you like the deer you can have one too kid. You did win the game, so pick any prize you like."

Y/N looked to the pile of prizes the man displayed to the side of the tent. Turning over the duck in her hand she saw a circle which was a medium prize, the same size as Finn's deer. Pointing to the pile she looked at the vendor. 

"My duck has a circle under it so I got to choose from there right?"

Arthur glared harder and Ada nudged him to tone it down a bit, but the vendor already noticed.

"Actually you can pick anything you see from the tent just like this lad did. You two are my best customers today, so you can have any prize you like. Even the big ones."

"Anything?"

"Anything you want."

Y/N didn't even hesitate, beaming as like she told her father, she already knew exactly what she wanted. She stuck out her hand.

"Can I have this?"

"......You want the duck?" Tilting his head, the vendor was confused. He'd given the girl any choose of prize she wanted even the big ones, and she choose the rubber duck she'd grabbed..well bitten... from the water. Truthfully the man knew the ducks weren't the cleanest. He figured it didn't really matter about keeping them super clean when people only picked them up for a few seconds with their hands. The vendor had never seen anyone use their mouth to grab a duck. He'd have to put that in the rules now too. Y/N only grinned, holding the duck close to her chest.

"Yes please, I really like him. He's really cute and cuddly. My daddy already helped me clean him too. So can I keep him?

Still confused but not about to reject the sweet child the vendor conceded.

"Alright then girly. If you want the duck you can have the duck. Congratulations ... I think?"

Happily, Y/N bounced up and down, pleased with her duck. It fit perfectly in one hand and in her small pants pocket, which meant he could go with her everywhere. Racing back to Finn, Y/N was quick to show him her prize. 

"Finny, LOOK! I got a rubber duck!"

"What is its name?"

"Ducklores, it's like Dolores but with duck!"

".....I like that! Do you think he wants to be friends with Deery?"

"YES! They can be BEST friends, Finny. Just like us!"

Eagerly the children dove into conversation over their new toys as the family walked back to the car. Despite a few bumps and bubbles it really had been a great day for the fair. Tommy's mouth still tasted like soap and he was holding the rope by Y/N's pants again but she didn't notice. She was far to distanced talking about the fun they'd had and showing off her duck to Katie. But Tommy didn't mind, because his daughter was smiling. And that's all he ever wanted. If the last thing Tommy saw was he daughter's smile, he knew he could die a happy man.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Y/N? Why did you stick your head in the water?"

"I thought it was like bobbing for Apples, Finny. But with ducks."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Series Masterlist Main Masterlist

[pinkthrone445]

~I'd do it all over again if you're with me~ Prequel

Next part

Pairing:Melissa Schemmenti x Reader

Gender: little bit of hurt, fluff.

Warnlings : (+18) strong words, mention of alcohol.

Summary:you and Melissa had been in a relationship for a couple of years now, until at your sister's wedding you talk about marriage and you realize that the two of you had different perspectives on the future of the couple.

Request:I’m obsessed with this! Can you make a prequel where the reader talks about getting married and Mel refuses and then later Mel proposes the reader? 🥺 I loved when you talked about it! @babytakeittothehead

Hope you like it! ❤️

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You and Mel were at one of your sisters' weddings, you had traveled over the weekend so you could enjoy the party and the family. Everything had been beautiful, the atmosphere was spectacular, there was certainly love in the air. You and Melissa had been together all night, her hands always in contact with yours or your body. You loved moments like that where you could go out and enjoy being a couple in front of everyone, unlike when you visited her at school and you had to control themselves, so the kids wouldn't make disgusted faces.

When it was time to toss the bouquet, you and Melissa didn't make any effort to go participate, you just stayed at the table talking, that's why you were surprised when the bouquet practically fell into her hands, which made you laugh when you saw her face. While everyone applauded and congratulated you two, the redhead left the bouquet on the table making a disgusted face

-"No thanks"-she said, and another guest looked at her curiously

-"You're not a big fan of commitment, I assume"- he murmured and Melissa shook her head, taking a sip from her drink

-"Not even drunk in Vegas would I get married, that's a mistake I only made once and I won't do it again for anyone. The only thing a wedding achieves is that at the time of separation, everything it is more complicated. Because believe me, that eternal love bullshit is a lie. All couples have problems and are going to separate as soon as possible with the stupidest reason as an excuse"-The redhead replied too sincerely to be at a wedding, clearly she had taken a little too much to drink

-"Come on Mel, there are couples who last a lifetime together, look at you and me how well we are doing in 3 years together, I see us together for many more years. A wedding only confirms that love that couples feel for each other" - You responded trying to lighten the harsh comment your girlfriend had made, she just laughed

-"Believe me honey, everyone separates at one point or another and those who haven't, it's because they're cowards"-She replied as she continued drinking, you frowned and for the first time in the night you stopped having contact with her by letting go of her hand

-"I think it's more cowardly to give up... So you are planing to leave me?"-You asked, confused, and she laughed, thinking your question was a joke

-"No, not now, but we don't know what will happen in the future, life is hard and fights happen" -she replied without much care-"don't know what will happen in the future when we go through problems"

The rest of the party you avoided the redhead as much as you could, until it was time to go to the hotel. As you were taking off your dress and putting your pajamas, Melissa hugged you from behind pressing her front to your back and kissing your neck, knowing the effect that had on you, but you sighed and slipped out of her grip

-"I thought that if we were going through troubles we would talk like adults and fix things. Not that we would separate at the first sight of difficulties, I imagined myself with you all my life..."-You whispered in pain and got up from the table

-"Come on, I didn't think you were so deluded" - she joked and you sighed

- "I'll go see my sister to see how she's doing" - you said before walking away.

-"I'm tired Melissa, it was a very long wedding" - you replied and she tried to hug you but you wouldn't let her, laying you on the bed and letting your hair down

-"But it's the last day we have at the hotel before we go back home, I thought we'd enjoy it"-she whispered disappointed seeing how you covered your body with the blankets without even deigning to answer before closing your eyes. Defeated, the redhead changed and lay down next to you.

The next day you thought that you would feel better, but her words stuck in your head, she was thinking about a future without you in it. You sighed looking out the window of the plane, why would Melissa say that? Were you giving 100 percent of yourself in the relationship and that relationship already had an expiration date? Didn't she imagine a future with you? Didn't the supposed love she had for you make her want to spend her life with you? She could have said she didn't want to get married because she didn't believe in weddings anymore and you would have understood. But no, she said she didn't want to get married because it would make the separation more complicated, that only fools believed in weddings, you assumed that made you a fool... She said that problems could separate you, so little faith did she have in the relationship and so little effort would put into fixing things that she would be ready to part ways in the first fight?

Your heart felt heavy, maybe you were overthinking things, but it had really hurt you to hear that from her. If you had known that she didn't imagine a future with you like the one you imagined with her, maybe you wouldn't have been so involved in the relationship, the more you thought about it, the more heartbroken you imagined yourself.

For her part, Melissa didn't understand anything, neither your change of mood nor what made you sick. You never refused to have sex with her, in fact, you almost always initiated it and never said no, no matter how tired you were. Also, whenever you traveled together on a plane or bus, you rested your head on her shoulder and hugged her arm because that helped you calm down and sleep, but now you had turned the other way, with your back to her, looking out the window of the plane, and hugging your pillow. She tried to talk to you, but you were on the verge of tears and didn't want to cry on the plane, so you put on your headphones and closed your eyes trying to avoid her as much as possible.

When the plane landed and you got down, Melissa spent the whole way back home talking, but you barely responded to her, your head was completely elsewhere and Melissa still didn't know why. You had already been dating for 3 years and she knew you more than you knew yourself, but there were times when she could be so clueless with the things that were happening to you, if you didn't say it to her face, she didn't realize what made you feel bad, or even realize that it was she who had hurt you.

As soon as you got home, you started unpacking your bags and putting your clothes in the wash, especially the ones you would need the next day to go to work. Among the things you pulled out was a set of red underwear, Melissa's favorite color, but it was definitely new because she hadn't seen it before. The redhead's eyes lit up with excitement and possibilities, approaching you with a mischievous smile and hugging you from behind kissing your shoulder without taking her eyes off your suitcase and the underwear set

-"And that? I'm sure I haven't seen it before... Is it beautiful, when did you buy it?" - Your girlfriend asked you excitedly, hoping that the talk would lead you to wear it

-"I bought it on the trip, I was going to use it for you the night after the wedding, until I lost the desire to have sex"-you replied seriously and I let you off her grip to continue doing your things, the redhead looked at you with confusion

-"No problem with that, you could use it now... I'm dying to see you with that" - she said in a seductive tone, but you barely paid attention to her

-"I can't, I have a lot of things to do for tomorrow for my work and I want to sleep early to be well rested" - you replied putting the set of underwear in the wash and taking out some papers from work, leaving her more confused.

The next day, Melissa got up to make you breakfast, she knew she had done something wrong but she still didn't know what. When she got up, she was surprised to see that you had already left and she hadn't noticed, almost always you were the one who had the hardest time waking up. The redhead sighed, ate breakfast by herself, and then went to work.

At recess, she told her friend Barbara everything that had happened on the trip she had had with you, how much fun you were having until the bouquet fell into her hands. And how confused she had been after that because of the anger you were showing. Her friend laughed at how lost the redhead was

-"Don't you think maybe she's upset about how quickly you dismissed the idea of marriage? You're in a relationship of 3 years with her, maybe she hoped to get married someday. The fact that you are in a relationship means that these things are discussed between the two of you, not denied without first consultation at least. A relationship is about committing to things even if you don't like it, it's about demanding but also giving. I know you're not a fan of weddings because of your ex, but she's younger and maybe she imagined the perfect wedding with you. You should ask her if that's why... And maybe if you don't want a huge wedding, plan a party even if it's just to celebrate your love. That girl left her house to go live with you, she puts up with your strong character and your anger, and she is always attentive to help you with everything, I think it's your turn to do something for her..."-The eldest advised her and Melissa sighed, she knew she was right but that didn't make it any easier, just thinking about marriage turned the redhead's stomach because it reminded her of her failed marriage and how she was cheated.

After join up some courage, at the end of the classes she was ready to go home to talk to you. It hurt her to see that the food she had prepared for you was still in its place, even though you had clearly arrived home a long time ago. After leaving her things in place, she went to the living room where she found you eating a bag of chips while you watched TV without paying much attention to it

-"Honey..." -The redhead tried to get your attention but didn't succeed-(Y/N)?-she tried again

-"Mhhh?"-you asked still looking at the tv

-"I'm home..."-she whispered

-"I saw that, I saw you"-you replied dryly and she sighed

-"Look hon...I get that you're angry about what I said, but you can't treat me like this just because of that, I think you're overreacting" - Said the redhead, tired of your bad mood, you paused the movie and put the potatoes aside, finally paying attention to her

-"Do you even know what bothered me about what you said? Because for me this is an appropriate reaction, because what you said made me reconsider my whole future with you"-You got up from the couch upset and stood in front of her

-"If this is because I said I didn't want a stupid marriage, it's obvious that we're going to have our disagreements, but if you're going to get like this because of something so stupid, I can't imagine when we have more serious problems, we're not going to last much longer together"-Your girlfriend replied clearly annoyed, everything she had practiced of how to talk things down was no longer useful, her bad temper was winning over her desire to talk things calmly

-"You don't get it! It's not about the fucking wedding Melissa! Yes I would love to get married, but I can live without it. It's about you not thinking we have what it takes to be together as a couple despite the problems. We haven't had a big fight yet and you're already thinking about separation and giving up. If you don't want a future with me, if you plan to break up with me later for some stupid shit, you better do it now and end this once and for all. 'Cause I'm not your toy to please you until you decide you don't need me anymore"-You yelled at your girlfriend looking at her with teary eyes. The redhead took a step back, calming down and sighing as she finally understood what was happening

-"Hon... I'm sorry, I didn't mean that, I wasn't even thinking about what I said... I just remembered how stupid my ex-husband was and everything I had to go through to separate and get a divorce" - she whispered and came closer to you, but you took a step back crying

-"Well, but I'm not your ex-husband, I'm not going to cheat on you with someone else, I love you and adore you, I'd never think of hurting you like that. From day one that we are together I have put everything I am into this relationship and it hurts me to see that you are already thinking about ending things with me at the slightest confrontation"-you whispered no longer strong enough to fight, the anger left your body and was replaced with sadness, Melissa came up to you and hugged you tight kissing your forehead and this time you left her and leaned on her chest sobbing, just the thought of losing her broke your heart into a thousand pieces-"I don't want to lose you Melissa, I want us to do everything to fix the situation even though we have fights because I love you, I love you more than anyone else in this life..."-You whispered against her chest and she hugged you even tighter

-"I love you and I can't imagine a life without you, I'm so sorry for what I said, I was so scarred by my past that I didn't realize I was ruining my future with you... Every night before I go to sleep, I pray to the heavens that for the rest of my life you will be by my side when I wake up. It was kind of unconscious that I said, I can't imagine my life without you, I'm so sorry, I want you forever in my life."-Melissa kept whispering sweet things while still hugging you, things that erased your fears and insecurities, that brought peace back to your heart.

It was Valentine's Day and Melissa had been working longer hours, having two classes together meant twice as many students, twice as many exams and twice as many children who needed help. On that particular day, she tried to leave early to see you at home, but one of her students was having trouble at home and decided to vent to the redhead minutes before she left, forcing her to stay longer to help him. When the child finally stopped crying and the parents came to pick him up, it had been almost three hours since the last time she had sent you a quick message saying she would arrive a little later without time to give you more explanations. Melissa sighed grabbing her bag and walking through the parking lot, she knew that you had agreed to go out to dinner together in a luxurious restaurant and there was still time to get to the reservation if you canceled going to the movies as you had agreed, but she was very tired and with little desire to go out, the day had left her exhausted. Between the restless children and the problem she had to handle, she no longer had any desire to be with more people, only to stay with you at home. But she had already left you waiting and you already had the reservation paid, she knew you would be mad if you didn't do anything special on Valentine's Day. Melissa carefully opened the front door, but not before smiling despite her tiredness. As soon as she put down her coat and purse, she saw how you got up from the couch wearing a beautiful and elegant dress, silently approached her side, she expected you to yell at her or get angry at her tardiness, but instead, you caressed her cheek with a small smile on your lips

~Months Later~

-"Hi Mel, I missed you... Are you okay?"-You asked with real concern in your voice, the redhead carefully hugged your waist

-"Hello sweetie, I'm fine... I'm so sorry to be late, it's just that one of my students had a problem and needed my help..." - she answered looking at your eyes

-"Are they okay?"-you asked and she nodded-"and you are really okay?"

-"Yes, I'll take a quick shower and then we can go to the restaurant, so we don't lose our reservation" - The redhead spoke quickly trying to get out of your embrace but you wouldn't let her, she looked at you confused

-"Do you want to stay?"-You whispered, the redhead was shocked, it looks like you read her mind, she turned to look at you, pointing to your dress

-"No, you're already dressed and we've already paid for the reservation" - she insisted, not because she didn't want to stay, but because she didn't want to look bad saying yes so fast

-"But you're tired... I know you Mel, I know it's Valentine's Day but you don't feel like going out and I know"-she pointed to your dress again but you took it off and let it fall, leaving you only in panties and leaving the redhead speechless to answer you-" done, I don't have a dress anymore, do you want to stay now? You can barely keep walking, I know you wanna stay, I won't get mad if you are honest with me..."-You whispered and smiled

-"I wanna stay..."-she answered and you hugged her tightly, the redhead took advantage of your lack of clothes to let her hands travel over your body smiling

-"Let's take a shower"-you whispered over her lips before kissing her

After a relaxing and gentle shower together, the two of you got into bed and put on a movie on TV, neither of you bothered to put on clothes, all you did was bring some snacks. The redhead's head was on your chest as she hugged your waist and felt your soft breathing. Usually you were the one snuggling up in her, but you knew she was tired and needed it. Melissa was focused on her thoughts instead of the television. Anyone else would have been mad at her for being late on Valentine's Day, but you were worried about her and hers students, not mad at all. In previous years the two of you had made great gestures for each other on Valentine's Day, but nevertheless, Melissa appreciated this much more, that you had put your plans aside because she needed it, she appreciated that you realized what she needed. She valued staying at home with you, without hearing a single complaint about the ordinariness of the situation on such a special day. Melissa was grateful for you, you had a lot of patience with her. Your hand was playing with the redhead's hair and when she felt your laughter thanks to the movie under her cheek, she came back to reality looking at you with shining eyes, you felt watched and you looked at her confused

-"What?"-Your mouth was full of Doritos and she thought that was adorable

-"Marry me" - she whispered getting up and sitting down next to you looking into your eyes, you almost choked

-"What?"-you asked again after drinking some water

-"Marry me... I want to live the rest of my life with you, I want the world to know that we belong to each other, I want our friends to celebrate our love with us, I want it to be almost impossible for us to walk away from each other, I want you to marry me... Please, I'd be very foolish if at some point in my life I thought of leaving you again"-The redhead spoke truthfully and you looked at her confused, although you wanted to get married you knew that she wasn't a big fan of the idea, and if you had ever imagined that she would propose to you, it certainly wouldn't be while you were in bed naked watching a comedy movie. At your silence, the eldest became nervous- "I promise I'll buy some rings as soon as possible but if you want we can..."-The redhead couldn't keep talking when you sat on her legs and started kissing her with emotion and tears in your eyes, her hands immediately went to your waist as she enjoyed having you close-"Is that a yes?"-she spoke over your lips without separating an inch

-"YES! DEFINITELY"-You screamed and kissed her again, which made her laugh. Melissa was doing this out of pure love and you knew it, she wasn't doing it in front of a big crowd to show off, or because she had made a mistake and wanted to fix it, she was doing it completely out of love, for her and for you.

-"I'm going to be the only one lucky enough to enjoy your Doritos-flavored kisses for the rest of my life, future Mrs. Schemmenti"-she answered making you laugh and kiss her again-"I love you..."

-"I love you more, happy Valentine's..."-you answered