#first fic of 2025

[ikkyfics]

Happy New Year

James Potter x f!reader

Summary: “Okay, your challenge is… to kiss someone before midnight.” Your heart raced. “I… what?” You looked at them. “It’s simple, you just have to pick someone. Anyone.” Anyone. You knew you should pick someone random, but there was no way. The truth was, since the moment you’d entered the hall, there was only one person you’d even consider. James.

Warnings: fluffy, new year challenge, shy!reader, first kiss

A/N: first fic of the year <333 I would like to wish everyone a happy new year, full of things as wonderful as each one of you

Masterlist

The hall where the party was taking place seemed magical in a way no elaborate spell could replicate. The students who stayed at Hogwarts over the Christmas holidays had transformed a space near the Astronomy Tower into a warm celebration, full of twinkling lights, lively music, and laughter echoing from every corner. It was impossible not to feel the joy hanging in the air, but you could hardly focus on what was happening around you.

Your gaze, as always, ended up being drawn to him.

James Potter. With his purposefully messy black hair, the easy smile that seemed to light up any room, and those vibrant blue eyes behind his round glasses, he was a gravitational force for you. There was something about him that made your heart beat a little faster every time he entered the same room. No matter how many times you promised yourself you’d stop looking, it was as if your eyes betrayed your resolve.

You’d known him for years, but he seemed like the kind of person who never stopped surprising you. Always so full of life, so confident, so... him. Even so, nervousness took over every time he spoke to you or smiled in your direction. It wasn’t something you could control; it was like every time he looked at you, the ground disappeared beneath your feet, leaving only an anxious tingling in its place.

Not that there were many interactions between you. Most of the time, James was surrounded by his friends or laughing at one of Sirius’s jokes. But on the rare occasions he spoke to you directly, your mind seemed to completely shut off. You remembered the way he smiled when he asked to borrow the book you were holding in the library weeks ago, his fingers brushing lightly against yours as he took it. Or the time he held the door open for you in Potions class, tossing a casual “Don’t mention it” that left your face burning for the rest of the day. He probably didn’t even think about those moments, but for you, they replayed in your mind like scenes from a film.

And now he was here, in the same hall as you, laughing at something Remus had just said. James’s laugh was unmistakable—loud and contagious—and you couldn’t help but smile, even without knowing why. He looked so at ease, so natural, that it felt like he was a part of everything that made Hogwarts feel like home.

“You’re staring at him again, you know?” The voice of Anne, one of your friends, interrupted your thoughts, and you quickly turned, feeling your face heat up. Miriam was sitting next to you, a mischievous smile on her lips as she watched you.

“I’m not staring,” you mumbled, trying to look away, but Anne’s laughter from across the table made it clear they didn’t believe you.

“Of course not,” Miriam teased. “It’s just that he’s the only thing you’ve looked at for the past thirty minutes.”

You tried to protest but knew it was pointless. They already knew enough about your feelings for James to not be easily convinced.

“Speaking of challenges…” Anne began, a playful glint in her eyes. “You haven’t completed any yet, and midnight’s almost here.”

Your mind was immediately filled with the absurd ideas they’d come up with throughout the night. Earlier, Anne had dared Miriam to steal a piece of pie straight from the teachers’ table. Miriam, in retaliation, made Anne approach a group of friends and hum a ridiculous song. None of you were exempt from the next challenge, and you knew your turn was coming.

“Okay,” Miriam said, leaning closer. “Your challenge is... to kiss someone before midnight.”

Your heart raced.

“I... what?” You looked at them, hoping they were joking, but their mischievous smiles made it clear they were serious.

“It’s simple,” Anne insisted, as if it really were. “You just have to pick someone. Anyone.”

Anyone. The idea made your stomach churn. You knew you should pick someone random, someone who didn’t make your heart race with nervousness, but there was no way. The truth was, since the moment you’d entered the hall, there was only one person you’d even consider. James.

You hesitated for a moment, your heart pounding so hard it felt like it echoed throughout your body. Your feet were glued to the floor, and the idea of approaching James Potter seemed far too daunting to be real. But the challenge echoed in your mind, along with Anne and Miriam’s expectant gazes. Before you could change your mind, you took a deep breath and stepped forward.

James was alone now, a rare sight, considering he almost always had one of the Marauders by his side. He was standing by the table where some drinks and snacks had been laid out, his back to you. He seemed distracted, fiddling with something on the table, and that gave you the push you needed. Even so, every step toward him felt like a test of courage, and your legs trembled so much you feared tripping before you even reached him.

When you were just a few feet away, he turned, and the world around you seemed to stop. James smiled—that easy, unassuming smile that was somehow devastating at the same time. You felt the air leave your lungs, and for a moment, all you could do was stare. He looked beautiful, as always, with his messy black hair falling slightly over his forehead. The round glasses gave him a unique charm, and those blue eyes shone with an intensity that made your heart nearly leap out of your chest.

“Hey,” he said, his voice relaxed but with a warm tone that made you feel strangely safe, even as anxiety swirled inside you. “Want a drink?” He held up a glass of juice you hadn’t even noticed he was holding.

“Oh, no... I mean, yes... no, thanks,” you stammered, feeling your face heat as your words came out completely jumbled. He chuckled, a low, genuine sound that seemed to tickle your stomach.

“Sure? I promise I didn’t put anything weird in here. At least, not much,” he joked, his smile widening as he took a sip of his own drink.

You shook your head, trying to ignore how dry your throat felt. “No, I... I’m fine. I just... thought I’d come talk to you.”

“Oh, yeah? I’m honored,” he said, tilting his head slightly in curiosity. “What did you want to talk about?”

You swallowed hard, trying not to look like a complete idiot. “Nothing important. Just... do you like these parties? I mean, do you actually have fun, or do you just come because all your friends are here?”

The question came out completely nonsensical, and you immediately wished you could disappear. James, however, didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he smiled even more.

“I like them,” he replied, leaning slightly against the table as if to seem closer. “I mean, it’s hard not to have fun when you’ve got Sirius trying to dance and Remus trying to stop him from breaking something. What about you? Are you enjoying it, or did your friends drag you here?”

“Oh, they definitely dragged me,” you admitted, feeling the words flow more easily as he kept the tone light. “They do these things... silly challenges and stuff.”

James raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “Challenges, huh? So, have you done any, or are you hiding from them?”

You felt your face grow even warmer and glanced away, focusing on anything but his eyes. “Actually... not yet.”

“So you are hiding,” he concluded with a soft laugh. “Well, at least you had the courage to come over here. That’s a start.”

His words, spoken so lightly, seemed to strike something deep inside you. Courage. That’s exactly what you lacked right now, but you knew you had to try. So, before your mind could sabotage your intentions, you blurted out:

“Would you... if I... would you mind if I kissed you?”

The question escaped so quickly and nervously that you barely registered the words before they were out. When silence followed, the urge to run overtook you—disappear before he could respond. But then James did something you didn’t expect. He blinked, briefly surprised, and then, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, he smiled in a way that made your heart stop.

“Please,” he said softly, his voice warm and full of meaning.

And before you could process what that meant, the countdown to midnight began. The voices around you felt distant as James took a step closer, his gaze fixed on you in a way that made your entire body tingle. It felt as though time slowed when he raised a hand, gently cradling your face, his thumb softly brushing against your heated cheek.

“Happy New Year,” he murmured, almost like a promise, before leaning in slowly and pressing his lips to yours.

The world around you seemed to disappear completely, leaving only you and James in that moment that felt infinite. The kiss was as soft as it was at first, but the way he held you revealed something deeper. His arm found its way around your waist, pulling you gently closer, as though even a sliver of distance might shatter the moment. His touch was firm yet tender, and you melted into him, warmth radiating from every point where your bodies met.

His lips moved against yours with a certainty you never imagined experiencing. It was as if he knew exactly how to make you feel safe, desired, and important. The way he tilted his head slightly, adjusting the angle of the kiss, made every second feel new and even sweeter. Without realizing it, your fingers found the edge of his jacket, holding onto it lightly because your knees threatened to give way.

His scent—something fresh, like open air with a hint of wood—filled your senses, and the texture of his lips, soft yet so assured, made it impossible to think of anything else. There was a perfect balance between tenderness and intensity, and you realized, with a flush spreading across your cheeks, that you would never forget this moment. He was there, entirely present, as though nothing outside of this existed—just you.

When he finally began to pull away, it was slow, almost as though he wanted to savor the moment for as long as possible. His thumb traced lightly along the side of your face before he opened his eyes. You barely had time to recover before you saw those bright blue eyes shining, a mixture of admiration and pure happiness.

That’s when he said your name.

You blinked, surprised, a shiver running down your spine at how intimately he spoke it, as if he were holding something precious. Hearing your name from his lips felt strange, but in a way that made your heart race even faster. You hadn’t spoken much before. How did he know?

“How do you know my name?” you asked, your voice so quiet it barely sounded like your own. Your eyes searched his, seeking answers in every small expression that crossed his face.

James smiled—not just any smile, but the one that seemed to light up the entire room. He raised a hand, brushing a strand of hair from your face gently before answering.

“I pay attention,” he said, with a natural ease that only made him more irresistible. “Did you really think I didn’t notice you? How you always look down when you’re talking to someone, or how you get nervous when you think someone’s watching? I notice. And I’ve wanted to talk to you so many times…”

You were speechless, completely captivated by his tone, by the way he seemed so genuine. He continued, as though it was impossible to stop now that he’d begun.

“I just never knew how to approach you. You always seemed so... distant. And I thought maybe you wouldn’t want someone like me to talk to you. But... you’re here now. And I won’t pretend I’m not happy about that.”

Your heart was pounding, and you didn’t know what to say. The way he was looking at you made your knees feel even weaker, but something about his words gave you unexpected courage.

“I… I’ve always wanted to talk to you too,” you admitted, your voice hesitant but sincere. “I just didn’t know how.”

James smiled again, softer this time, more intimate. “Well, I guess we’ve figured it out now, haven’t we?”

You laughed nervously, but he tightened his grip on your waist slightly, as if to reassure you that you weren’t going anywhere. Then, as though it was the most natural thing in the world, he said:

“I was thinking... maybe we could continue this conversation later. Just the two of us. What do you think?”

Your heart leapt, and you could hardly believe what you were hearing. “Are you… asking me out?”

“I am,” he replied without hesitation. “And I’m hoping you’ll say yes because I don’t want to miss the chance to really get to know you.”

Your face burned, but you couldn’t stop the smile spreading across your lips. “Yes,” you said, almost unable to believe your own words. “I’d love to.”

He grinned in a way that made your chest swell with a joy as light as the crisp night air. “Great. Best way to start the year, don’t you think?”

And with that, he gave your waist one last gentle squeeze, as if to confirm that this moment was real. The sound of fireworks began in the distance, but nothing seemed more important than his gaze, still locked on yours, as if he could stay there forever.

[mumms-the-word]

Deep Past the Heart

Characters: Emmrich Volkarin x Rook (You) Summary: (Spoilers ahead!) You have accompanied Emmrich to his final test before lichdom. You stand in a cold Necropolis vault as he walks away from you toward possible eternity, knowing he will die the moment he crosses the threshold. The only thing you can do now is wait. Wait and hope that if he returns to you, when he returns, he will still be the man you have fallen so desperately in love with. Nothing is certain but death. Love...that is a different question entirely. A/N: I think this is my first official Veilguard fic? And it's angst haha classic. Anyways, I have mixed feelings about Emmrich's Lich route but the cutscene where he becomes a lich has stuck with me as one of the most beautifully choreographed moments in the whole game, so I couldn't resist writing the scene from a more focused, anxious Rook's perspective. Enjoy! Read it on AO3 here!

I am come to be judged by the dead.

They are the last living words on his lips. The last words of a man who will be dead soon, one way or another. Nine syllables formed on an eloquent tongue, breathed forth with warm air from healthy lungs. In mere moments, those lungs, that tongue, those lips will grow still, and never move again.

It isn’t his time to die. But it’s the time he has chosen, and now that the words are out of his mouth, you know there is no turning back.

His words echo faintly in the vaulted chamber you stand in, soft reverberations you will never get back. You want to reach out and catch them, just one word, maybe two, and hold them fluttering and whisper-thin against your chest until you have absorbed them. The last vestiges of his voice, perfectly preserved in your heart. Just in case you never hear that voice again.

Or if you do, it will be altered beyond recognition.

It’s strange. You’ve spent the last several weeks doing all that you can to save lives—freeing slaves, fighting ghosts, slaying dragons, eradicating darkspawn, stopping enemies before they can hurt anyone else. And yet here you stand hundreds of feet below the surface in a spacious, isolated crypt, bidding farewell to your lover as he faces the end of his life. 

You make no moves to stop him, despite your every instinct screaming that you can, you could, you should . But you don’t. Because this is what he wants.

Emmrich Volkarin, your beloved, is steps away from death, standing at the threshold of a chamber that will steal his life from him and present him with one final test. If he succeeds, he will become a lich, a powerful undead mage that will stand outside of time, a being both paradoxically within and beyond your reach and understanding. His life’s work, completed with his death. But if he fails…

It is death, either way. You both know it. The best you can hope for now is not that he will survive…but that he will transcend . If he does, then he achieves undeath. Lichdom. Forever.

A vast leap , he had once said. Flesh cast aside for bone. Returned, immortal, for all time. 

You wonder if you’ve made a mistake. Not for encouraging him to take this path, but perhaps for coming with him. 

His kiss is still on your lips, the warmth of it fast fading in the chill of this Necropolis vault. You wish, suddenly, that you had placed your fingertips at the base of his throat or against his chest when you kissed, cherishing the final beats of his too-soft heart, the fluttering of his pulse as it thrums beneath his skin. Or that you had inhaled deeply of his carefully cultivated scent, expensive cologne, soap, and pomade, scents he may soon abandon after death when his new form no longer requires them.

You glance at the Lich Lords above, their cold veilfire eyes glowing in the sockets of their bleach-white skulls. Cold, barren, still.

Dead.

That is what he will become…but only if he passes the final test.

Too late you wish you had paid more attention to the elements that made up your lover’s living, mortal self. Already you feel the finer details slipping from your grasp. The exact shades of gold and green in his hazel eyes. Where the last stubborn dark strands of his hair melt into the gray and white. The tones of his quiet laughter when something amuses him. The press of his lips on your knuckles when he kisses your hand.

There will be no more of any of that, either way. Already you miss those things. Ache for them.

Why is it so much harder for you to let go of him, than for him to let go of life?

Your time together has been cruelly short. You arrived too late, he walked toward death too early, and the world never settled long enough for the two of you to find any real time together. You want to kiss him again, but you know better than to move. Because if a single thing goes awry…

The doors swing open, spilling out a brilliant white light so bright it’s painful to stare into, but Emmrich doesn’t falter. Aside from a single flex of his hands, you see no evidence of hesitation or fear.

And yet you still wonder. 

How fast does his heart beat in his chest, as if defying him to stop it? Is every nerve alight within him, desperate to soak in each last sensation, the chill on his skin, the prickle of gooseflesh at the back of his neck, the brush of fabric, the creak of leather, the jingle of chains? Are there tremors in his fingers that you cannot see? Is he terrified, or at peace with this decision?

You hope he is at peace. Even as your hands clench at your sides and your ears start to ring with the stress of watching him step forward into eternity, knowing he will die, he will inevitably die, he will certainly die , you hope he, at least, has no more of the terror that has plagued him since childhood.

It’s the only way you’ll see him again.

You have to let him go. You curl your toes inside your boots as if to anchor your feet directly down into the stone beneath you. You hold your breath to keep from using your voice. You cannot stop him. You cannot intervene.

But dammit, it’s hard .

Every step he takes is another step away from you. Another step closer to death. You have prepared for this. Sat in his study, curled up by the fireplace, watching him review scrolls about the rituals, watching him practice his glamor. You’ve seen the way his eyes grew distant at the daunting trial before him, taking him to a place where you couldn’t reach him…and the way his eyes drifted around his study, looking for a figure you both know will never return to brighten the Lighthouse again. You prepared your goodbye …and your welcome back… and your final goodbyes if it all went wrong. You thought you had steeled yourself to the fact that he might not return at all.

But now the moment is here. 

Every step is like a death knell, the chime of a clock striking midnight. The sound of his boot heels on the worn paving stones rings in your head like the peeling of chantry bells, ten, eleven…twelve. 

Silence.

He stops and turns to face you. The light of the chamber beyond is too bright, too harsh, a wash of milky white fog and light that silhouettes him until he is a singular shape in black. You search for his eyes, desperate to read his thoughts, or perhaps to memorize that particular shade of hazel you took too much for granted, but his every feature melts into shadow.

You look anyway, mastering your expression for him just in case he is watching you too. You will not look anxious. You will not look like you have even a shred of doubt. He will come back. He will come back. You hang onto the thought like a lifeline, and you watch, unwilling to look away for a single instant.

This is your last view of him alive. One way or another, he has to die. You’re prepared to walk his undeath with him, but you want to soak in this last living sight. Just in case.

Come back to me as yourself, Emmrich. Please.

Myrna and Vorgoth join him in the illuminated chamber and the doors begin to swing closed. You stare. You stare and you study and you will your feet to stay planted to the smooth stone floor and you look for a single glimpse of his eyes—

And you see that they are closed.

Your breath catches. You feel your heart start to crack, his name bubbling up from your chest into your throat, ready to be spoken, whispered, shouted, but you cannot let it escape. You swallow your voice as the doors shut with an echoing clang, a single note of devastating finality. 

Then…the silence of the grave.

—————

You stand as still as stone, imagining yourself as steady and cold as the carved marble and granite figures that line the vault. But your traitorous heart beats wildly in your chest, reminding you with every heartbeat that you are the last living thing in that room. You are the wrong thing here in this vault of silence, stone, and stillness. The audacious lover who dared to invade this sanctum of undeath and sully it with your mere presence.

You dare not invade any further. Emmrich is beyond your reach now. All you can do is wait.

You can feel the eyes of the Lich Lords upon you, veilfire glowing green and blue in their hollow eye sockets. Challenger of the gods , they called you. Volkarin’s beloved . You wonder if you are the first lover to stand at a lich candidate’s side to see them off for the final sifting of the soul. 

You wonder if you are the only lover who plans to stick around after lichdom has been achieved. Until death takes you, that is. You, but not him.

You know they are not there to judge you, and yet their faces remain fixed forward toward you, not the chamber beyond. You begin to feel as though you are as much a part of this final test as whatever it happening in the chamber beyond. Do the Lich Lords see you, truly, as they gaze out over the vault? Or do they see Emmrich’s soul, his thoughts, his memories instead?

Do they find you there among them? Is it better or worse if they do?

You know you’ll get no answers from the Lich Lords so you don’t ask. Which leaves you once again waiting. Listening. Hoping. 

Time crawls forward, impossible to track. Down here, deep beneath the earth, every light is artificial and cold, every chamber eternally lit by magical flame. It’s only the flickering of the torches and braziers that tell you that time hasn’t stopped altogether. 

And still you wait. It’s all you can do.

You breathe out, gently clouding the air. When did it get so cold? Or had it always been this cold in the Necropolis, and you never noticed it before? You rub your arms subconsciously, seeking warmth, but your hands do little to help.

What kept the chill at bay before? Was it Emmrich’s presence at your side, his hand eventually slipping into yours, that kept you warm among these patina green and slate gray halls? Or had he cast subtle spells over you, a bubble of warmth to carry you through the Necropolis, his mind on your comfort over his duty as a Mourn Watcher? Perhaps the chill had always been there, but you were too busy basking in the kindness of his hazel eyes and the soothing cadence of his voice to notice.

What happens now that those eyes, that voice, may be gone forever? 

You turn away from the Lich Lords and pace a slow circuit around the stone table. Over your head, the colossal sculpture of three crowned skulls looms like an omen, a second set of judges over the living and the dead. No matter where you turn, the hollow eyes of skulls peer down over you, reminding you of the inevitable. Now that Emmrich is in the chamber beyond, the only thing coming out of that room is a dead man.

How much of Emmrich will be left?

You strain your ears to catch any sound from the chamber beyond. The windows behind the Lich Lords appear open, letting in some of the white light, and yet you hear nothing. Even the crackle of the veilfire around you is muted and low. 

How much time has passed? Mere moments, or has it been an hour already? More than an hour?

You close your eyes briefly, your thoughts a silent prayer, the same as you prayed before. Come back to me as yourself, Emmrich. Please.

It’s the same thing you told him just before he walked away. One last plea, pulled from the depths of your heart, uttered before you could think twice about the words. And in return, he had smiled, his eyes crinkling slightly at the corners the way they always do—always did.  

I will, my darling. I promise.

A promise. One you hope—you know he intends to keep. Yet you know that even if he does come back, he will come back different. Everything will be different. His appearance, his senses, his feelings. He warned you of that just days ago.

Lichdom is a transformation of body and soul. A change in how I sense and feel. And I will still feel, but—

But he will feel differently. You know that. He does too. At this point, change is unavoidable, but how he will change…that is less certain. What will he lose, even as he gains eternity and power?

You recall his soft musing words the day you picked flowers together in the memorial gardens, when you asked if he would still be able to enjoy the flowers if he became a lich. He had answered simply, an academic’s thoughtful reply, but you caught the hesitant sadness in his voice at the end all the same.

I can’t say if the flowers would still hold their bloom for me. 

But what about you? For him to lose his sense of smell is one thing, but to lose a measure of his heart…

You can still picture the flower he once picked for you, the thin stem in your hand, the white petals luminescent in the light of the gardens. The scent has long faded from memory, but the magic of it is burned forever in your mind from when he transformed the soft petals into glittering motes of light. You, in the bloom of your life, basked in the glow of his magic, melting beneath him as he pressed you gently into the stone of the memorial and kissed you for the first time. That was the moment you realized you loved him, alive or undead.

So is it selfish to long for, even mourn what you have already lost of him? For you have lost something . The moment he stepped into that chamber, you lost something. You can feel it, hollow in your gut, even though you can’t name it. If he survives this last test, you will gain something back, but even so…is it selfish that you already miss him as he was in life?

Is it too early to mourn, knowing he was a dead man the moment he uttered those words at the chamber doors?

I am come to be judged by the dead.

You know he is more than his appearance, more than the skin and muscle and sinew that makes up his living body, more than that common, fleshy muscle in his chest that pumps blood through his veins but to which everyone attributes the deepest of mortal feeling and desire. Even when that heart grows still, he will surely still love you, you remind yourself. He had all but promised before he left your side. 

Hadn’t he?

If anything should perchance go wrong… My dearest heart. You are the most magnificent thing to ever happen to me.

You stop. You realize now.

This is why he didn’t look back.

You are a temptation. His last tether to this mortal world. If he had looked back, he might have wavered. Decades of his life’s work, lost at a single glance.

If he had looked back, you would have almost certainly lost him for good. 

You pause at the start of your circuit again, turning to face the chamber doors, your heart racing. Does he think of you now? In his mind’s eye, do you exist as the path back home, a marker for his soul to return to his new lich body, or has he cast you aside, unwilling to let you become his final weakness? Have you ruined it all simply by being there?

You were the one to reach out when he first stepped away. The one who held him by the arm, desperate for another few seconds with him, a final kiss, a last embrace. I love you , you whispered as his lips left yours, a confession you should have said days ago. 

I love you too, my darling.

What if that final kiss, that simple confession, has doomed him? You think of Johanna Hezenkoss, the failed lich, her body slowly shriveling on her skeletal frame, eyes burning with veilfire inside a withered face. Wrong. Half-undead. Stagnant, yet decaying.

Is that the fate you sealed for Emmrich with your kiss?

Suddenly you would give anything, a measure of your strength, your power, your own lifeblood, to ensure that he passes through the Lich Lords’ final sifting of the soul to successfully enter lichdom. You want nothing more than to see him again, no matter what vessel his soul is housed in. Was it not ultimately his soul that you fell in love with? Time is a thief that would rob you both of vitality, strength, and beauty no matter how you attempt to slow it down, but the soul is eternal. Or so everyone says.

All you want now is his soul with you again, rather than passing on to the Fade, or wherever it is souls go when they die. 

Please, Emmrich , you beg silently. Come back.

Perhaps the Lich Lords or the spirits of the Fade will hear your silent prayers, drawn in by your deepest desire, since the silent gods are no longer listening and may not even exist. If the spirits sense your hope, perhaps they can intervene on your behalf, driven by the strength of your wish to lead Emmrich’s soul back again if he needs the help. 

But no, you must have faith in him. That is what he needs from you now. You clench your fists at your sides, determined to mold your anxiety and desperation into faith instead. You can do this, Emmrich. Death won’t keep us apart. You won’t let it. 

A light clamor draws your attention back to the chamber—the sound of the latch unbolting. The doors are about to open. The wait is over. 

The judges’ verdict is set. The scales have been weighed, the soul measured, and judgment passed.

Emmrich is dead. 

—————

Your blood pounds in your ears, a steady roar that drowns out everything else as the heavy doors groan open. You force yourself to watch, willing your eyes to adjust faster to the white light that spills forth. You have to see. You have to know. Death or undeath? A lifeless corpse or an eternal lich?

Come back to me, my love. Come back.

Vorgoth emerges first, a ceremonial knife in his gloved and bangled hands. Wet, red blood drips, fresh and lurid, from the black and gold blade. Emmrich’s blood, dripping down onto the Necropolis floor, each drop glittering ruby red in the light before it splashes dark and black on the stone. Vorgoth sheathes the blade, tucking it inside the depths of his cloak, his task complete.

Then Myrna appears, promenading forth with an urn cradled in her hands, a canopic jar with a lid carved in the shape of a skull. A thin trickle of blood trails down from the seam between jar and lid. You dare not wonder what lays inside, what part of your beloved Emmrich they carved away to preserve inside that funerary urn. The mere sight of it makes your stomach twist.

Did it hurt? What they had done to him? Were his final living moments spent in pain as cold metal carved through his flesh? The thought leaves you ill, your knees weak. But no, the Mourn Watch are not inhumane. Myrna and Vorgoth respect Emmrich. He calls them friends. Surely his death had been as painless as they could make it. You have to believe it, or else the world around you will tilt out of focus and leave you crumpled on the floor, and you cannot let Emmrich see you like that. 

At last Myrna steps aside, leaving your view into the chamber unhindered. To your relief, there is no lifeless corpse crumpled on the ground. Instead, a figure stands where Emmrich stood. With a shift, it begins to walk forward.

At first it’s no more than a silhouette to match the Lich Lords above. A dark, shadowed figure with a crown of spikes and eyes glowing with veilfire. A lich at long last. But is it–is he your Emmrich?

As he draws nearer, out of the white light, more details emerge. Glimmers of gold, the rustling whisper of grave linen, the thick drape of black crape fabric. The doors close behind him and the silhouette melts away to reveal him in all his undead glory, standing regal in black and gold.

For one terrifying moment, you don’t recognize him. His skull could be anyone’s skull. There is nothing left of the hazel gold or green in his gaze. The heart you yearned to capture, the one he once said beats for you and no other, now no longer beats in his chest at all. It is missing, along with every other organ, his gold-reinforced ribcage left open and hollow. He is a walking skeleton now, draped in rich armor and finery, brimming with new power. 

You can’t look away. He has to be in there somewhere. You take an unsteady step forward as he draws slowly nearer to you, searching the polished bone surface of his skull beneath his golden helm for something you can recognize as Emmrich Volkarin. Your beloved.

“Emmrich?” you whisper. Your heart is a drumbeat in your chest, tempo allegro , relentlessly pounding in your ears until you’re almost dizzy from the rush. Please be in there. Please.

He stops and you can sense his gaze, harder to track now that it’s all veilfire, moving away from you to the room around you. His jaw unhinges and though he no longer has a tongue, his voice emerges from somewhere within him, like a spirit speaking from the beyond.

“I see so much more clearly now,” he says. Your breath hitches as you recognize the tones and timbre of his voice. It has an otherworldly echo now, but it’s his . “The deeper eddies of the Fade. The pulse of the Necropolis.”

You can sense the new power he has gained. Magic shifts around him as though he is draped in more than metal and fabric. As if he stands with one foot in the physical world and the other in the Fade. Even his voice sounds like it begins in another plane and is carried forth over a vast distance.

You can’t help but feel awed. You stand before an immortal being now. Yet, unlike when you stood before Solas, Elgar’nan, or Ghilan’nain, there is no fear or wariness in your heart. This is not some cold, unfeeling god. This is Emmrich Volkarin.

You feel his gaze settle on you as he continues, his voice full of wonder. “I have been through blood and darkness, and I have emerged into light.”

You breathe for the first time in several seconds, your lungs shuddering at the sudden cold air. Relief floods into you, even as a smaller part of you aches to think how painful this last test was for him—what trials of blood, what depths of darkness had he endured to earn this gift of immortality? But those trials are in the past now. What matters is not that he experienced them, but that he endured and emerged victorious.

He has returned to you.

You wet your dry lips, the question on your tongue tasting metallic from fear, but you have to ask. You have to know. “Emmrich, now that you’re…do you still feel…” 

You can’t put the whole question into words. He is here, but he is changed. How much? How deeply?

“Oh,” he says, and his voice is like a lovestruck sigh from the depths of his soul, breath simulated by tone alone. “My love.”

This time, his words wrap around you, sinking into your skin and settling deep within you. It’s the feeling of returning home, of a world made right again. It’s the thrilling sensation of a loving whisper on your bare skin, a promise of devotion and a song of praise, the tenor of his soft voice perfected by the subtle, echoing embellishments of his new magic. You nearly weep for the love you can sense conveyed in so simple a phrase.

It’s really him. And he is really yours. 

It’s all he has to say to convince you.

“Come,” he says. “Walk the gardens with me.”

He offers you his hand, now wrapped tightly with grave linen down to the tips of his fingers. You recognize the rings he wears as his usual jewelry, and the sight of something familiar calms your still-settling heart even further. Without hesitation, you take his hand and let him lead you out of the vault.

You can feel the shape and rigidity of bone beneath the linen, but his touch is gentle as he folds his hand around yours, matching your pace as you venture out into the Necropolis proper. Each step you take with your hand in his quiets your lingering doubts. His measured strides are the same as they were in life, the pressure of his touch no different from when he had muscles and tendons to control them. Even his presence at your side beats back the chill of the Necropolis just the way it had when you journeyed with him earlier. 

Everything is as it was in life, simply made more by the aura of magic that follows him. The moment the two of you reach the gardens, your steps crunching the gravel of the cemetery paths, you feel him relax at your side. You wonder what he sees now, now that his eyes have been opened, his spirit awakened to the subtle movements and patterns of the Fade. Where you see veilfire torches and the carefully tended blooms of the cemetery flowers, the cool air broken here and there by the playful twirl of a glowing wisp, what does he see?

You think of that moment in the Lighthouse weeks ago, when he took your hand and placed it on a skull, instructing you to breathe, to focus while he spoke a solemn incantation, the weight of his hand covering yours. When you opened your eyes, you could see the currents of the Fade in motion—glimmers of light fluttering through the air, ribbons of color weaving in and out of sight, and blue and green wisps dancing playfully high overhead, or lingering serenely around the two of you. Is that what he sees now? Brighter, richer ribbons of light, glittering notes of magic, twirling wisps, even spirits walking the grounds? Does he see beyond the Veil, two worlds overlapping, mixing together in a sympathy of color and light, or simply what bits and scraps are strong enough to push through, eager to brush against the physical world? You wish you could see. You wish you could share in the vision with him.

“It’s…beautiful,” he murmurs. You look up, studying his new profile. It will take some getting used to, but it doesn’t frighten or disturb you. When he turns his face toward you, you can feel the warmth of his gaze again, even though there is nothing left of the hazel eyes you once fell in love with. “To think, I can share this first glimpse of wonder with you, my darling. It makes this moment all the sweeter.”

If he were still capable of tears, you know he’d be weepy right now. He always did get philosophical around flowers. And it’s you knowing that, sensing it in his voice, that dispels the last of your doubts. You squeeze the bones of his hand and whisper, “I knew you’d come back to me.”

His next words are confirmation and promise, reassurance and affirmation, his affection as clear and warm as it was in life, even despite the new echo. It is confident, certain, and tender, and as before, it settles somewhere deep past the heart, where nothing can ever take it away from you again.

“Always, my love.”

[underwhelmingalchemist]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Dungeons and Daddies (Podcast) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Kelsey Grammar/Trudy Trout Characters: Kelsey Grammar (Dungeons and Daddies), Trudy Trout, Timmy Trout, Francis Farnsworth Additional Tags: Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Domestic, Domestic Bliss, Baking, spoilers up until s3e10, everyone's fine and happy, except tucker, he's... out of the picture, Pet Names, Recipes, Post-Canon, there's pie, Pie, References to Abuse, no beta we die like the canon catboy, Song Lyrics, Mentions of Elvis Presley Songs Summary:

Trudy teaches Kelsey how to make an apple pie, with step-by-step instructions and explanations. It's a very sweet fluff fic, yes, but also a baking tutorial.

[jiminrings]

anything

pairing: yoongi x reader

wordcount: 10k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

( ♡ ) 

Yoongi’s a manny. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

( ♡ ) 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Where did that come from?”

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

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

“You don’t?”

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

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

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

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

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

( ♡ ) 

Things have been awkward between you and Yoongi.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

.

.

.

You’re not ignoring Yoongi anymore.

Apropos of nothing, Yoongi and Haein are talking again.

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

( ♡ ) 

You badly want to change.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He fucking looked down on me-…”

“He was just shocked!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

( ♡ ) 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?” he asks. “Don’t be stupid.”

“Excuse me?”

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

“I’ve known him for years-…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The laugh that escapes you is offensive.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

For Yoongi, it’s you.

Despite everything, it’s still you.

( ♡ ) 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

For you, it’s Yoongi.

Despite everything, it’s still Yoongi.

[sweetpupii]

tw: non-con, somno, fingering & cunnilingus ( r!receiving ), reader cries just a little, praising, overstimulation, abby being the sweetest girl ever ( pretty ironic ) | 1.6k words.

having long nails is great.

they look cute, you can match them with your outfit and your makeup, you get some compliments, they're amazing at scratching and all that.

“wanna know what's frustrating though?” you start, mindlessly scrolling on your phone while abby looks at your new set of nails, her own unmanicured hand holding yours. “not to be, you know, nasty but I feel like I'm gonna slash my pussy open if I try to stick a finger in there the wrong way.”

only a low hum of agreement can be heard from the blonde as she leans back against the couch of your shared apartment, tracing the design that's beautifully decorating the nail on your middle finger. yeah, that looks like it would hurt real bad.

“then get a toy. there is more stuff you can use.”

“of course I know that, but I don't have time either. at this point I feel like a nun!” a ( kinda whiny ) sigh escaping your lips at the mere thought of all the weeks spent unsatisfied. coming home late and tired didn't give you much time to even grab a toy like abby suggested.

but luckily, you have a very thoughtful roommate!

this woman would do anything—and I mean anything—to see you happy because that's what friends are for. helping and supporting each other during tough times and, let me tell you, being sexually frustrated definitely counts as one.

“abby? what the fu—mhggm” her hand quickly went over your mouth to stop your protests to get louder and more panicked while the other worked to keep your legs and arms from pushing her face away. why are you acting so surprised to see her in between your legs when she's just trying to help? it's not like you would be able to push her away but jeez, didn't expect such an ungrateful response.

yes, she woke you up by making out with your pussy but you were basically asking for it earlier.

“gonna make you feel good.” she promised before she kept lapping at your cunt like a starved woman. slurping you up like you're her favorite dish. feeling the vibration of your desperate, muffled sounds against her palm made her speak again. “shh, I won't hurt you.”

taking off your underwear while you sleep, holding you down, forcing your mouth shut and your legs open doesn't hurt! not if you stay still, at least.

her plan was simple.

if she made you feel good by eating you out, using her own fingers to reach places you currently couldn't ( and probably have never been able to ) reach while you slept then you would surely wake up in a good mood and thank her with that precious smile of yours and maybe even a kiss.

but noooo, you decided to wake up in the middle of it and panic. ugh, just when your body was responding so well to her touch. she had seen the way your cunt was glistening when she started to slowly kiss it. the moonlight slipping through your curtains making the sight even prettier, and she'll be lying if she said the thought of taking a picture didn't cross her mind.

but a little crying from you won't stop her, even if she feels the hot tears against her skin.

she's still holding your legs open so she can continue to suck and lick at your clit, tongue tracing each fold and sensitive bit. your hips bucking into her face—but she's not sure if you're liking it and want more or you're trying to push her away.

“don't scream, okay baby?” she whispered against the soft skin on your inner thigh, peppering small kisses, while looking up at your watery eyes, “I'll be so gentle. trust me.”

actually, what other choice do you have? this woman can literally bench press 205 lbs. you get on her bad side and a single smack takes you back to your mother's womb. she has a mean right hook too, those punching bags stand no chance.

but again, it's abby who we're talking about.

the blondie that cuddles you to sleep anytime your bed feels too cold, who makes stupid jokes to cheer you up even if she cringes so fucking hard immediately after, who lets you try to count every freckle on her skin without even asking why, who can listen to you talk for hours and pay attention to every word, the one that drunkenly tells you how glad she is that you're her roommate and friend while kissing your shoulder even if deep down she wishes for more than that and stares at you as if you are the most important thing in the world—because to her you truly are.

so maybe she really just wants to make you feel good...

the second the fear and confusion in your eyes turns into something more calm, seeing the slow nod of your head, the small hiccup and your legs no longer struggling, she pulls her hand away from your mouth to trace the other set of lips, gathering the mixture of her saliva and your fluids on her fingertips before gently pushing one inside. “there we go…nice and slow.”

she might've been wrong for not asking first but how was she supposed to resist the feeling of your warm, tight walls squeezing her fingers just right as she curls them inside. soaking her knuckles in a shiny coat of stickiness that makes her want to dive in face first again and taste it until it becomes the only flavor she'll ever remember.

once she's sure that you're wet and comfortable enough, another thick digit slides in, the stretch earning a moan from you that has abby feeling like angels are singing and welcoming her to heaven. god, she has waited for so long to hear those sounds out of your lips—sounds caused by her, not your vibrator nor whoever you used to invite over thinking you two were quiet. ( she could hear you every.single.time… and honestly? it was so good to get a free show. )

even if her pace was somewhat slow, the thrusts of her fingers still managed to produce soft, wet noises that filled the room as they combined with your heavy breathing.

“told you I'd be gentle.” she cooed against your abdomen, trailing her kisses up your torso until she finally reached your lips. the same lips she has been dreaming of kissing since she moved in, since she first saw you smile, since you finally laughed at something she said, since the first time she saw them in a pretty shade of lipgloss. it's better than she ever imagined and she knows she'll ask ( beg ) for more from now on.

she's head over heels if you couldn't tell already.

“a warning would've been nice.” your quiet words bring a sheepish smile to abby’s face as she sighs, pulling her face away just a little, “sorry, you looked so stressed lately, I figured you wouldn't mind…”

abby aims to please even if she doesn't realize how bad her impulsive thoughts are before she acts on them. but look at the bright side; from now on you have a girl who's willing to drop to her knees and bury her face between your thighs at your own home almost 24/7!

after a bit, she starts to notice that the clenching and throbbing around her fingers gets more frequent and your moans louder, meaning she can finally speed up the pace. burying herself deep into your cunt to reach all the perfect spots she knows you've been missing. “fuck, you're so pretty. I wish you could see yourself…dripping all over the bed.”

she’s breathless as if she was the one getting touched, her own underwear damp just from seeing and pleasing you. can you blame her? she feels like a child on christmas morning.

“that's it, doing so good.”

oh, how she adores the way your hips tremble underneath her. making a mess on your bed sheets as you throw your head back—which she takes as an invitation and buries her face there. inhaling your scent like it's the only thing keeping her alive, like you're the oxygen she needs.

“gonna come? I can barely move my fingers with how tight you are.” liar. no matter how much you squeeze she's pumping them in and out without a single bit of effort. working out daily really pays off in the most satisfying ways. plus, you're too wet and it slides in and out very easily.

and god, her words make the flutter in your lower belly even worse. your hand gripping at her forearm, nails digging so hard she takes it as “it's too much.” when in reality she had fucked you so dumb with her fingers that reaching for abby was purely out of instinct.

she can't even understand the words ( babbles ) coming out of your mouth, all her pussy-drunk mind is able to register is the whiny tone tone in your voice because yes, she's as fucked out as you are.

the loud cry that escaped your puffy lips while repeating her name over and over definitely woke up a neighbor or two and just the thought of it makes abby's ego go up to the roof. who's making the prettiest girl in the building come? abigail motherfucking anderson.

her fingers continue their movements, a bit sloppier than before, but they keep going nonetheless. thumb circling your sensitive clit to add more stimulation.

she shushed your whimpers with soft kisses on your your temple and held you still to keep the overstimulated jerking off hips from pushing her away.

“you can take a little more, you're a big girl.”

and she's an insatiable woman.

masterlist ♡ taglist — @1ckyporcelainbunny @patronagrona

[king-of-colors]

charles rowland to start the year with (meant to post this yesterday)

[seokminfilm]

the many faces of seokmin | lee seokmin

🪄 pairing, lee seokmin x reader

🪄 warnings, non-idol au, fluff, lowercase intended, lots of kissing, reader calls seokmin baby, seokmin calls reader love, some cuddling and LOTS of play fighting, giggly seokmin

🪄 summary, your boyfriend subconsiously makes this one adorable facial expression that you can't get over.

🪄 author's note, happy 2025 lyrnation! i hope your january 1st has been/was a great first day of the new year! i saw the middle picture while i was scrolling on pinterest for xcalibur dk pictures (don't ask okay), and felt the urge to write about this very seokmin coded face 🤍 enjoy everyone!

🪄 now playing, free money, calum bowen

🪄 word count, 1.1k | for @kstrucknet

"I love that face you make." You pull away from Seokmin, still sitting on his lap as you smile at him while he stares up at you. "What face?" His big brown eyes are confused, and you stroke his hair lovingly, Seokmin smiling at you as you look down at him.

There was this one face your boyfriend had a habit of doing at some of the most random times. He would squint his eyes shut, scrunch his sharp nose up, and purse his lips together in the cutest way known to man. It was something you had noticed ever since you had started dating, and it was also something you couldn't get over.

"That one you do where your nose scrunches up." You say, hands still in Seokmin's wet curls as he shakes his head, smiling. "I make a lot of faces where my nose scrunches up, love."

Laughing, you nod, agreeing to him as you stick your hands under Seokmin's velvet robe, ticking his chest. He giggles cutely, falling back against the headboard as you pepper kisses all over his cheeks and nose.

"Love, stop! That tickles, you know," Seokmin has tears in his eyes as he pulls your hands from inside his dark blue robe, and you wipe them away, smiling even wider as he makes the face you had just mentioned.

"See! You just made the face! I saw it!" You say, pointing to him. Seokmin's eyes widen in surprise, and he giggled again, unable to stop himself.

"What face, love? I don't know what you're─hey, stop that," Seokmin says quickly, pulling your sneaking hand away from the opening to his bare chest. "Why are you trying to tickle me so much?"

"First of all, because it's really fun. Second of all─" You pause, pinching Seokmin's cheek as he glares at you. "Because you have the cutest giggles when I do it."

"Three," You add on, studying Seokmin's pretty features. "You make the face I'm talking about after I tickle you."

Seokmin sighs, hand running through his wet curls as he adjusts your position on his lap. He's smiling like an idiot, staring up at you with those big brown eyes as he whines, pulling your persistent hands away.

"Can't you just tell me how the face looks?" Seokmin's pout is heart melting, lips jutted out in a cute way as his eyes seem to sparkle up at you.

You sigh, shaking your head as you adjust the plush collar around Seokmin's neck. "I did tell you how the face looks. Seokmin, I don't think you even notice when you do it. It's like...."

"Like what?" Seokmin presses, obviously awaiting your answer as he takes your hands in his, stopping you from trying to tickle him once and for all.

"You're really persistent, love," Seokmin sighs, laughing at you nonetheless as you laugh with him, falling into his warm chest.

"I really want you to do the face again, baby. It's so cute on you." Seokmin hears your whining, and he sighs, smiling at you as he continues.

"Just tell me how I make the face. I'll try to do it so you can take a picture." Seokmin smiles, and you give him a wary look, confusing him as his face sours seconds later.

"Are you being sarcastic? Are you annoyed with me, baby?" Your sad voice makes Seokmin melt, and he shakes his head, brushing your cheek with his hand as he smiles again. His hand is warm against your cheek, and it makes you giddy inside, staring at him as he shakes his head yet again.

"I'm not annoyed, love, I promise. I'm for real, too─if you really like that one specific face I make, tell me who I make it so you can take a picture! You could even use it for your phone wallpaper if you want to." Seokmin says the last part shyly, knowing you would do it even if he didn't give you permission to─not that he minded.

"Seokmin, I love you so much." You smile gently, kissing him slowly, softly, as if he's a delicate statue you don't want to tip over and break. He responds in kind to this, softly grabbing your hips as he sighs under you sweetly.

"Why? Because I'm letting you use my face?" Seokmin asks playfully and you laugh, shaking your head as you tug on his earlobes.

You know how much he loves when you do that, and it doesn't fail now, either: Seokmin's smiling like crazy, and the tips of his ears are turning a bright red. Laughing, you peck him again, humming as you answer his question.

"Well, yes─" You answer truthfully, and Seokmin sighs, a faux pout on his face as you smile at him, tilting his chin up to look at you. "But also because I just love you so, so, so much."

Seokmin blushes at that, and returns his hands back to your hips, smiling at you before you lean down and press a kiss to his soft lips yet again, causing him to giggle under you.

"Stop laughing," You pout playfully, and Seokmin sighs, still giggling as he apologizes. "Sorry, sorry─I'm sorry, okay? Hey, hey, wait─no! I said I was sorry─" Before Seokmin can say anything else, your hands are tickling his stomach and sides, causing him to squeal and kick and giggle like there's no tomorrow.

Now having Seokmin distracted, you take his phone from his bedside table and swipe open to the camera, snapping pictures of his smiling face. You wait and wait and wait, tickling and tickling and tickling him until─

"Got it!" You yell triumphantly, and Seokmin can finally catch a breather, tears streaming down his clean cheek as he sighs, still giggling in the process.

"See? This face." You say, giving his phone back to him. Seokmin takes it, studying the picture as he blushes. "Do I really look like that?"

"You're so adorable, Seokmin. Look at you!" You smile, and Seokmin laughs, saving the picture before powering off his phone. He's laughing and sighing still, and you laugh at just how out of breath he is, earning a playful glare from him.

"Sorry, baby, I'll stop now. I swear," You promise, raising your hands up in surrender. Sighing, Seokmin just smiles, taking your hands in his as he pulls you into his chest, wrapping his legs around you and trapping you in between them.

Squealing, you kick and scream, giggling as Seokmin peppers your face with pecks, kisses, and tiny little bites.

"Now," Seokmin says lowly, breath hitting your ear as he smiles deviously against your earlobe. "It's my turn."

At least you got the picture before Seokmin tickled you and loved you until you couldn't breathe─just the way you did him.

[sweetbunpura]

Limited Time Menu

Mostro Lounge is moderately busy on most days, mostly due to Azul's marketing and the like. But for tonight, the Lounge was PACKED. Waiters were running too and fro around the dinning room, taking orders and serving food to customers. The infamous first years sat at a booth as they took in the atmosphere.

"Damn, it took forever to get a seat." Ace grumbled. "What's going on today?"

"I heard Azul was running a new limited time menu." Jack responded. "Maybe that's why everyone's piling in here."

"Hmph." Sebek crossed his arms. "What would be so important to bring the student body here?"

"I mean..." Deuce started. "We're here."

Epel chimed. "Yeah, but, we're not here for the promotion and Ortho's here because he wants to hang out. Grim is also a give in."

"Mm-hmm!" Ortho nodded and smiled.

"It's too noisy." Grim huffed. "And Henchhuman said she had stuff to do for the next week."

"Hi, Freshies!" They turned their attention to Ruggie. "Here's the menus! Now, what can I get you started on?"

Jack answered "Water's just fine. Right, guys?" They nodded.

"Sure, sure." Ruggie wrote it down. "And we got a limited time menu going on, only available for the next three days."

"What's the best thing?" Ace asks.

"Honestly? All of it." Ruggie sighs. "We ran out of four things today, so you better get it while it's going."

"Thanks, Ruggie-senpai."

The hyena beastman nodded and left, leaving the first years to look over the menu.

"There's six things on here. Ruggie made it seem like it was a lot." Ace frowns.

"It all sounds good though." Deuce mutters as he looks at the menu. "The Chicken-fried Steak sounds good."

"So do the Biscuits and Gravy." Epel hums as he imagines the food.

"I'm interested in the Jambalaya." Sebek voices.

"Chicken and Waffles?" Ace raises an eyebrow. "I'll guess I'll go for it."

"I wonder what a Shrimp Po' Boy is..." Jack reads the ingredients.

"Gimme those Smothered Pork Chops!" Grim licked his lips.

"Here's your water." Ruggie set it down. " I think I heard Grim yelling out an order." He pulled out his pad. "So, we're ready?"

As each boy gave their order and Ruggie departed to fill in the order, Mostro continued to fill with new customers and those who left sang praises of the menu. A couple of minutes later and their food was out, piping hot and smelling good.

"That smells so good, holy shit." Ace eyed his food.

The others nodded and Ruggie bid them farewell. They took their first bite and an explosion of flavor filled their mouths.

"No way..." Deuce tore into the chicken fried steak. "How is this so good?"

"I want a second helping!" Epel was roughly halfway thought his meal.

"Who knew this food combination would be so good?" Jack took another bite of his sandwich.

Sebek was silent as he nearly finished off his plate. Grim was happily eating, shoving the pork chops in his mouth. By the time Ruggie returned, they had finished as they all looked full and content.

"Thank you for choosing Mostro Lounge tonight!" The hyena beastman took the payment. "We hope you choosing us again!"

As closing time neared, eventually the dining room cleared and the Lounge closed. In the kitchen, Azul addressed the staff with a smile on his face.

"Today was an extremely busy night!" He clapped his hands. "And I'm glad everyone continued to work hard! A round of applause for everyone!" He waited as their cheers settled down. "And thank Yuu-san for allowing us to borrow some of her time!"

Yuu gave a tired smile as she leaned against one of the pillars and cheers filled the room. Afterwards, the dorm members went to bed and Yuu bid the trio goodnight as she left.

"I'm gonna go pass out." She gave a kiss to Floyd's check as she departed. "Night."

"You're in a good mood, Azul. I'm assuming profits were good tonight?" Jade asked once the door closed.

Azul hummed. "Yes! Fantastically so! There was a 65% increase!"

Jade nodded. "And what of you, Floyd? I saw you back to back with Miss Yuu in the kitchen. Since she refuses to share her family recipes with us, surely you know them?"

Azul turned to Floyd with rapt attention. "Oh? Do tell, Floyd."

Floyd shook his head and leaned back in his chair. "Nah. I promised Shirmpy that I wouldn't tell ya anythin'." He yawned. "And I value that promise more than I value anythin' else."

The octopus merman deflated as Jade chuckled. The perks of being the best friend and boyfriend to one amazing chef. Floyd closed his eyes and smiled.

"But~ Her food was so good. She let me try everythin'~"

"Don't tell me that!"

[girlsdads]

#ok it’s giving girl dad wearing his daughter’s handmade necklace special for him into work 🥺🥺😩😩

couldn’t stop thinking about this tag of mine, wrote a little smth about it 🥰

The stomping footfalls racing down the hall behind him could only be those of a toddler. Daniel turns and squats just in time for his tiny blonde projectile of a child to come barreling into his chest. The force sends Daniel falling back onto his butt with a surprised oof, his daughter giggling delightedly in his lap.

“Hey, Ellie-bug,” Daniel smiles. “Daddy’s gotta go to work, remember how we talked about it and you promised to be a big girl?” He brushes a strand of hair away from her mouth where it’s gotten stuck in a little smear of jam leftover from her breakfast. Daniel had shown Max how to make it just the way she likes—the pancake batter shaped in the silicone star mold, the silly faces drawn in jelly and jam.

Ellie’s head bobs up and down dutifully, but she makes no move to get up.

Max appears from the kitchen then, looking like a man who’s been fighting a losing battle with the second pancake. There’s a splatter of thick batter on his white t-shirt. He’s holding the spatula like it’s offended him somehow. Daniel looks at him over their daughter’s head, and loves him fiercely.

“She is of course the biggest girl,” Max says. Ellie grins proudly. “Why don’t you give Daddy your present now, then we will finish your pancakes.”

Daniel watches her grey-blue eyes light up like she’s just now remembering why she came running at him in the first place. She reaches a chubby hand into the bib pocket on her overalls, embroidered Enchanté script stretching as she roots around and produces a string of brightly-colored plastic beads. She holds it out to him expectantly.

Daniel takes the strand delicately in hand, wraps it around the backs of his fingers and rotates his wrist to get a good look. It’s a necklace, probably more of a choker given its relatively small circumference, the fat pony beads the only real indication it was made by a child. The powder pink and fuchsia beads are separated by interspersed pearlescent white orbs and clear sparkly stars. Smack in the center is a single number bead, a glittery pink three.

“Jeepers, did you make this for me? It’s beautiful!” Daniel says, and means it. He’s already been wanting to talk to his team about adding a jewelry collection to a future drop, and what better inspiration?

Ellie nods excitedly. “Papa helped me do a…,” she pauses, squints and tilts her little head, searching for the word, “…a pattern!”

“We made it the other day, while you were out with Blake,” Max chimes in. “For good luck.” He sounds almost bashful, like maybe it wasn’t their daughter’s idea in the first place. Daniel’s heart is so swollen it’s threatening to leak out through the gaps in his ribcage.

“How’d I get so lucky, huh?” Daniel muses, softly, mostly to himself. He stretches the elastic over his head, feels the smooth plastic three settle in the hollow of his throat. His pulse thrums evenly against it, grounding.

He flashes his biggest smile at his family. “How do I look?”

“Pretty, Daddy!” Ellie throws herself forward again, wrapping her arms around Daniel’s neck. It leaves him locking eyes with Max, who’s gazing down at the two of them like nothing else in the universe exists. Daniel can never quite get used to that look—still feels butterflies dancing up the back of his throat, his stomach dropped into a glorious freefall.

“Beautiful, Daniel,” Max says, reverent. “Always.”

[seriouslycalamitous]

HAPPY NEW YEAR! MY FIRST FIC OF 2025 IS HERE!!

Title: Only Just Begun

6.3K Words

Actors AU + New Years Kiss, Scarian

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/61880542

[star-lights-up]

I don't normally post updates on tumblr for this fic, but I've been doodling sorcerer!erik a lot so.... without further ado, chapter 55 of WDDSDYAIMH is up now! And it starts just like this!

[amywritesthings]

...sooooo do you guys want a silver underground friday on january 31? 😏

[lonely-night]

In which 40 year-old CEO Rio Vidal is named one of the most eligible bachelorettes, 26 year-old Agatha sees her in a bar, and Jennifer makes a bet that Agatha can’t possibly bed the seemingly straight CEO… Rio never stood a chance.

>>> immovable object, unstoppable force by 324b2fun

[itischeese]

(Questionably) Small aoinene comic for my (actually) small fic, Beast(s) of Desire

[mintjeru]

a knight and her prince based on a scene from if you'll allow me by @armed-teddy-bear

open for better quality | no reposts

[mandiemegatron]

ᴋɪʟʟᴇʀ x ᴄɪꜱꜰᴇᴍ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ x ᴋɪᴅ ;

ʀᴀᴛᴇᴅ ; 18+ ᴛʜᴇ ꜰᴏʟʟᴏᴡɪɴɢ ᴘʀᴏɢʀᴀᴍ ᴅᴇᴀʟꜱ ᴡɪᴛʜ ꜱᴏᴍᴇ ᴍᴀᴛᴜʀᴇ ꜱᴜʙᴊᴇᴄᴛ ᴍᴀᴛᴛᴇʀ, ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ ᴀɴᴅ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ ᴡʀᴇɴᴄʜɪɴɢ ꜱᴏꜰᴛɴᴇꜱꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ᴀʟʟ ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ᴋɪᴅ ᴀɴᴅ ᴋɪʟʟᴇʀ ᴅᴇꜱᴇʀᴠᴇ. ᴠɪᴇᴡᴇʀ ᴅɪꜱᴄʀᴇᴛɪᴏɴ ɪꜱ ᴀᴅᴠɪꜱᴇᴅ.

“Stay in bed a little longer…”

Your words barely escape your lips, but you know Killer had heard you by the way he turns to face you and gather you in his embrace.

“I gotta start breakfast soon, sweet girl.”

You grunt into his chest - he can't help but chuckle, the sound eerily similar to the one Kid always gives when he's unimpressed. He peppers the top of your head with a handful of light kisses as one of his hands traces over your bare back.

“You can always come with me and keep me company in the kitchen?” He offers, giving your side a little tickle that pulls a squeal of laughter from you before you go back to pretending to be grumpy.

“Mm… no.” You grunt again, and he pulls away to lift your chin to stare into your eyes.

“I think you've been around Kid a little too long,” he jokes, his heart feeling so incredibly light as you flash him your loving smile.

“Lies, I don't think I've been around him enough actually,” you tease back, only to let another peel of laughter escape you as Killer pins you to the bed and tickles your bare sides until you're begging him to stop.

“Call me a liar in my own bed,” he snickers, grinning wickedly down at you as happy tears pool in the corners of your eyes. “I'm telling.”

Your mouth drops open in fake shock and you're quick to whine out jokingly, “Nooo, Killer, that's so mean, don't tell on me! I wish you would just tell me you hate me instead!”

There's a moment of silence from Killer. While you've always joked those same words to pretty much everyone on the ship, he didn't like how his heart seemed to sink directly into his belly and churn unkindly.

You picked up on the change and cradled his face in your palms, thumbs gently caressing over his cheeks as you asked softly, “Where'd you go, my love?”

His eyes stopped staring past you, refocusing on your bright eyes. It's another moment before he replies thickly, “I could never hate you. You are so integrated into my heart and soul that it would be like hating myself.” He captures your lips in a deep kiss, pulling away after a moment to softly rub the tip of his noe against yours. “You are my everything… and Kid's, too. Neither of us could ever hate you.”

Honest tears welled up in your eyes this time. Killer was just like Kid, a man of action when words would to fail him, but ever since your first shared night with them both, Killer seemed to open right up and spill his true feelings whenever he felt the need to.

“I love you.”

You sniffled softly and gave your blonde lover a wide, watery grin as you murmured back,

“I love you with every piece of me.”

Killer's mouth ticks up on one side slightly before he leans down and kisses you again.

“I suppose breakfast can wait…” He murmurs before collecting you against him once more with a content sigh.

It's not five minutes later when Kid kicks the door open with a shout of, “Oi, you're just gonna let us STARVE? Is THAT what you want?!”

You and Killer both give an over-exaggerated sigh before he pulls himself away from you to get up and get dressed. He leans down to kiss you one last time before sliding his helmet on, ignoring how Kid gives a cheeky chuckle before ripping his coat off and kicking his boots to the side of the bed. He flopped next to you, his metal arm resting over your body and keeping you from moving.

“Ack! Get this thing offa me!” You tried to get out, pretending to be crushed by it.

Both men ignored you.

“The usual for breakfast, Captain?” Killer asked as he slipped into his shoes. Kid grunts, the sound causing you and Killer to laugh. Kid lifts his head just enough to glare at you and then his best friend and first mate.

“Care to share with the rest of the fuckin’ class?” He snarks half-heartedly, raising an eye ridge at you as you laugh a little harder.

Before you could even reply, Killer chuckles out, “Our girl's been around you too long. She grunted at me like that not twenty minutes ago.”

Kid turned back to you and gave a whisper of a smile, though his eyes shone with adoration clear as day. “Hm.”

You smiled back, letting your arms curl around his metal one and clinging to it lovingly. You grin to yourself as Kid pulls you to his chest in a gentle but clearly possessive grip. “That's my girl,” he murmurs before placing a loud kiss on your forehead.

“Don't fall back asleep,” Killer warns, crossing his arms for a moment before he stalks towards the still open door. “You have about an hour before breakfast is ready. I'll see you both up there shortly.” You and Kid looked at each other before nodding at Killer, promising him you'd both be there.

The second the door closed, Kid sighs deeply and lets his eyes shut. You grin and pinch one of his nipples, pulling a curse from him as his eyes snap back open to glare down at you.

“The fuck is your problem?” There's no bite behind his words but you still snark back with another grin, “Killer just said-”

Your words are cut off with an undignified squawk as he pushes you back onto the bed and hovers his larger form over yours, a hint of a challenge in his eyes as he leans down to nip at your throat.

“I don't give a fuck what he said, but if you're gonna be a brat, then we can find something else to pass the time with.”

Your grin widens and you're quick to wrap your naked legs over his still clothed hips, grinding your core against his growing chub with a breathy, “I'm also sure we could find something to do…”

Kid grins in return, his flesh hand moving to pull his pants down and freeing himself just enough to slide over your slick folds.

It's not long until your voice echos over the ship, causing most of the crew to groan or sigh heavily with a mutter of, “God, they just never stop…”