#i feel out of the loop and behind and i don't intend to ignore any of y'all here

[blutopaz15]

just wanted to say that this has been kind of a tough year for me in fandoming, but I really really intend to get back to it. I keep trying to get "caught up" here on tumblr especially, and be more active again...but I keep feeling all awkward and overthinky about it. my intentions are still to do so because I miss feeling so good fandoming, and I really really want to get those good feelings and spark back. I have lots of rayllum ideas post s7, plus baby au to keep working on, and lots more older wips too...all this I guess to say that I really, really don't want the mess that's been this year to continue getting in the way of fandoming

[robinvomit]

†  let you down : various.

♦ request: ..no ♦ beta’d: nope ♦ a/n: just Kalico projecting.

𝐃𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐆𝐫𝐚𝐲𝐬𝐨𝐧 —

the apartment feels different tonight.

not in the way that things physically change, not in the way that the walls are any closer together or the furniture is misplaced but in the way that the air is thicker, heavier, suffocating. it sits between you and dick, making it impossible to ignore, impossible to push aside, impossible to swallow down like you have so many times before. the overhead light flickers once, twice, buzzing faintly, but neither of you move to fix it.

dick is standing near the couch, shoulders drawn, hands curled into his belt loops like he's keeping himself from reaching for you, like he's bracing for something he already knows is coming. his hair is still damp from the rain, drops clinging to the ends and falling onto his shirt, but he doesn't bother wiping them away.

he just stands there, silent, waiting.

and you hate that.

you hate that he's waiting for you to be the one to break the silence, to say what's already been weighing between you for weeks, for months, for longer than you're willing to admit.

"you weren't even there, dick." your voice is quieter than you intended but it doesn't make it any less sharp.

he flinches; just barely, but you see it.

"i know."

that's what sets you off.

you laugh, a hollow sound, shaking your head. of course he knows. "you always know. you always say that, but nothing ever changes. you put everyone else first and i get what's left over. and i get it, okay? i get that you're nightwing. i get that you're the big brother, the golden boy, the one everyone looks up to—"

"that's not fair." his voice cuts in, low, defensive.

"but it's true," you snap, stepping forward, your chest aching with the weight of it all. "i'm not asking you to choose between them and me, dick. i'm asking you to stop making me feel like i'm always last."

his lips part slightly, but no words come out.

you watch his breath hitch, the way his hands flex at his sides, the way something in his expression cracks before he forces it back into place. he swallows hard, tilts his head back slightly like he's trying to push down the thing clawing its way out of him, then lets out a bitter, humorless laugh.

"i guess it's not enough, huh?" the words are spoken softly, but there's something broken in them, something that makes the air heavier than before. "no matter what i do, it's never enough."

your throat tightens.

"dick-"

"no, i get it," he interrupts, nodding slowly, his smile twisted into something bitter, something almost mocking - but it's not directed at you. it's at himself. "i let you down, i disappointed you. but who haven't i disappointed?" his voice wavers slightly, breath catching. "who hasn't wanted more from me?"

his hands drag down his face, his posture folding in on itself. he doesn't look like the golden boy anymore, the one who holds everyone together, the one who always has a smile, a joke, a bright presence to contrast the weight of gotham. he just looks exhausted.

"i don't know how to be what everyone wants me to be."

┈┈・୨ ✦ ୧・┈┈

𝐉𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐓𝐨𝐝𝐝 —

the apartment door slams behind him, rattling the frame. the storm outside hasn't let up, rain pounding against the windows, the wind howling through the alleyways, but the tension inside is louder. sharper. jason's breath is uneven, his pulse still hammering in his ears, his fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles are white.

his whole body is still running hot from the night, from the fight, from the words that had been thrown between you with the same force as the blows he'd landed on the bastard who had made the mistake of crossing him.

but this - this fight between you and him? this is the one that matters.

"you don't get to be mad at me." your voice comes from behind him, steady but burning with something deep, something painful.

he turns on his heel too fast, his movement sharp, reactive, instinctual; the way he fights, the way he argues, the way he exists. "don't i? because i think i fucking do."

"oh, what, because i stopped you from killing that guy?" you step forward, arms crossed tightly over your chest. "because i did the one thing you always tell me to do, kept you from doing something you'd regret?"

jason lets out a rough, humorless laugh, running a shaking hand through his hair. "regret?" his lips curl into something that isn't quite a smirk, something mocking but empty. "you think i'd regret putting a bullet in that piece of shit?"

"i think you'd regret what it would've done to you."

the words land like a hit to the ribs. his shoulders tense, his whole frame going rigid, like the impact physically reached him. and you see it. the flicker of hesitation. the part of him that knows, deep down, that you're right.

that pisses him off more than anything.

jason scoffs, his hands twitching at his sides like he needs something to hit. "go on, say it." his voice rises now, sharp, defensive, biting at the edges. "say it. you're disappointed in me, right? you're sick of dealing with this, sick of dealing with me? because let's be real here - when the hell have i ever not been a disappointment?"

the silence that follows is suffocating.

you don't say anything. you just stand there, watching him.

and for the first time all night, jason looks… small.

┈┈・୨ ✦ ୧・┈┈

𝐓𝐢𝐦 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐤𝐞 —

the clock on the wall reads 3:17 am but neither of you have moved from where you stand, locked in a battle that isn't about the words being said - it's about everything underneath them. the room is dim, the only light spilling from the glow of tim's laptop screen across the desk, illuminating the sharp angles of his face, the tension in his jaw, the exhaustion in his eyes. he's standing stiffly, arms crossed over his chest, fingers gripping at his own biceps like he's trying to hold himself together. his breathing is steady, controlled; too controlled. a practiced response, a calculation of how much emotion he's willing to let slip through the cracks.

but you know him. you know that underneath the carefully constructed restraint, tim drake is a hurricane of thoughts, self-doubt, and quiet, gnawing fear. and right now, that storm is brewing.

"you don't let me in," you say, the words quiet, but sharp enough to cut through the silence between you.

he exhales through his nose, his fingers twitching slightly against his sleeve. he doesn't deny it. instead, he tilts his head back just slightly, staring at the ceiling like he's counting the tiles, trying to ground himself, trying to calculate the right response.

"it's not like that."

"it is like that," you press, stepping forward. "you keep everything inside until it eats you alive. i see it, tim. i see how much you take on. you push yourself past exhaustion, you bury yourself in work, and you tell yourself it's fine. that you're fine. but you're not, and you know it."

his jaw tightens, his gaze flicking back to you now, sharper this time, something defensive flashing behind his eyes. "i don't need a lecture."

"i'm not trying to lecture you," you say, exasperation creeping into your tone. "i'm trying to help you. i want to help you."

he lets out a short, bitter laugh, shaking his head. "right. because i'm some charity case, is that it? because i'm just the sad, sleep-deprived mess you need to fix?"

you freeze, the words hitting you harder than you expected, because that's not it at all.

"tim-"

"no, i get it," he interrupts, his voice rising now, something raw underneath it. "i let you down, right? that's what this is? i disappointed you. you're tired of dealing with me, tired of dealing with this, because i don't know how to just - just be a normal person. because i forget things, because i miss dates, because i get lost in my own head and suddenly it's been three days and i haven't answered your texts-"

"that's not what i-"

"but it is, isn't it?" he scoffs, dragging a hand through his hair, his breath coming faster now. "i ruin things. that's what i do. i get so wrapped up in everything else that i forget how to be a person outside of it. and you.." he laughs again, but it's empty, brittle. "you deserve better than that."

the way he says it - not as an apology, not as an admission, but as a foregone conclusion - makes your stomach twist.

"tim, i just want you to let me in." your voice drops now, the fight draining out of you, because you realize what this is actually about. it's not about the missed dates or the late nights at the cave or the way he sometimes disappears into his own world. it's about him believing he has already lost you.

tim shakes his head, looking away, shoulders hunching slightly like he's trying to make himself smaller. "i don't know how."

┈┈・୨ ✦ ୧・┈┈

𝐃𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐚𝐧 𝐖𝐚𝐲𝐧𝐞 —

the study is too quiet, save for the distant sound of rain against the manor's windows. it had started just before you arrived, light at first, then heavy, then relentless - like the way your argument had built itself up, slow and inevitable, before crashing down into something neither of you had the words to stop. damian stands in front of the fireplace but he doesn't turn to face you. his arms are crossed over his chest, his entire posture rigid, tense, coiled like a spring that might snap at any moment. the flames cast flickering light against his sharp features, but his expression is unreadable, carefully constructed.

you don't care.

"you don't listen," you say, voice steadier than you feel, though the weight of the night is dragging heavy on your ribs. "you never listen, damian. you act like every single thing i say is some kind of attack, like i'm trying to insult you when all i've ever wanted is for you to let me in."

he still doesn't turn.

"i do listen," he says finally, his tone clipped, measured, devoid of any real emotion. the mask he wears when he wants to keep control.

you shake your head, stepping forward. "no, you don't. you hear me, but you don't listen. and that's the problem, damian. every time i try to talk to you about something - about how i feel, about how you shut me out - you act like it's an interrogation, like i'm trying to pick you apart instead of just… just trying to be close to you."

his fingers flex at his sides, just slightly. a flicker of movement, barely noticeable, but you see it. you always see it. because despite how much he tries to pretend otherwise, damian wayne is not made of stone.

"i have nothing to say," he mutters, but there's something off about it, something forced.

"of course you don't," you exhale sharply, your voice laced with something heavy. hurt. frustration. something dangerously close to giving up. "you never do.. because it's easier, isn't it? it's easier to act like nothing bothers you. like nothing touches you. like nothing matters. because if you let something matter, if you let me matter—" you break off, swallowing hard, voice catching in your throat.

that's when he turns.

and for the first time tonight, his expression is not unreadable.

it's furious. but not at you.

"do you think i do not know how much i let you down?" his voice is low, steady, but there is something dangerous underneath it. not anger - something worse. a storm brewing under his skin, thunder rolling behind his ribs. "do you think i do not know that i am difficult? that i am demanding? that i expect too much and give too little in return? that i am my mother's blood, my grandfather's heir, my father's soldier, but i do not know what i am to you?"

you blink, stunned into silence.

"i do not know how to be what you need," he says, voice tight, sharp, raw. his fingers twitch at his sides, and for a moment, you think he's going to step forward, reach for you, bridge the distance. but he doesn't.

because damian wayne does not reach unless he knows he will be caught.

"you do," you whisper. "you just won't let yourself."

a crack in the mask. small. barely there. but you see it.

"you are wrong," he says, but his voice lacks conviction. and that, more than anything, tells you the truth.

he is afraid.

afraid that he is too much. afraid that he is too little. afraid that he has let you down. and if he acknowledges that - if he lets himself believe it = then what?

then what is left?

"i am not a mistake."

┈┈・୨ ✦ ୧・┈┈

𝐁𝐫𝐮𝐜𝐞 𝐖𝐚𝐲𝐧𝐞 —

the batcave is cold but the weight of your words makes it feel even colder. you stand just a few feet away from him, arms crossed tightly over your chest, trying to keep yourself together while bruce remains locked in place, his back half-turned toward you. he hasn't moved since the fight began, since the first words slipped out and struck the open wound between you like a blade. you don't know if he's processing it or just waiting for you to give up, like everyone else always does.

his shoulders are taut, rigid with the kind of tension that comes from years of training himself not to react. he is a master at restraint, at shutting things away, at swallowing the parts of himself that should be touched and felt.

you can't take it anymore. you take a step forward, voice low, exhausted in a way that isn't just from the long night but from all of it. “you don't even try.”

his head tilts downward, just slightly, but he doesn't answer.

you shake your head. “you don't, bruce. not with me.”

his jaw tightens, a flicker of movement, but still, he doesn't turn around. he stays where he is, still in the damn suit, his gloved hands braced against the console, like if he lets go, he'll collapse under the weight of everything he refuses to say. the screens cast a cold, artificial glow against the sharp angles of his face, deepening the shadows beneath his eyes, and for once, he looks tired. not just in the way he always does but in a way that makes something twist inside your chest.

“i do try,” he says finally, but his voice is heavy, thick with something that isn't anger, isn't frustration - just something raw, something breaking apart.

you let out a sharp breath, almost a laugh, but there's no humor in it. “no, you don't. i don't need the bat, bruce. i never did. i needed you.”

that's when he looks at you. it's brief - just a flicker, just a moment - but you see it. the way his breath catches. the way his hands clench. the way the words actually seem to hit him in the ribs like a strike. but then, just as quickly, his expression flattens again, and he turns away.

“i don't know how to be that,” he says, and it sounds almost reluctant. as if the admission itself is a weakness. as if he knows how much it's going to hurt but says it anyway, because it's true.

and the worst part? you know that, too.

“that's bullshit.” you step closer now, voice dropping lower, but you're not even sure if you're speaking out of anger anymore or just trying to get him to hear you. “you do know. you just won't let yourself. and i am so goddamn tired of fighting for you when you won't fight for me.”

his throat bobs, barely perceptible, like the words have just caught him off guard. he exhales through his nose, slow and deliberate, but his hands - his hands are shaking. you don't know if he even realizes it. he stays still for a long moment, long enough that you almost wonder if he's just going to let the conversation die, let the silence win. but then, softly, carefully, like the words are coming apart even as he says them;

“i let you down.”

it's not a plea. it's not an excuse. it's a fact.

and that should make it easier to hear, but it doesn't. it just makes it worse.

you swallow, your arms tightening around yourself, because this is what you've been waiting for. not a fight, not another excuse; just this. the truth. the one thing bruce never says out loud, because if he does, it becomes real. and now, it is.

his gaze meets yours for the first time all night, and you see it. the weight of everything. the war inside of him, the exhaustion, the quiet self-loathing, the way he's holding himself together by sheer force of will. it would almost be easier if he got angry, if he yelled, if he pushed back, because then at least he'd be fighting. but instead, all he does is look at you with that expression, the one that says, i know. and i hate it just as much as you do.

“i hate that i can't fix it.”

┈┈・୨ ✦ ୧・┈┈

𝐒𝐭𝐞𝐩𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐞 𝐁𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐧 —

the night air presses against the windows, carrying the distant hum of gotham's restless streets, but inside the apartment, it's dead silent. not the comfortable kind, not the kind that feels safe and familiar - the kind that comes after a storm, when there's nothing left to say, when the damage is already done.

stephanie stands with her arms crossed tightly over her chest, the fabric of her hoodie bunched beneath her fingers, her nails digging into her own skin. she isn't looking at you, her gaze locked somewhere past you, on the wall, on the floor, on nothing at all. she's breathing through her nose, sharp and unsteady, her shoulders squared, but there's a tremble there, just beneath the surface.

"steph-"

"don't." her voice cuts through the space between you, sharp, but not loud. it's not angry, not even frustrated - just… tired. so damn tired.

you swallow, shifting your weight, but you don't move closer. not yet. not when she's standing like that, like a wild animal backed into a corner, waiting for the next hit to come.

"you don't even see it, do you?" she finally looks at you, her head tilting slightly, but there's no playfulness in her expression, no teasing remark to follow it up. just something shattered, something raw. "you keep me at arm's length like i'm just.. i don't know, some temporary thing. like if i disappeared tomorrow, you'd just keep going like nothing happened."

your chest tightens.

"that's not true," you say, shaking your head, stepping forward before you can stop yourself.

she lets out a short, humorless laugh, rubbing her fingers over her forehead. "it is, though. you never let me in. you act like you do, like we're in this together, but you never actually let me see-" she cuts herself off, exhaling sharply, biting the inside of her cheek like she's trying to force the words back.

"see what?"

her gaze flicks back to you, and you realize you don't want to hear the answer.

"that you don't actually trust me."

the words land like a punch to the ribs.

you part your lips, but nothing comes out, because what the hell are you supposed to say to that?

stephanie scoffs, stepping back now, hands falling to her sides, something in her posture shifting—not defensive, just… resigned. like she's already decided how this is going to end.

"i let you down, didn't i?" she mutters, and the way she says it—flat, with an edge of something almost mocking—makes your stomach churn. "i disappointed you. again. story of my life, right? disappointment's kind of my thing."

"that's not—steph, that's not what this is about."

"isn't it?" she tilts her head, eyes flicking over your face, searching for something she knows she won't find. "because that's how it feels. like i'm never enough for you, like i have to fight just to prove that i belong here. like no matter what i do, i'm always just… too much, or not enough, or something in between that makes you second-guess everything about us."

"you're making this into something it's not."

"am i?"

and god, that hurts. not because she's angry, not because she's trying to get a rise out of you - because she genuinely believes it.

she exhales slowly, then looks down, shaking her head. "i don't even know if this was real anymore."

┈┈・୨ ✦ ୧・┈┈

𝐃𝐮𝐤𝐞 𝐓𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐬 —

the old clock in the living room ticks steadily, an unrelenting reminder of how long this argument has lasted. the apartment feels different, like something in the foundation has shifted, like something is breaking apart beneath the weight of everything that hasn't been said. the lights flicker slightly - a storm is rolling in. you don't know if it's the one outside or the one between you and duke that makes it harder to breathe.

he's standing near the window, hands braced against the sill, his back to you. his fingers dig into the wood, tension coiled so tightly into his shoulders that it looks painful. he's always been good at keeping things light, at brushing things off, at making everything seem like it's okay even when it isn't. but he's not doing that now.

now, he's quiet. too quiet.

"duke," you start, voice softer now, like you're trying to step around something fragile, like the wrong move will shatter the last thing holding this together.

he doesn't answer, doesn't move. the muscles in his back shift slightly, like he's just barely resisting the urge to walk away.

"you don't get to shut down on me," you say, stepping forward. "not now. not after all this."

that's what finally makes him move. he exhales sharply, shaking his head, his hands flexing against the sill before he finally pushes off of it and turns to face you.

and god, his eyes.

they're dark, stormy, holding something raw, something guarded, something hurt.

"you think i don't want to?" his voice isn't loud, isn't angry - it's worse. it's tired. like he's been holding onto something too heavy for too long. "you think i don't want to just… let all of this go?" he gestures vaguely, but you know what he means. the fight, the tension, the weight sitting between you like a wall you didn't realize had been building for months.

he laughs, but it's hollow, brittle. "i let you down, didn't i? i disappointed you. that's what you're trying not to say."

you shake your head, frustration curling in your chest, but it's not at him—it's at the fact that he thinks this, that he's already convinced himself of it before you've even had the chance to explain. "no. that's not what this is about."

"then what is it about?" his voice rises slightly now, not in anger but in desperation. "because i don't know what you want from me. i don't know what else i'm supposed to do." he lets out another sharp breath, running a hand over his face before looking at you again. "i thought… i thought i was doing okay.. i thought i was enough."

┈┈・୨ ✦ ୧・┈┈

𝐂𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐫𝐚 𝐂𝐚𝐢𝐧 —

the training mats are still laid out from earlier, the smell of sweat and exhaustion thick in the air, but that's not what's suffocating—it's her silence.

cass is standing in the middle of the room, her posture still, too still, like she's forcing herself not to move. her arms hang loosely at her sides, her breathing is even, controlled, too controlled, and you know. you know she's holding back.

you take a step forward, careful, deliberate, like stepping too fast might make her disappear. “cass.”

she flinches. it's small, barely noticeable, but you notice everything about her. her lips part like she wants to say something, but nothing comes out, and that's when it really hits you.

she doesn't know how to say this.

the weight of it, the way it's pressing against her ribs, against the back of her throat - she doesn't know how to put it into words.

“i don't know what you want me to say.” your voice is quiet, but it echoes in the empty space between you. “i don't even know what this fight is about anymore.”

cass exhales sharply, tilting her head slightly, like she's debating whether or not to answer at all. then, after a long, stretched silence, she finally speaks.

"it's not a fight."

"then what is it?"

she clenches her fists at her sides, her expression still unreadable, but you don't need to read it. you already know.

"it's me."

the words are so quiet, so small, but they hit you like a punch to the gut.

you shake your head, stepping forward, your voice firm, steady. "no. no, don't do that, cass."

she lifts her gaze now, eyes flickering over your face, reading you the way she always does, the way she was trained to do. she's searching, scanning, looking for something to tell her she's wrong.

but she doesn't find it.

because this isn't about you. it's about her.

she swallows hard, the movement small, but everything about her is small right now. the way she's holding herself, the way she's standing like she's waiting to be dismissed, the way her hands curl inward like she's bracing for the impact of something she's already felt a hundred times before.

"i let you down," she says, and it's not a confession. it's a sentence. a fact. something she has already accepted, something she has already convinced herself of before you even opened your mouth. "you're better without me."

┈┈・୨ ✦ ୧・┈┈

𝐊𝐨𝐧 𝐄𝐥 —

the night sky is clear, but the weight between you and kon feels thicker than any storm could make it. the quiet hum of the city below does nothing to break the tension hanging in the air. you're both standing on the rooftop, the place where you've met a thousand times before, but tonight, it feels different.

the space between you feels wider.

he hasn't looked at you in the last five minutes. his jaw is clenched tight, his hands stuffed deep into the pockets of his jacket, shoulders tense beneath the leather like he's trying to hold something in. like if he lets himself relax for even a second, he might fall apart.

"you know that's not what i meant."

your voice is quiet, careful, but he flinches anyway.

"then what did you mean?" his tone isn't sharp, isn't biting - it's worse. it's tired. it's the kind of exhaustion that sits behind the ribs, that lingers in the back of the mind for too long, waiting for the right moment to snap.

you exhale, shifting your weight. "kon, i-"

"don't." he finally looks at you, and god, the way his eyes burn. it's not anger, not really. it's frustration. it's sadness. it's everything he doesn't know how to say. "i know what this is. i know what you see when you look at me."

your heart twists, a sharp ache blooming in your chest. "that's not fair."

"isn't it?" he scoffs, looking away again, running a hand through his hair. "you try so hard not to compare, but i see it. i see the way you hesitate. the way you second-guess when i do things different than he would. and i get it, okay? i do. but i'm not him."

you freeze.

"i never wanted you to be."

"then why do i feel like i have to be?" his voice is raw now, cracking slightly, and he steps forward, closer, but it still feels like he's miles away. "why do i feel like no matter what i do, no matter how hard i try, i'm always going to be second place?" he lets out a breath, shaking his head. "i let you down, didn't i? i disappointed you. because i'm not clark, because i don't fit into the idea of what you thought i should be."

[film-in-my-soul]

I know, I already asked one, but icemav AU: dealers choice?

As agreed upon, Stargate Atlantis AU! Though I'm not gonna lie, this ended up being longer than intended .-.

.⋆｡°✩ Chasing after what might be a ZPM, Maverick and Ice are ambushed by a group of Wraith. ✩°｡⋆.

WARNING: Violence and Hurt/Minor Comfort

Maverick would love to say that the second they stepped through the Stargate it all went to hell, but it didn't, and in hindsight, that makes it worse because it leaves them relaxed when their initial sweep turns up nothing. Combined with the fact they're not even sure they're chasing a ZPM, it's a recipe for a disaster, and they don't even realize it.

Ice gives assurance that his scanner isn't wrong, but Maverick's heard that before, though, and he lets the lead science officer know, accepting the stern glare with a gleeful roll of his eyes. He dutifully follows behind the blond man into the thick forest that's emanating the signal they're chasing, assuring in a whisper that if they wrap up before nightfall, he'll make up for being a brat when they get back to Atlantis. Ice likes it when Maverick works up a bit of a tally anyway, and Maverick enjoys the game of it.

It all feels too calm, but with their last two ground missions leaving the entire team run ragged, Maverick can't help ignoring the small siren wailing in his mind. They're due for an easy in-and-out assignment. Still, he's not team leader for nothing (though Ice would argue it's because someone has to do the real work, and they'd needed Maverick to pick up the slack), so he breaks them off into teams of two, flanking the clustered woods in a wide semi-circle. He and Ice will arrive at the signal first, and with any luck, if they do run into trouble, Wolf, Holly, Slider, and Goose will get there just behind them to help, only stretched out in half-mile sectors.

Of course, that's all easy enough to say and well enough to plan. It doesn't mean that it's guaranteed to work out as well. It doesn't mean that when Maverick and Ice start bickering ("Bet you it's not a zero-point module," "What do I get when you lose?" "Guess you can come to my quarters after dinner and find out if you don't."), heading straight to the little glowing dot on the scanner, Maverick will be able to react when three figures drop, heavy as hell, from above him, taking the both of them to the ground.

In the struggle, before the butt of a rifle is brought down sharply against his temple, and unconsciousness is unavoidable, Maverick catches sight of familiar leather and waxy sallow skin. He has just enough energy to reach, fingernails digging into the soft forest floor toward where Ice is being restrained, the other man's name on his lips before a sweeping blackness swallows up all his thoughts and drags him kicking and screaming into temporary oblivion.

When Maverick comes to, it's with a trickle of blood sluggishly dripping from the point of his chin and nausea rolling up his throat. He's sitting upright, his hands looped behind the tree he's secured to, and across from him, equally as bound, is Ice. The only notable differences are that his lip and left eyebrow are split, his shirt is open, and his uniform jacket is pulled to the sides.

The urge to throw up doubles because Maverick's not an idiot; he knows why the Wraith would do that. He's not made to wonder long if his assumption is correct either because one without a mask, the leader of their three-party trap, steps into Maverick's line of sight and beside Ice, far too close for comfort.

"I will make this simple," the Wraith says, voice low and hissing, its English garbled and rough.

Maveric knashes his teeth, animal instinct kicking wildly in his chest. "Well, it'd be a first for you guys."

The Wraith signals with his head, and from the corner of his eye, Maverick has just enough time to tense his stomach before it's struck hard by a boot, taking his air with it. Tears of pain spring to his eyes, but he refuses to bow and lower his gaze from Ice, who makes a valiant attempt to struggle against the rope holding him.

"Simple," the Wraith repeats, smugness crawling through its tone, making Maverick's skin crawl with disgust. It raises one hand and slowly, tauntingly, brings it toward the patch of exposed skin of Ice's chest. "You will provide the coordinates to Earth."

"Like hell we will," Ice says, thrashing uselessly again, and Maverick feels a pang lance him. The Wraith pays Ice no attention, eyes steady on Maverick.

"You will provide the coordinates. Or I will strip this human of his life force, one year at a time. I will do this slowly. I will make you watch. It will be your fault."

Maverick grinds his back teeth and makes a show of trying to arch forward into his bindings, using the new angle to check where the lead Wraith's two guards are positioned. He notes that they're not watching behind his tree. With that knowledge, Maverick carefully slips the small razor he keeps tucked into the edge of his jacket free, breathing hard as it lightly thumps to the earth before he's able to snatch it up between his fingers a moment later.

"What makes you think reinforcements won't be here before you can do anything?"

The Wraith doesn't answer, simply tilts his head to the side as if sizing up Maverick's bluff, and then lets his hand fall unceremoniously onto Ice's chest. The scream is immediate, and Maverick, forgetting himself, forgetting the idea of freedom, flails his legs and strains in reaction. It's over in less than five seconds, but it doesn't matter. Ice is panting; there's a stamp of red in the shape of the Wraiths palm slits blistering his skin.

"You bastard," Maverick growls, unconsciously holding the razor in his hidden hand tighter, cutting his palm and recentering him at the same time.

"The coordinates. Your remaining team members are being handled as we speak. Attempting to stall me will not aid you, only prolonging your scientist's suffering. Perhaps he can suffer the loss of five years, but more? Would you have him discover this?"

Fuck. Hell. Maverick is going to vomit, and then he's going to carve himself free, and then he's going to kill all of these lifeforce-sucking, vampire assholes.

"Don't- don't you give them anything," Ice wheezes, panting around the pain that's no doubt lingering. "I can take it."

And Maverick, as much as it makes him sick, nods in agreement.

They reach five years gone (assuming the Wraith isn't lying, skimming more off the top), and Maverick can feel that he's only one more careful draw of his hidden weapon from being loose enough to break from the ropes. Ice has screamed himself raw, and he's sweating up a storm, hair flat and damp against his head, limbs shaking so hard that Maverick can see it even at their current distance from one another.

He's reading himself, coiling his muscles in preparation to spring, when from the edge of the small clearing they've been brought to, Maverick catches the faintest hint of movement. For a split second, he's sure it's the other Wraiths trolling around, only, a moment later, just as slowly, he sees the tips of two fingers rise above the topmost leaves of the bush that had shivered. It's an indicator Maverick knows well, and for the first time in the thirty minutes he and Ice have been trapped, he's relieved.

The maskless Wraith draws close to Ice again, and Maverick watches with anguish as the blond tries to press himself back against the tree as far as he can to escape. The look of terror on Ice's face (still mixed with the steadfast determination and rage that attracted Maverick to him in the first place) makes Maverick's decision for him.

"When I get this fucking rope off me, I'm killing you first," Maverick says, and the edge in his voice must be sufficiently sharp because the Wraith pauses for just long enough, turning to gloat or posture. It's the few seconds Maverick needs.

Uncaring of hurting himself, Maverick wrenches his razor back, and with a satisfying snap, the bindings keeping him locked to the tree break, and he's off the ground just as a shot from the treeline takes down the guard on his left. Instinct guides Maverick's movements, and in less than a second, he's scooped up the downed Wraith's stunner pistol and has it aimed at the leader's chest. He squeezes the trigger before he makes the conscious choice to do so, and just in time- the bastard had whirled back on Ice, ready to suck him dry.

Instead, the blast from the stunner hits, and Maverick follows it up with two more, stepping closer with each discharge until he's practically on top of the alien. Only the arrival of the rest of the team and Ice's labored breathing eases some of the red haze from Maverick's vision and reminds him that his priority isn't the now unconscious Wraith but Ice.

Getting him freed with one hand is challenging, the meat of his palm notably stinging from two deep gashes that hadn't been important moments before. Still, Maverick manages it, catching Ice around the waist and easing him to his knees once the restraints fall away.

He's still shaking, his mouth pale and bloodless, his chest red and bleeding from where the Wraith had touched him. Maverick notes, with a stab of guilt so strong it threatens to double him over, that the very edges of Ice's temple are peppered with streaks of silver-gray hairs.

"Mav..." Ice's voice is weak, but it forces Maverick's attention again to where it needs to be.

"Hey, don't talk," he gentles, getting one arm beneath Ice's to bring them slowly back to standing, "I've got you."

From around them, Maverick hears Slider calling in for a Puddle Jumper and extraction and watches with a dangerous kind of satisfaction as Goose and Hollywood level their rifles point blank against the Wraiths, just waiting for the excuse.

"T-told you I could take it." Ice's smirk is wobbly at best and not in the least bit reassuring, but Maverick forces himself to grin even as he bites the inside of his cheek bloody.

"Yeah, you did."

And Maverick is damn sure that it'll be over his dead body if Ice is ever in the position to have to do it again.

Ficlet Bingo! (Still Squares Left!)

[mitzirockerextendeduniverse]

[Hi! For... god, years now, I've had this massive Spreadsheet (yes, it requires a capital letter) of retro JRPGs I've wanted to (1) play my way through and (2) blog about. (1) was fairly easy after I stopped trying to play on original hardware, but I found it surprisingly hard to do (2) without it devouring all my free time. So instead of a dedicated blog, I'm just gonna do these short summary posts here whenever I beat a game. There's two in the backlog right now, starting with...]

What it is: The Tower of Druaga (ドルアーガの塔 Druaga no Tō) for Famicom, released on the 6th of August, 1985, developed and published by Namco. Based on the arcade game of the same name from June 1984, also published by Namco and chiefly designed by Masanobu Endō, creator of early scrolling shmup Xevious, it's the first game in - the Spreadsheet as a whole, yes, but also the Babylonian Castle Saga, a collection of (for the most part) vaguely RPG-like action games that tell the story of a prince named Gil, his lover, the priestess Ki, and their quest to restore peace to their loosely-Babylonian fantasy world.

What it's about:

I think the attract screen puts it pretty well! There's some more wrinkles to the backstory, which I mostly got from a strategy guide released at the time - an invading empire, the goddess Ishtar, the precise mechanics behind why, exactly, this is our heroes' last chance to save their kingdom - quite a lot for a mid-80s arcade game. It's pretty thin by RPG standards, but as a setup, it works, and I found it surprisingly engrossing.

How it plays: How do you make an RPG work in the arcade? Apparently, you turn it into a Pac-Man clone. Okay, that's a little flippant; Druaga may be a maze chase game, but there's a lot more going on in it than in most arcade games of its day. On the surface, it's a game about running around mazes, killing monsters, and grabbing keys to get to the next floor, until you defeat Druaga and rescue Ki on the top of the tower. All you have to do is fight your way to the sixtieth floor, right?

In any other arcade game of its era, maybe, but not here. Almost every floor of the tower also contains a hidden treasure that can only be revealed by performing a specific action unique to that floor. The higher Gil gets up the tower, the more he'll need them, from books to reveal the layout of darkened floors to a series of items that turn the increasingly common dragons from the most dangerous enemies in the game to an easily ignored afterthought. Pretty much every useful item in the game (there's several duds and a few traps) is needed to defeat Druaga, so knowing where they are and how to reveal them is absolutely key to beating the game.

The catch - because of course there's a catch - is that neither the treasures' locations nor their revealing methods are signposted at all. Every single one has to be trial-and-error brute-forced out, and they can get pretty arcane - entering a fairly long cheat code, defeating several enemies in a specific order, walking over a particular tile in a particular direction... The intent was for arcade-goers to 'solve' the game together, figuring out all its secrets over the course of weeks or months, but when you don't have a friendly mid-80s Japanese arcade crowd to help you out all you're left with is a mountain of guesswork. Or a walkthrough, which has been a standard bonus feature on its Namco Museum rereleases since the mid-90s.

What I thought: I had a lot of fun with this game! Admittedly I was using a walkthrough (in Japanese, because part of the purpose of the Spreadsheet is to practice my language skills) to bypass about half of the Intended Experience��, but the other half, the straightforward arcade action Pac-Man-with-a-sword gameplay loop, was engaging enough in its own right. Gil controls really well, you never feel like you're fighting the programming instead of the monsters, you can always tell why you died even if the game took a cheap shot, and its insanely generous continue system lets you jump right back to the level you were on with all your items intact when you run out of lives. It's still tough, but it's tough in a fair way, breaking up its fast-paced action into discrete digestible chunks with a chance to breathe between every floor. And frankly, though it is 1980s quarter-muncher hard, I've played indie puzzle platformers that were much worse.

And I do think it succeeds at distilling the RPG into an arcade format, though the result is only an RPG by the loosest possible definition. Despite the lack of numbers and exploration (well, in a sense) there's a distinct feeling of progression to Gil's journey up the tower, a kind of character growth uncommon to - basically any genre outside the RPG in 1984. As Gil collects treasures, he grows faster, stronger, better at navigating the labyrinths, to the point that, despite the increasingly tougher challenges the game throws at you, it almost gets easier the further along you get. With the continue system I mentioned, you can even jump back to floors you've already cleared (mostly to replace a particular item that occasionally breaks) and breeze through the monsters that once gave you so much trouble. It's this kind of thoughtful design that makes me really appreciate Druaga, more than I honestly expected to when I first booted it up. Give it a try, it's pretty good!

[portraitsofguilt]

✮ — MOMMY OR DADDY? ; sevika, renata glasc, cassandra, ambessa, grayson, vayne, samira

minors dni; afab reader. nsfw ! — lowercase writing intended, suggestive themes, mommy and daddy kink,

moss' notes; you might not see eye to eye with my headcanons or characteristics that i defined as being more mommy or more daddy, but please enjoy this nonetheless!

first laying some grounds for the criteria of what i define or use as characteristics for deciding who is more mommy and who is more daddy. THIS FIC IS NOT ABOUT ROLE PLAY, IT'S ABOUT THE KINK !

— MOMMY

mommies are more nurturing, they utter kind words to cherish, care for and protect you, help or courage whatever your dreams or goals are. they are good at telling you how they feel, and although they might take some convincing to do so, they are open about their feelings so the two of you can work any problems or discomfort out quickly and as effectively as possible. they are protective like a mother figure, they don't just protect you from physical harm with their words but would rather lie for you than have you in any conflict. she often tries to take interest in your interest, maybe look after it, and suggests making time with her regarding that interest. they are so affectionate you might get sick of them, and they express their emotion overbearingly which might cause you to think they are being clingy and overshooting the point of validation.

— DADDY

daddies have a harder time expressing their emotions, either because they are closed off or are afraid they won't appear as strong in your eyes as they originally deemed you see them. they would rather see you in jail as a cause of teaching you a lesson than have you get away with murder. they are protective like a father figure, and they use physical force if they need to so to not see you harmed. they rather show their feelings through physical touch rather than uttering sweet words to you out loud. she often shows you her current hyper fixation, trying to rope you into the loop of it and convince you to make plans with her while she had already had you confined to a chair just doing that. they might seem distant because of their lack of showing their emotions and you might rule them ignorant, cold, and uncaring of how you are but that is not true! they care about you deeply, they just have a hard time verbalizing it.

— sevika ˖⁠♡

sevika is a person who won’t hesitate to kill anyone for you and then ask for a reward, say that you should thank her in whatever way you see fit. she strings you along like a puppet to get you wherever she wants you, and persuade you to do things with her or for her. she won’t cross a line, that is something you can be certain about, but she will say some words that you might not all favor. she acts daddy, with all her aggressive words and moves, walking tall and proud, ready to give out some slaps to keep those around her in place. behind closed doors, she is less demanding and less of a “tough guy” but still not enough to give in to her gentle emotions and rant about how much she loves you. she is a person who picks a play time partner by how fun it will be, that she gets the most out of it but not with you, not anymore, she is ready to settle just doesn’t know how. call her daddy, she will like it! she will be even more proud of herself, hearing you call her such a thing gives her a newer perspective and opens up the vulnerable side of her knowing that you trust her like this.

“got ya a pretty present, princess! it’s your favorite, i went through real trouble to get it so you gotta thank it later, alright? come with me to that game i told ya about?”

— cassandra ˖⁠♡

she is a true mommy, the fittest of them all, if not for being a mom already, then because she would have a feel for being it. she carries herself around with not only presitge but with the kind of gaze that you know she cares about those who are around her. the councilwoman will pay extra attention to whatever interests you and share some of her tips for saving money so you can do more of your hobby. she won’t be too explicit about her affection towards you out in public, but behind closed doors she utters the most beautiful of compliments, calls you her sweetest girl, that no wealth can compare to you. cassandra will need a little time to warm up to the idea of being a mommy in a sexual context and that it means that she takes care of you in a different kind of sense rather than the usual mom duties.

“my sweetest girl, surely there is non i can help you with right now? say to word and i am taking you home, you don’t really have to be around here if you don’t like. i take you home, we have lunch, play a little maybe, or just sit around, hm?”

— renata glasc ˖⁠♡

renata is the perfect definition of a mommy, without a question. she has the means to support you financially, the power and influence to help you reach your wildest dreams. she loves spoiling you, be it your favorite food, snack, or something you have wanted and just mentioned to her that you planned to buy it. she likes checking in on you if not hourly, either she appears or one of her most trusted fellows, making sure you are well and content. this might sound possessive and it is, but she is just so terrified of something happening to you while she is not there, she would rather hear you complain than not hear you at all. she might be a little closed off, a tad bit embarrassed about how she has a liking for being called mommy but that shouldn’t stop you from calling her that, she will click into the rhythm very soon and will call herself mommy, playing along.

“have you had a good day? my day was like usual, work towering high but i got you something because i knew my darling would be very fond of it. go ahead… open up, don’t make me wait too long.”

— ambessa ˖⁠♡

ambessa rather punch a hole through a wall, start another war, or begin her angered rant about some fool that tried to wife her before talking about her truest feelings. there are no such things as emotions in front of her people, she is a warlord, and she is supposed to be scary rather than scared. she is fearless, a true warrior, and a really hard nut to crack- ambessa is the perfect definition of a daddy. while she adores the title of being a daddy to you, but she would much appreciate it if you’d address her as mistress or warlord, but she is fit for a daddy whenever you feel like calling her one. she can be cruel sometimes, making you practice the sort of skills of survival that piltover no longer sees necessary, shedding blood and coerce you into taking a life, prove her if it comes to it you can protect yourself. ambessa can’t admit out loud that she is starved for being touched and so she sometimes can go overboard with physical attention, just give her a hug out of the blue and she will be thinking about it for the rest of her life.

“is there anything you don’t do for me, my girl?

— grayson ˖⁠♡

grayson’s shell radiates the typical daddy vibes, a person who is afraid to commit to their feelings and would rather gift you something than tell you how much she loves you. but grayson isn’t really a daddy, she is a mommy without a doubt. she is very protective of you, and would risk her job even if you think that’s silly, she would lie instead of seeing you behind bars, and not without reason. she might not be the wealthiest person, being an enforcer isn’t the highest-paying job, but her connections can help you to climb some ladders if needed. grayson has never been a mom, the closest she got was maybe training caitlyn and when you call her mommy for the first time it’s just something she gets drunk off of and becomes a little addicted. she is overbearingly loving, can’t stop calling you sweet pet names and tell you how pretty you are, how she can’t get over the fact that she finally can settle down and not be afraid of taking a bigger step in her life alone.

“dearest of mine, i am sorry for being late, but this job… thankfully i am staying home, like it or not. what about if we go around the city, visit your favorite café for an afternoon sweet?”

— vayne ˖⁠♡

shauna needed no introduction to the name calling, although she started out calling herself daddy which is very understandable. she is closed off, not at all willing to let anyone be emotionally close to her due to her fear of them being taken away once again. she does appear to be on the daddy side because of her need for vengeance, the way she fights, talks, and lives her everyday life but soon will grow into the more mommy side of her personality. shauna will always be a mommy, she just needs a little more time to really appreciate being called one. with the space left for her she will be more open, now you won’t need to use those clues you picked up along the way to understand how she is feeling because she will tell you herself how she feels.

“my moon, the night is still not clear of the demons but i will never let them take you, i would never ever let that happen. if it means that i have to give up hunting them, then be it, as long as i can keep you safe.”

— samira ˖⁠♡

samira is the person who if caught in the right moment can be very open about her feelings and won’t shut you out or shut down as soon as she realizes she is getting weaker and weaker with each word she utters. her appearance, her strong frame, the clothes she wears, and the way she talks all scream mommy. being called mommy would be a new thing for her, she had never really thought about this kind of thing, but then not a lot stayed with her as long as you have. samira might be a fighter, a woman who brings both a gun and a sword to a fight, spreading herself thing but don’t forget about her just because she looks so put together, mommies can hide their emotions well.

“habib albi, my sword is not a pretty toy to play with, at least not like this! you are gonna cut yourself, can’t have you bleeding my pretty girl. gotta keep you safe, okay?”

tag list ; @mxyx-rx444 @darlingmisa @einrosa @sevikasangel @nopealoupe @pixiegirlz @gonegonethankyouuu @xthescarletbitch @orang3-ish @bigboobslilheart

[monpalace]

Twilight is an attentive lover, but he's most used to the affections shared between couples in Ordon— whether he's with the other Links or not. He's always willing to change something he's doing for his significant other so long as it's within his moral values.

Dates are strange if you can excuse his dislike for sitting in fancy restaurants and being crowded around others. He prefers going on walks in towns or (preferably) a forest due to his more rural upbringing.

He prefers using nicknames as opposed to his significant other's name. Doll, sweetheart, and beau are some of his favorites, but he has a much more expansive list. On the off chance he does use their real name, it's likely to call their attention or show his displeasure.

Between being a rancher, the (one of) Goddesses’ Chosen Hero(es), entertaining Ordon’s children, and trekking throughout all eras of Hyrule; Twilight has quite a busy schedule.

The most downtime he has is between past sundown and a few hours before sunup. He knows his significant other might not have the same schedule as him, so he always offers to bring them along with him. He rarely asks them to assist in anything he has to do, not wanting them to get their hands dirty regardless of if they do similar work.

Twilight is just like his (great?) grandfather in terms of being a gentleman. He'll open doors, offer his hand when getting off something or over puddles, and stand behind them when going up stairs regardless of if they're bigger or smaller than him.

Unlike a few other Links, Twilight is the type of lover to walk on the side of the road where all the horses and carriages are, gently pulling his significant other to the side where the danger isn't.

(Wind and Wild are the types to pull someone into the middle of the road with them while traffic is high.)

Twilight isn't the best gift giver and it's a fact he's very aware of. He prefers acts of service, quality time, and physical touch when it comes to giving his significant other a love language. In return, he doesn't quite care which one he receives given his lack of experience in relationships, though any of them are enough to make him flustered.

He loves public displays of affection when he's around the other Links or anyone from Ordon— the issue comes up when it's around anyone with a noble background. He knows he saved his Hyrule, but royalty always makes him nervous. An easy workaround for him is to completely avoid any event he's invited to, but he's easily persuaded into joining.

You can feel Twilight's hands become clammy beneath the gloves he wore. He tries to inconspicuously wipe them off on his button-up, the lace of the collar and the way your arm looped through his made it look more awkward than he intended.

I hate this, he signs as his tongue darts out to wet his lips. I don't know why you talked me into this.

Ignoring his words, you fix the tie that lay between the lace, eyes just barely sliding over the nobility of Hyrule that surrounded you. “Relax,” you respond in a hushed whisper, placing a hand on his rigid back, “they're Hylians, not Bokoblins. They won't eat you.”

Almost against his will, Twilight’s spine begins to curve when you pull away. The arm that held onto his moves to instead grab hold of his hold, pulling him through the conversing crowd to one of the less populated hallways.

The air was less suffocating to him, thankfully, but his muscles still ached from his stiffness.

Twilight has to clear his throat to remove the wavering feeling from it. “You don't think they’ll talk?” His voice was low, almost a murmur of fear. “Do I look fine? Do you think they think I look fine? Is my—”

You shush him by placing a hand on the nape of his neck, carefully minding his slicked hair, and pulling him closer so he could be level. “They don't care,” you hum. You press a kiss to his cheek, ignoring how he chases after you pull away. “They really don't,” you reiterate, “just calm down and act somewhat natural.”

“Do we have to go back?”

“Yes.”

Twilight's mood quickly dampens once more.

(So much for the Hero of Courage.)

[ceruleanangel]

"...You Can Clean Me in the Shower."

Pairing: Vi x Fem! Reader

Words: about 1k

Vi comes home bloodied after a fight, you help clean her up, despite Vi's other thoughts

"Hey,"

You gaze up from your book, Vi stands there, blood staining her lips, along with all the various scars and bruises littering her body.

"Hey," you breathe, glimpsing back at the book before slamming it shut. Vi watches intently, jumping a little at the harsh closing of the book.

This is a somewhat common occurrence, but you have still never gotten used to it. Sighing, you rise from your seat, heading to the medicine cabinet.

She plunges herself down on your still warm seat, you cringe as the blood drips into the upholstery.

You gather the disinfectant and a cloth and take slow steps. You come to stand in front of her, waiting expectantly.

She looks up at you, a bloody, apologetic smile on her face. You blink slowly in return, shaking your head. You hate seeing her like this, knowing the pain that's behind every bruise and scrape.

While you're contemplating Vi's suffering, you feel her eyes travel up your body, very slowly.

Internally rolling your eyes, you drop down into Vi's lap, straddling her hips, careful not to brush any wounds. You soak some of the cloth with the disinfectant, feeling her rough hands settle on your waist.

"This may sting," you warn, reaching up. One of Vi's hands comes up to catch yours, before you can clean the wound on her forehead.

"Hey...hey, look at me," Vi tries to catch your eye, to convince you of the worthiness of this fight. You, instead keep your eyes trained on her wound. You hold your poker face, if you break this early, you'll never get her cleaned up.

You hold your silence, until Vi speaks again, "I'm sorry, baby I just-"

You softly break your hand out of the grip of hers and lean in. She grunts as you connect the cloth with her forehead, her other hand's fingers digging into your waist. Your hand comes to her jaw, lightly lifting it up for easier access to her other cuts. "Hun, please stop, it stings," Vi huffs.

You search her face for more, saying, "I told you it would," matter of factly.

Too trained on making sure none of these cuts gets infected, you don't notice the glint in her eye that seems to grow everytime you ignore it, or the way her hands are dancing their way up and down your spine. Your firm concentration is finally broken when Vi suddenly leans in, centimeters from your face, eyes staring directly into yours.

"Hun, won't you please stop being so cold..." You feel yourself shiver, suddenly very aware of her emboldened wandering hands.

Your eyes drop down to her lips for just a moment, before your brain steps in to declare, "...I have to get this cleaned." You quickly grab her jaw and push the cloth to a cut on her cheek.

"Agh, that was dirty, babe," Vi grits through her teeth. You sigh in relief, momentarily escaping the tension.

You breathe out and push up from her shoulders and start back towards the cabinet to grab another cloth. But Vi swiftly catches you by your belt loop and tugs you back. You stumble and fall rearward on to her lap. Her arms entrap you, your back against her chest. you groan,

"I'm trying to make sure you don't get infected,"

"and I'm trying to get some love,"

you try to say something, but Vi expertly presses a kiss on your neck, right where it's sensitive. And just like that, any words you intended to say, dies in your throat.

"I…"

"uh huh, tell me about it hmm?" Her kisses persist down to the base of your throat. You feel your body grow weak, as Vi grabs the bottle from you and sets it on the side table, the cloth simply dropping to the floor. Your mind, losing whatever you were supposed to be doing.

"ohh..mmm," you hum. Vi turns you around on her lap to face you, and you easily comply. After all, at this point, you're like putty in Vi's hands

Your body leans in without thinking, your hands grasping at her shoulders as her hands squeeze at your waist.

Her lips meet yours, that oh-so familiar gash sending heat blooming throughout your body. Your nose brushes against the cold metal of her nose ring, causing you to gasp.

Vi seizes the moment and deepens the kiss, exploring every inch of your mouth, as if she doesn't already know it like the back of her hand.

Although you'd love to bask in her rich presence, the taste of blood in her mouth brings you back to reality.

You push back, head still reeling to create a cohesive thought,

"No..no I have to…" She silences you with another kiss,

"No, no I think you should stay here with me, my pretty girl~"

It takes everything in you to push off her shoulders and quickly back away out of her reach, your legs shaking, especially after that last...statement.

"No!..I won't succumb to your siren's spell!" you exclaim, leaning on the opposite armchair.

After a moment of silence, Vi bursts into laughter and you eye the long forgotten bottle of disinfectant.

"...Oh god...you are too cute." Vi states as she stands up, approaching you. Cornering you against the wall, you plea, "Vi stop, I haven't finished cleaning you up yet!" Vi smiles and leans down, whispering in your ear,

"Don't worry hun, you can clean me up in the shower."

[ruki--mukami]

"How interesting... After all this time, I suppose it's appreciated that you know my feelings. It's surprising, even, to an extent. But I hope you understand that I don't want to fall into a loop of repeated mistakes. Someday I might be able to simply face you without nothing bad eventually coming into my mind, fearing both your and my reaction to any spoken word. Trust is a powerful tool that I don't know if I possess anymore. However..."

Scarlett's voice, rather solemn and calm, was loud enough for him to hear; as opposed to the aggressive tone she'd usually use around the vampire.

"Despite not being able to forgive you right away, I'd hate to know that you'd look at me with pity, regret or some sort of sadness. Don't get me wrong, I did want you to regret, but... until I come to terms with the reality of things, I'd rather give a little, a tiny bit of hope."

She breathed in and out, bringing up a small box, almost protected by her hands.

"So... Okay, you see, I had this in the back of my drawer, neglected, ignored, and I hesitated more than once trying to give it to you and I didn't find a good moment, be your birthday, or mine, or... ughhh... whatever, it's not much and it probably lost all relevance by now but I can't keep it anymore, so... please accept this?"

"Maybe it's not your style, but, uh, I don't know. You can do whatever you want with it."

Hesitant, almost shy, Scarlett handed the little box to Ruki. Its content was a floral-themed brooch, crafted with small jewels: diamond, ruby and sapphire specifically, creating the imagery of little forget-me-not flowers surrounding a golden ornament.

"It's no one's birthday anymore, but consider it a belated gift, or just... a gift."

"It would take a fool not to, Scarlett. As atrocious as you might deem me, I'm well aware you're more than justified in wondering what I might do next out of pure apprehension. I suppose my methods of showing you how much I care are more than just unconventional. Though I suppose that puts us in the same boat in some aspects—I, too, don't want to commit the same irreversible mistakes. Dropping the entire 'master' and 'livestock' labels… the whole concept of imprisonment. Not to mention the repeated verbal assaults we often resort to."

A slight chuckle escaped him as they watched each other.

"Well, I suppose I don't mind a bit of that if it means seeing you smile for once, even if your reason for doing so wouldn't be my first choice. I understand that, ideally, trust is a two-way street. Which is why I never believed in the concept to begin with… but as far as you're concerned, I'm willing to see if I might be mistaken after all."

Hearing each word escape the Ghoul's lips like a soft zephyr as opposed to the eye of the storm sincerely astonished the Vampire as an odd sense of both regret and the faintest glimmer of remorse suffused him, all neatly hidden behind slightly parted lips and widened steel-blues at the sight of a less-than-usual defensive Scarlett. Contrite and pliable by their increased distance, Ruki reciprocated her solemn tone.

"I don't expect you to forgive me at all. No amount of tangible gifts, homemade meals, or affectionate gestures you most likely hate with all your being can remedy that. It's only natural you might recoil."

Then, a glint of curiosity ignited in his gaze.

"A tiny bit of hope, you say. Do tell. I had given up on all hope long ago, but I'd like to see you enlighten me if you will."

Immediately he looked at the small box in her gloved hands with double the wonder. They say good things come in small packages, and while Ruki wasn't the one to take clichés seriously, he had taken notice of the Ghoul's penchant for miniscule items in the past.

"Ah, birthdays. Forgive me. I know those times were rather turbulent for us, despite the occasion. We've both been alive for longer than any human would ever want to be, so I paid it little mind—but if this is truly a gift intended for me, then I wholeheartedly accept. You need not worry about me casting it away if it's coming from you, Scarlett. Even if it's not exactly my style, I'm certain I'll find use for it."

Bold statements for one who has yet to view the inside of the box, yet he knew he could trust the Ghoul's sincerity given how uncharacteristic it was of her to approach him in such a hesitant manner. Not hesitant out of trepidation, but perhaps hesitant out of finally exhibiting the gall to set aside their differences and bestow a gift for him. Slowly unraveling its contents, a faint blush dusted his pallor as he held the scintillating brooch in his hand, admiring its metallic details and the gemstones symbolic of their convoluted relationship.

"These... These are much like the flowers from before.” 

As ruby as her vermillion tresses; as sapphire as his windows to the soul—or perhaps she would suggest lack thereof. Diamonds, adamant as their resolve. Personalities that would neither bend nor break to one another, yet he admired that detail immensely. The sight would have taken his breath away he had been alive, so instead he showed his appreciation but swiftly pinning it to the lapel of his blazer for all to see.

“Even after everything you've experienced, you would go out of your way to give this to me... Truly, no sufficient words can capture how I feel right now. Scarlett, you never fail to perplex me. And I mean it in the best of ways. You're unpredictable, you're trying your utmost best to reconcile, and your thoughtfulness is surprisingly endearing to me. I shall cherish this brooch forever and think of you when I wear it."

Indicative of his gratitude, the Vampire finally smiled at her. He refused to suddenly force an affectionate gesture like before, and instead took a gentle hold of her gloved hand, intertwining it with his own over the coveted accessory almost as if they put the brooch on his clothing together. Had he been human, she might be able to feel a pulsating beat beneath those layered articles, but what he lacked in mortality he accommodated for drastically in blooming adoration deep within, evidenced by his florid visage.

"Just as I thought, it truly is beautiful. A beautiful gift from someone worth treasuring, rather than tarnishing. You have my thanks, Scarlett. We can 'hate' each other until the end of time, clash until we both burn together, but even so I shall cherish you for as long as I live. Like this brooch would symbolize, there isn't a passing moment I'll forget my resolution to you."

[houseofdabs]

Heirloom

so I was thinking about the scar on Bo's chin and well,,

warnings: child abuse

please heed the warning this isn't just it mentioned in passing, it goes in depth so if that makes your uncomfortable please don't read

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

The slow day had finally came to an end and Bo was thankful for the hot stream of the shower that helped ease the physical ailments that had came from the day, but no matter how strong the water his mind couldn't be washed of the pain as easily. While his muscles relaxed under the temperature, the thick rope of tissue around his wrists felt numb and itched, the two sensations threw his mind for a loop. He was quick to finish his shower, not wanting to get lost in his thoughts no matter how the warm quilt like air beckoned him and promised a safe embrace within it's steamy abyss. He grabbed the towel off the rack and ignored how the water rolled off him and soaked the mat under his feet uncomfortably. Once dried off and dressed, Bo stepped in front of the mirror and began his nightly routine. He wiped the condensation from the mirror but his movements faltered as his eyes dropped to the faint scar on his chin.

The memory was so clear in his mind, so fresh he would have thought it happened the day before had there not been physical evidence that it happened a long time ago for it to have healed. He stared down at the deep red of the jewel that sat in the middle of the band of his father's school ring, the same red that the ring made him bleed one afternoon in his childhood.

It had been a pretty good day, maybe that's why it made the memory so powerful; how fast the mood switched and the fact he had to relive it every time he looked in the mirror. Trudy had struggled to find work but had managed to snag a pricey commission for some function in a town nearby, she didn't care for details aside that it would be doubled of what her usual price was. The influx of money put the family in a good mood, and Trudy wanting to share the wealth, decided to pamper her family.

She took them to a nice little mom and pop shop outside of New Orleans to pick up ingredients for dinner and allowed the boys to get one sweet of their choice. It had been great, no sign of the usual aggravation from Trudy or Victor, and Trudy had even let Bo hold her hand while they walked the sidewalk. Everything was going great up until it was time for dessert. Bo and Vincent had helped in the kitchen with as much as they could, Lester lay in the living room napping while Victor watched the game on the tv. No matter how many mistakes Bo made, he was determined to make everything work, he'd make his mother proud-- he was sure of it. But with each miniscule mess up from the child, Trudy's patience continued to wear down.

It all came to a head when, in Bo's excitement, he had managed to knock into his mother who was carrying a large dish of banana pudding she intended to put in the fridge. The dish dropped and broke, spilling the contents of the desserts all over the linoleum flooring. Trudy frozen in shock stared at it with horror. Bo could feel his tiny heart beat against his ribcage, his chest felt tight and his face felt hot, he was terrified of how she'd react.

"That baking dish belonged to your father's mother.." Trudy mumbled, still staring at the ground. "Mama, m'sorry! I didn't mean it, I'll clean it up, please mama, please don't be mad." Bo shook and hot tears spilled over his waterline as he scrambled to collect any cleaning supplies he could find.

"Ohoho.. you're in trouble... what? You can't watch where you're going, you ain't got eyes, boy?" Trudy turned on her heel and stared down at Bo with a sneer, her jaw clenched. "Just wait til your father hears about this." And then she disappeared out of the kitchen. Bo clutched the broom, holding onto it as if he tried hard enough he could disappear behind it, that it could protect him from what was to come.

He was quick to try to dive into the laundry room when he heard the booming steps of his father, his mother's heels a twisted harmony to his father's footfalls. Unfortunately he hadn't been quick enough in his movements and he was yanked back by the collar of his shirt, making him gag as he was choked by the material.

"Where the fuck you think you're going, slick?" His father stared at him with wild eyes full of malice, his nostrils flared as he huffed at the child.

"Didn't mean it, I didn't mean it, was an accident papa I swear, please, please, please.." His words slurred together as he tried to his best to apologize, begging the best he could. His small arms tried to wrap their way around Victor's torso before he was yanked back again by the collar.

"DON'T!" Victor shouted in the boys face, loud enough to make his ears hurt, Bo's arms were yanked down when he tried to protect his ears. "Now you listen to me when I speak to you, got it?" All Bo could do was sniffle as he shook beneath the harsh gaze of his father.

"I don't care how much of an 'accident' it was, you did wrong and you're gonna pay for it, you know how much that dish meant to your grandmother, it's one of the only things I have left of her but you-" he jabbed his finger in Bo's chest, causing the boy to flinch again only for Victor's grip to tighten, "you have to mess it up, that all you good for, huh? Just ruining things? Can't have nothing good around here and it's all cause of you."

Bo glanced over at his mother, she had been so nice that morning, the both of them had, he could only hope she'd intervene this time, his eyes begged at her and she only turned and ignored the scene as she cleaned up. He looked at Vincent who was sitting at the kitchen table, his shoulders hunched as he tried to tune out the yelling of his father. Victor grabbed Bo's chin and forced him to look at him again, his eyes bloodshot as he stared deep into the boy.

"Nu-uh, you don't look at them, they're not gonna help you, now how are you gonna pay back for doing that--"

"But papa I said it was an a-" SMACK!

Victor had reeled his arm back and backhanded Bo before he could finish, the hard materials of the ring sliced into the soft skin of Bo's chin, and automatically blood flowed. He paid no attention and continued in on his interrogation.

"You don't fucking interrupt me you little shit! Don't you EVER fucking speak while I'm talking to you, you got that?" Vector was screaming into his ears again and Bo could only focus on the throbbing pain in his chin as he felt the warm liquid trail down his neck and onto his father's hand. Victor looked at his son's blood on his hand with disgust, shoving the boy away from him before going to clean his hand. Bo fell backwards, way too scared to make any move that would worsen his father's mood.

His eyes met his mother's again and a whole new set of tears trailed his cheeks as he sobbed, his bottom lip trembled as he tried to muffle his sobs. Trudy had been so nice, he hoped she still felt nice in that moment, he really wanted a hug. Instead he laid on the cold tiled floor, a small puddle of blood pooling at his fingertips. Victor finished cleaning himself up before giving Bo one last cold glare.

"Get your ass off the floor and clean yourself up, then you can come in here and clean up your mess and then go to you room. Think we're gonna feed you after that little stunt you pulled?"

Bo had did everything his father told him, and in his room, while he listened to his family carry on downstairs, he rocked himself in a sad attempt of self soothing. He cried himself to sleep that night, like countless times before. Vincent curled at his back as he tried to console his twin in the best way he could.

Bo stared at the small indent in his chin before ripping his eyes away, they fell on his wrists instead. The thick bands of scars that wrapped around his wrists were just as much of heirlooms as the cold ring that he wore on his finger, both he had received from his late father. It seemed that he could only get things from his parents, and not they themselves. But heirlooms didn't yell, or hit, or ridicule, so he could stand to have a piece, if that's all he was allowed.

[tommyinnit-fic-recs]

any tommy and wilbur fics?

yep!

Here you go:

tommyinnit's clinic for supervillains by bonesandthebees (bonesandcacti) [Rated T, 164951 words, incomplete, last updated December 2021]

“W-What do you- I mean can I- are you here to rob us?” The person managed to stammer out.

Siren snorted. “No. I’m just here to order some food.”

“Wh-What about him?” The cashier asked, glancing at Tommy. “Did you- did you kidnap him?”

“I mean… yeah, let’s go with that in case this ends up on the news,” Siren shrugged, looking back at Tommy. “I kidnapped you, right?”

“Yeah, sure,” Tommy agreed, knowing that if they said he was kidnapped, it would keep people from getting suspicious of why he was seen in public with Siren. “Anyway, can I get the chicken nuggets happy meal, with a coke?”

or, how Tommy—who is not a hero, or a villain, or even a vigilante—saves the life of one of L'Manberg's most feared supervillains, and accidentally ends up becoming the resident doctor for every supervillain in town (and maybe gets a family along the way too).

One Big Human Heart (Gently Beeping) by grasstastic [Rated T, 28345 words, incomplete, last updated December 2021]

The screen goes blank, and then flickers back on again.

[Stick Boy’s Adventure]

[Please insert TWO PRIMES to play]

He sighs, it is an audible noise, leaving through his speakers. He is the hero of this game, he has won a million times, and will win a million times more.

It does not matter how many times he wins the game, in the end, it always resets, and He finds himself back at the start once more. Trapped in an endless loop.

He is not a toy. He is not a game.

He is a person.

Or at least, He was. AKA

Y’all rockin’ with the song Cabinet Man by Lemon Demon? Hell yeah. It’s the living arcade game AU no one asked for but everyone needs.

I wish for this no more (I wish to be fixed) by Crystalcatgamer [Rated T, 9320 words, incomplete, last updated November 2021]

Philza makes Tommy on impulse, wanting to make Wilbur a doll that could keep him company whenever he and Techno left him behind.

Tommy is made of wood and glued together with magic and laughs and jokes and snarks and obeys Wilbur's orders.

He learns to love a family that doesn't love him back(anymore) and realises it only when everything is gone as the world regards him as a broken toy.

Tommy has feelings, but he's just a doll, isn't he?

Guitar Strings and Keyrings are What it Takes to Build a Home by Anonymous [Rated T, 63234 words, complete]

Techno was adopted by Phil when he was 12 years old.

He'd been enjoying his morning before Phil came to him asking if he would mind them taking in another kid. Against his better judgement, Techno agrees and ends up with two new foster brothers who he was determined to not get attached to, no matter what.

~*~

Another Tommy Foster AU but this time with Wilbur

If we don't leave this town, we might never make it out by grasstastic [Not Rated, 35532 words, complete]

Before he knew it, he was on the road.

He sat back in the old seat of the van, a wave of gratification nearly taking the breath from his lungs. He let out a laugh- somewhere between relieved and terrified.

“I did it,” He breathed. “I actually fucking did it.”

There was a rustling behind him, he barely even registered before-

“Whut d’ya do?”

Wilbur screamed.

Or

Wilbur is driven (pun intended) to take a road trip, and finds a stowaway in his van that's going to make everything just so much harder.

Coming Down Blue by electribunny [Rated M, 48343 words, incomplete, last updated November 2021]

Tommy ignored the shocked stare the hotel receptionist gave as he stumbled in. After all, he probably looked horribly out of place, with his dirty, tattered clothes, greasy hair, and singular shoe.

“Do you have any spare shampoo?” Tommy asked once he approached the desk.

“Hey, I recognize you. You’re that kid from the Dream Case. I’ve been following it on the news.”

“Awesome, I’ve got fans. That doesn’t answer my question. Do you have any spare shampoo?”

---

After a particularly traumatizing incident with Dream, Tommy is left disoriented and has to rebuild his life from scratch. He meets countless new people on his journey to recovery and realizes that the people around him are more connected to each other than they think.

[farfromsugafanfic]

Sutures - Chapter Four: Urge

Genre: Soulmates AU, Idiots to Lovers, slight Enemies to Lovers

Pairing: Yoongi/Named Reader

Warnings (chapter specific): mentions of hickeys, Sumi’s ex is a dick, making out, heavy petting, smut lead up, smut themes

Synopsis: “A person often meets his destiny on the road he took to avoid it.” –Jean de la Fontaine

There was only one thing you and Min Yoongi had in common that night. You were both brokenhearted. You only intended to be together for one night, but when you both end up in the hospital the next day you discover that you are soulmates. It could kill you to be apart. As you and Yoongi attempt to sever the bond between you, will another be formed?

Notes: This was originally written and completed on Wattpad between 2018 and the beginning of 2020. I’ll be slowly posting the chapters here. I may make a tag list depending on if enough people want to follow along with updates. Leave me some feedback if you would like added to a tag list.

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You hugged Kitty to your chest and made your way to the kitchen. You heard the rustling of pots and pans and Jimin's laughter. Even though you'd only known Jimin for under two days, his laughter quickly become one of your favorite sounds, something that never made you smile. However, most of the time you weren't horrendously hungover. 

"Morning," you said, trying to muster a small smile, even though your head was pounding. 

Three of the seven boys who lived in the dorm turned to look at you. Yoongi was already sat at the table, scrolling through his phone, a bowl of fruit in front of him. Hoseok was in the kitchen and Jimin sat on the opposite end of the table from Yoongi, his legs swinging freely. You smiled at how close the boys were and how comfortable they were with each other. It made you feel even worse for intruding in on the bond. 

"Good morning," the boys said, nearly in unison. 

"Jimin," you said. "Did you put Kitty in the box to come here?"

Jimin shook his head, glancing down to the stuffed cat you held in your arms. 

"No, I put him in the donation pile as you wanted." 

"Huh," you said, holding Kitty out in front of you and smiling at her fondly. "Well, I'm glad she found her way here anyway." 

Jimin smiled at you, his eyes some mixture of happiness for you and worry. 

"Did we get internet back?"

The boys exchanged glances and nodded. 

You looked over to Yoongi, who was now looking up from his phone. His dark eyes were boring straight into you, and you suspected he already knew what you were going to ask. 

"Did you find out who got the shoes?"

The room fell silent, except for the tap which Hoseok accidentally left on as he had looked up at you. You didn't know who it could possibly be that would elicit such a response, but Yoongi's face softened as he stood. 

"Park Minki."

You blinked in disbelief, wondering if the hangover had somehow messed with your hearing. Yoongi's eyes were softer, the softest they had been in the seventy two hours you'd known him.

"My ex?" you choked out. 

Yoongi nodded.

---

You took a deep breath as you stood in front of the full length mirror and strategically placed the scarf around your neck. The bruises weren't as prominent as the day before, but you feared Minki would still notice them. The rest of your outfit was quite simple, a pair of jeans and a nice top. You wore your hair down, hoping it too would help hide Yoongi's marks on your neck. 

When you'd broken up with Minki, you'd thought you'd never have to see the boy again. While you still loved him, you knew seeing him again would hurt you, but you wanted to handle this yourself. For whatever reason bought the shoes, you knew it couldn't be settled with money. He wanted to see you again, wanted you to see him again. 

While you normally would just forget the shoes, Yoongi's reputation was on the line. And yours for that matter. You may not be an idol, but the fact you were connected to one, could be enough to destroy you.

"Do you really want to look that good for your ex?" Yoongi said, entering your bedroom with a soft knock on your open door. He was dressed wearing just a simple sweatshirt and jeans, a snapback covering his dyed hair and a mask pulled down under his chin. 

"What? Jealous?" you smirked, giving up on arranging the scarf and turning to face him. 

"No," he said. "I just thought you didn't care what he thought anymore." He walked closer to you, the faint smell of his cologne tickling your nose. His fingers reached up and moved the scarf so it that it covered the half of a hickey that was still partially visible. "Obviously, you do."

He stepped away from you the scent of him still lingering in his place. You were almost disappointed when he stepped away, wishing you could fall asleep in his scent.

"I'm sorry you have to come," you said. "And miss out on work."

"I can work when we get back," he said. "Besides, it would be a whole lot worse for both of us if I didn't come." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a mask. "Wear this, if we run into any paparazzi it will be harder for them to identify you."

You nodded, looping the mask around your ears and pulling it up over your mouth. Yoongi pulled his up and nodded to you, asking if you were ready. 

You nodded in affirmation, but you felt the butterflies in your stomach. You didn't think you would ever be ready.

---

You entered the cafe first. You spotted Minki almost immediately, he was seated at a table near the middle, you could see the shoes placed on the table. You already felt a twinge of embarrassment, knowing he'd displayed them so publicly.

You pulled down the mask and sat down across from him. His mouth widened into a smirk when you sat down, something you used to love about him, but now it just felt like he was mocking you.

"You look nice," he said.

"Thanks," you said, trying not to meet his gaze.

You noticed Yoongi walk past you and sit at a table behind Minki's view, but facing you. You met his eyes momentarily but didn't want Minki to see your wandering gaze. Minki had a temper occasionally, and while he had never hurt you, you feared he wouldn't hesitate to hurt Yoongi. And even though you and Yoongi weren't exactly friends, you still didn't want him to get hurt because of you.     

"So, why'd you leave the shoes at the bar?" Minki asked. 

"Does that really matter, Minki? They're mine, I just want them back."

"You fucked him? Didn't you?" 

You clenched your fists and looked at the black pumps sitting on the table. You sighed and tried to collect your thoughts. 

"How'd you know they were mine?"

"You don't think I wouldn't recognize the shoes I bought you for your birthday last year?" The smirk was on his face again, like a mosquito that you wanted to kill, but that was just out of your reach. "I picked them out especially for you, remember?"

You did remember. How he told you that he went to multiple shoes, trying to find the perfect shoes. Settling on a pair of black pumps. "Simple, like you," he'd said when he gave them to you. 

"Now that we've broken up, they're mine now? Since I paid for them?"

You wanted to bang your fists down on the table and scream at him until he was as scared of you as you were of him. You wanted to swat the smirk from his face. You wanted to point out all the things you'd bought him. All the baseball game tickets. The T-shirt he wore. Half the down payment on his car. 

"I don't care," you said. "Do whatever you want with them. I just want to leave."

Minki softened then. He'd seen you break down multiple times before, he knew the signs. The way you hid your face. The way you tried to curl yourself into a ball, no matter where you were.

"He's here, isn't here?" your ex asked. "You're not mine to protect anymore." His hand cupped the fabric of your knee. You felt shivers run down your spine as tears pricked at your eyes.

You noticed his eyes wandering down to your neck and where the scarf had moved aside. There was no sense in trying to deny what the scarf revealed.

"Huh," he said. "You never let me do that." 

"I never was yours to protect," you said, your eyes red and tear stained, trying to ignore his last comment. You reached down and moved his hand from your knee. You felt his palm beneath your fingertips and the sensation ran through your body. You felt his hands on you again, your body grew warm, but not in the pleasant way. You needed to get out. Without any more thought, you grabbed your things and ran from the cafe.

---

Yoongi's body stiffened as he watched Minki's hand grab your knee. He wanted to push Minki away from you, shield you from ever having to feel the other boy's touch again. He saw the way your cheek's flushed, although not in the cute way. He saw as you tried to shift away, he could feel your discomfort. 

Your scarf had slipped slightly, revealing part of one of the bruises. Yoongi knew the other boy saw based on the way he shifted forward.

"Huh, you never let me do that," the other boy said. 

Yoongi's jaw stiffened. Part of him wanted to rip him apart for bringing attention to something that you obviously hadn't wanted Minki to see, but there was a small buzzing inside of him. One night and you allowed him to do something you'd never allowed your previous boyfriend to do for years. He repressed the pride as you tearfully ran out the door. 

Yoongi waited a moment to get up and follow you, not wanting to draw too much attention. He made eye contact with Minki as he walked past, pulling down his mask momentarily, but pulling it back up as he walked through the door of the cafe. 

---

You curled yourself into the car seat, pulling your legs into your stomach and hiding your face against the car door. You put on your seatbelt, knowing Yoongi would follow you out. 

Yoongi opened the car door a minute or so later, greeting the driver as he did so and telling him to take both of you back to the dorm. He pulled down his mask and put on his seatbelt. 

"Why do you let him talk to you like that?" Yoongi asked. 

You scoffed, trying to hide your tears. The last thing you wanted was Yoongi to see your tears, you felt like if you allowed yourself to cry in front of him, it would somehow strengthen the bond. Yoongi was so strong and allowing him to see your weakness terrified you.

"He's my ex for a reason, okay?" 

"Well, we still need to get the shoes back somehow. You sure money won't work with him?"

"He just wants to humiliate me," you said, choking slightly on the words. "Do we really need to get them back? I mean, they're just shoes. How much harm could really be done?"

Yoongi's eyes widened and his form stiffened. 

"You really don't realize, do you?" He looked out the window in slight disbelief before turning back to you. "I guess, this explains how you didn't recognize me."

"Yoongi..."

"Even just the rumors of what happened between us could destroy both of us," he said. "My fans need someone they can trust and look up to. Most of them don't even know I'm not with Jihee anymore. They know about the soulmate thing, but we only used that to find you. We're going to deny it later, anyway." 

"You didn't have to sleep with me then," you said. "If you would've just pushed me off your lap, none of this would've happened."

"If you wouldn't have fallen in my lap, none of this would've happened." 

You sighed, silence ensuing. The road noise the only sound. Even the driver was silent from behind the partition. 

"Sumi..." Yoongi said, his hand suddenly coming to rest just above your knee. His fingertips digging into the fabric of your jeans. His touch was warm, but instead of overheating as you did with Minki's touch, your temperature matched his. 

"What?" you asked, but your question was soon answered as you felt heat rise in your stomach. Suddenly, Yoongi appeared less like the image obsessed jerk of a few minutes ago and looked more like the man you met at the bar three days ago. 

You unhooked your seatbelt and straddled Yoongi's lap, your hands coming up to cup his cheeks as his ran up to play with your hair. Your lips connected and nearly immediately his tongue slipped between yours. 

Yoongi's hat--which you hadn't paid much attention to before--suddenly was in your way. You ripped it off, exposing his messy hair. It was obvious he hadn't styled it before putting on the snapback, but you liked it better that way, it allowed your fingers to tangle in his hair. 

"The windows?" you asked, falling back onto the seat as Yoongi unhooked his seatbelt and hovered over you.

"They're tinted," he said, grabbing hold of your scarf and pulled it over your head. It landed somewhere on the floor of the car, out of sight. "Don't worry, no one will see." 

He leaned down and latched onto your lips once again. His hands wandering under the hem of your shirt, causing it to ride up slightly. You splayed your fingers against his firm chest, causing him to stop momentarily. 

"What?" he asked. 

"I think...I think this is what the doctor was talking about..." you said. "I think we need to stop." 

Despite your words, your hands slipped underneath his sweatshirt, feeling the warm skin beneath. You wanted to feel that skin against you, but before you could pull it over his head, he surprised you, by pulling up your shirt, exposing your stomach. 

"I'll do it lower this time," he said, his voice raspy and lower than normal. "So you don't have to worry about hiding them." His lips latched onto the skin of your stomach, causing you to release a small moan as you ran your fingers from his hairline and down to the nape of his neck. 

"Yoongi..."

"Why'd you have to wear that perfume for him? It drives me crazy." 

He curved his two index fingers into the belt loop of your jeans and tugged slightly, not to pull them down, but rather to tease you. 

"You're for my eyes only."

"Yoongi," you said. "We need to stop." 

Yoongi pulled away, a sheepish look crossing his face. He pulled down your shirt and sat back in the seat. 

You, too, sat back up, trying to catch your breath. Your heart was racing, partially from the thoughts of the feel of his lips, but you were scared. You felt so out of control, something had taken you over entirely. It wasn't a secret that you were attracted to Yoongi, you did willingly sleep with him, but the urges pulled you together, even when you least wanted it. 

"That was...that was...weird..." 

Yoongi nodded in agreement, reaching down and retrieving your scarf. You did the same with his hat and you exchanged the items. 

You watched out the window as the car pulled into the driveway of the dorm. You glanced back over at Yoongi, noticing a bit of your lipstick managed to cling to his bottom lip. You chuckled slightly before reaching over and using your thumb to wipe it from his lip. 

He watched you, not making any movement to stop you, but your gaze shifted downward, not able to meet his eyes. 

"Lipstick," you said. 

The driver opened the door and the two of you walked back into the dorm.

---

Jihee (9:02 am): Good morning handsome :)

Jihee (11:15 am): I heard about the shoe business. You always use to complain about having to take off mine.

Jihee (11:17 am): You should tell her to be more careful though. :)

Jihee (1:20 pm): Babe...please just respond to me...

Jihee (1:21 pm): You're making me seem desperate.

Jihee (4:45 pm): Her picture's out there now, you know? Some guy saying she cheated with you.

Jihee (5:00 pm): She doesn't look like the type to cheat.

Jihee (6:34 pm): The more I think about it...the less she seems like your type. Especially for a rebound.

Jihee (7:00 pm): You could do much better if you wanted to Oppa. She's kind of pretty and all, but don't you think she's a little simple?

Yoongi (7:02 pm): Whatever this is, is between us. Leave her out of it. 

[coinofstone]

5x08 The Hollow Queen

What's Gwen doing out patrolling with the knights (jk I realize they're likely escorting her but it's still funny to think of her randomly deciding to join patrol when age wants to go for a walk or something)

I don't quite understand the correlation between the moon phase and frog catching but then I've never seen a wild frog in my life either. I did get kinda snooty when he said that tho cuz I'm like "she asked where you're going, not where you've been" 🤦‍♀️

Part of me wants to snark that this feels like it's about to be their first time actually boning, but the way Gwen casually calls for a hot bath... does she mean... after? Or....???

Stop he's like an angry barman 😂😍

Out of all the things I hate in S5, the way Gaius' chamber is lit is probably top 3, behind only the disrespect with which Gwen's character was treated all season and the fact that Arthur dies without restoring magic to Camelot, thus robbing us of the opportunity to watch King Arthur and Court Sorcerer Merlin handle various hilarious situations for at least a full thirteen episode season.

Yea this show is all medieval fantasy and whatever but Arthur, the grown ass man, not being able to find some very basic daily item that's right under his nose while standing helplessly in front of 'the clothing chair' and looking for someone to help him is tooooooo goddamn accurate.

There's no valid reason for this gif I just kept rewinding it so much I figured I might as well just gif it so I could watch it on a loop

Actually I guess I could use this moment to point out that since Arthur and Guinevere are married, we don't get the domestic morning scenes with Merlin walking Arthur up and helping him get dressed - presumably because they want to imply that Arthur's chambers is now *their* chambers, even though literally nothing has been done to it to suggest it's a shared space - beyond of course the one time we see Gwen's dresses hanging in Arthur's wardrobe and the extra changing screen. But there's no vanity, no second wardrobe ... it's really a very silly thing they're doing and I'm not entirely certain if it was intentional or overlooked or what. Sharing a bed chamber wasn't a common thing as far as I know, and even still a Queen needs a chamber of her own, even if the show wants to portray them as co-sleeping in Arthur's bed. It's just weird and inconsistent and I don't like it. Arthur's inability to dress himself, however - THAT I believe.

(Gif is from a S4 deleted scene)

Of course Morgana would tempt Merlin away from Camelot with tales of a Druid child in distress.

Gwen in that red queen outfit tho 😍

So, a couple things here. First off, this kid Daegal being like, "why are you being nice to me" to Merlin 😭 Second, Morgana leaving that kid alive is super ooc.

Merlin's little eyeroll when the kid tells him he thinks Morgana and Gwen intend to kill Arthur 😂

I love bamf Merlin

I don't particularly understand like... what Gwen is expecting to happen as Merlin is serving them dinner and Arthur brings up Merlin's girl. Like... she knows it's bullshit. At the end of the day despite everything that's happened, Morgana and therefore Gwen still don't know about Merlin's magic - they want him dead because a) Morgana knows he's thwarted her plans before and b) they know he knows or suspects Gwen - but how does she expect to play this off? 'Oh I assumed you were out shirking your responsibilities so I made up a girl to cover for you? Like??? What???

Commentary by Bradley and Alice

Wow they don't even record the commentary in order

Oh they actively cut the more 'suggestive' romantic scenes - like Arthur throwing Gwen onto the bed. That's like ... a lot more sensitive than I would've expected.

Omg Alice 😂 "what is it, Arwen? It's Arwen isn't it? Arthur/Gwen? Oh are you not with the speil? Merthur?"

Bradley: "I stay away from the spiel."

Alice: "oh come ON, Bradley get with the..."

Bradley: "I stay away from all that. For my own good."

Alice: "oh yea it probably is, actually."

Stop the name of the actor who plays Daegal is Alfie

I went to go follow Alice on Twitter and I spent an hour scrolling bullshit

They're saying Merlin wasn't cancelled, the BBC had asked for more but they said no because they'd planned to end it there

But they're also saying that S5 was great so I know they're lying on here

Bradley saying he wants to do theater but I don't think he's actually done any?

Omg Alice asking if he's seen Richard III and saying she went with Colin Katie and Rupert to see it but realizing they didn't invite Bradley and the awkward apology 😂😂😂😂

Alice said whose your favorite knight you can't offend then more than you have already 😂

Tomiwa was the smartest knight 😂

They're completely ignoring the episode and Alice is essentially interviewing Bradley with questions off Twitter

They had an awards thing at the wrap party? Oh it was awards made by Bradley it must've been for a joke

Alice just described the perilous lands episode as 'questy knighty' and suddenly I understand why I like her so much

[sojovrn]

dressing room // ml

summary: you get all hot and bothered watching michael play on stage and he intends to do something about that.

warnings: smut, swearing, choking, spanking, dirty talk, mama kink, daddy kink, degrading, dom!michael, sub!reader

word count: 1.2k

requested: no

pairing: rockstar!michael langdon x fem!reader

you don't know how you got here. it got fuzzy once michael got backstage shoved you in his dressing room.

now here you were, absolutely drenched bending over the black edge that was the black couch that sat in his dressing room.

"such a filthy slut, hm? got turned on watching daddy on stage?" he continued to tease and degrade you to the point of tears. but you begged for more. you always begged for more.

"please i need your cock. daddy please." a pleaded whisper was the only thing that escaped your mouth.

he'd been teasing you for what felt like hours. your legs wobbly and your ass on fire.

"patience, love. you'll get what you want. you always do." he said from behind you.

you let out a breath of relief you didn't know you were holding when you heard his black jeans hit the ground with a soft thud.

he chuckled at the soft 'oh god' that accidentally slipped from you lips when he teased his top through your folds.

your teeth sank into your bottom lip and you pushed your ass into him. you felt him place his hands on your hips when your eyes shot open at an idea that you've always fantasized about.

now was the time.

"wait wait wait. where's you belt?" you rushed.

michael slowly retreated from your body and grabbed his belt from the floor and handed it to you when he stood back behind you.

you wrapped the belt around your throat and looped it through the buckle to act as a leash. you turned your head to look at him and held the end of the belt at him.

"please." you whispered.

he let out a shaky breath and grabbed the end of the belt, "are you sure?"

you nodded your head immediately. he wrapped it around his hand. you groaned when he yanked on the belt.

"please fuck. i need your big fucking cock inside my pussy please." you pleaded when he still hadn't done anything.

he simply just bummed at your words and continued to tease and torture you.

you opened your mouth to beg him some more but the only thing that was heard was the shriek of surprise when he yanked on the belt and he finally slammed his cock inside you.

you closed your eyes to breath and take a minute to get used to him.

but michael had other things in mind because he immediately started ramming his hips into yours as fast as he could manage.

you moved your hands behind your back to press your hands against his stomach in hopes of slowing him down but he just chuckled at your failed attempts and grabbed both your wrists in his hand.

"isn't this what you wanted. wanted me to destroy this pussy? hm?" he whispered before dragging his teeth against your neck, leaving hickey's anywhere he could sink his teeth.

you open your mouth to respond to him before a scream crawled through the depths of your throat that you had been so desperately trying to hide so no one would hear you two.

he pulled on the belt until your head was leveled with his, "answer me, mama." he growled.

"yes, yes, yes. fuck oh my god. fuck don't stop please." you panted our through strangled gasps.

"wasn't planning to." he smiled into your skin.

'shit shit shit' you whispered under your breath when he angled his hips to slam into your sweet spot.

you furrowed your eyebrows and dropped your head. you sank your teeth so hard to bite down the screams that wanted to rip through your throat you started to taste the copper metallic taste of blood.

michael saw it and gripped your left leg to rest it on the back of the couch and pulled you up so your back collided with his chest.

"c'mon. wanna hear you, mama."

you shook your head, "no they'll know." you gasped when he tightened the belt around your throat just slightly.

"so let them. let them know who's destroying this pussy."

you shook your head again and it triggered something in him because he pushed your upper body back up against the couch. he grabbed the belt with his left hand instead and his right hand came down hard on your ass.

"don't wanna fuckin' listen. trust me mama, i'll make you." he whispered from behind you.

and if you thought his thrusts couldn't get any harder, boy were you so very very wrong.

he snapped his hips against yours at a very inhuman speed all while yanking on the belt around you neck to pull your small body into his thrusts.

he spanked you over and over and over until there was a bright red handprint in place of his hand, ignoring your pleas and cries for him to stop or slow down.

but no matter what you said, no matter what words left your lips, you never wanted him to stop. and he knew that oh so well.

your attempts of trying to hide your noises ultimately failed when you squeezed your eyes shut and an ear shattering scream filled the room.

he hummed in approval, "that's my girl."

you tightened your walls around his cock the more he whispered the filthiest shit he could think of in your ear.

"yes fu-ugh. mmp-h. it hurts daddy. yes!" your voice of course managing to crack immensely at the end.

"you want me to stop." he taunted already knowing very well what you're answer was going to be.

your frantically and immediately shook your head at his question, "no, no no. fuck don't stop. don't stop."

you couldn't see him but you could practically hear the smirk on his face along with the skin slapping and the wet noises coming from your pussy.

"mmm, can feel your pretty little tightening around me. y'gonna cum? gonna cum all over my cock like true good little cockslut you are?"

"mhmm." you hummed because coherent words refused to leave your mouth.

"use your fucking words." he groaned.

"yes, fuck im cumming. yesss. daddy fuck it's so good." you groaned when his right hand managed to gather your hair in a makeshift ponytail to wrap around his hand to pull your head back against his chest.

"come on. cum. wanna feel that little cunt gush all over my cock." he bit his lip and sent you a teasing smile.

that was all that you needed to send your body tumbling over the edge. you closed your eyes and piercing screams, one after the other left your throat when you started to squirt all over his cock, his thighs and lower stomach.

"fuck." he whispered and his cum flooded your pussy like ribbon.

he panted and stopped his thrusts to catch his breath as he pulled out.

he unbuckled the belt and tossed it on the floor.

he picked you up, fully knowing you could walk, and set you on his lap on the couch.

"was i too rough?" he asked and you smiled and shook your head.

"never."

you groaned when you turned your head and saw in one of the mirrors the many hickey's that were scattered over your neck and collarbones.

"gonna take a lot to cover these up." you chuckled and he shook his head.

"don't. let them know who this body belongs to."

@avesatanormalpeoplescareme

[raleighcarrera]

Don't know if you remember 'that' ask in Sera's account, but... How about a scenario in wich Mason wears an eyeliner for Kira 👀 (nsfw if you wish)

she’s half-dead on her feet when mason steps into her office, so tired she’s almost delirious with it. of course, he looks as immaculate as ever -- artfully disheveled in a way that’s intentional: hair mussed, clothes stylishly slouchy, stride purposeful when he shuts the door behind himself and makes his way over to her desk.

he looks so well-rested that it worsens her irritation, dialing her up from the low simmer she’s been at all day to something a little closer to a rolling boil. she narrows her eyes at him as he braces his forearms on her desk and leans in close.

“hi.” judging by the expression on his infuriatingly smug face, he can absolutely tell how exhausted she is. and he’s not sorry about it in the slightest. “you look like shit.”

“get out,” kira commands flatly, dropping back down into the chair behind her desk with a heavy sigh. she pushes her hands through her long hair, frowning when he makes absolutely no move to leave. “you’re not supposed to be picking me up for another two hours.”

his shoulders roll beneath the fabric of his henley. she fixates her gaze on the one corner of his mouth that’s turning upwards, his expression halfway between a genuine, lopsided smile and an annoying smirk. “can’t you cut out early? you must be tired.”

she opens her mouth to say something rude -- the very next best thing to lunging across her desk and throttling him -- when she catches sight of something she’d been too tired to notice before.

mason’s grey eyes are ringed in black eyeliner. 

the lines are smudged, no doubt deliberately, and make his eyes look brighter and more piercing from where he’s staring at her across her desk. 

the longer she hesitates, the bigger his grin gets. the silence stretching between them starts to feel heavier, until he drawls, “something on my face, sweetheart?”

as always, his call-out sets a blush high on her cheekbones, so that she can feel her face grow warm. kira rolls her eyes at him. “you’re wearing eyeliner.”

he nods, shifting his weight onto one arm so he can pull said eyeliner out of his pocket with his other hand. he waves the pencil around in front of her face like it’s an illicit substance, something he shouldn’t have on him in the station. “want some? you’ll look a little more awake.”

she’s still a little stunned by the sight of him before her, slightly off-balance like all the furniture in her office has been moved just an inch or two to the left. her lips part, then her tongue darts out to wet them. her throat feels dry. “okay.”

as though he’d been waiting for the go-ahead, mason pushes back up to his full height near-immediately and strolls around to the other side of her desk, reaching out to turn her desk chair to the side. then, without warning, he pushes into it with her, his knees wedging in on either side of her hips.

she squeaks, along with the chair, which protests the added weight of him loudly as mason more or less settles into her lap with a grin. 

he’s not gentle when he grabs her chin to hold her steady. “relax,” he says, which is as annoying as ever, if not more so, since he knows by now that instructing as much almost always has the opposite intended effect on her.

kira can’t help but to imagine them both toppling out onto the floor when he tilts her head back into the light and moves forward with the chair. it creaks ominously beneath them, and the new angle makes her gasp a little -- he’s very, very close -- closer than they’ve ever been in her office. in fact, they’ve only been this close a handful of times before and those times were in a much different context, making her face feel warm all over even as mason’s grin continues to stretch until its width becomes obnoxious.

he deliberately presses his hips forward, making her jerk in the chair. “hold still.”

she makes a noise that’s meant to convey just how impossible his request is, but otherwise says nothing as he narrows his eyes and starts in on her eyeliner.

kira can feel her pulse racing, her breathing starting to come a little quicker while he works. there’s something about receiving the full force of his attention that makes her more than mildly excited -- it’s unnerving to have so much of his focus set on her, and reminiscent of the other times they’d been alone together (last night in particular), eliciting a similar response so that she can’t help but to shift slightly where she’s sitting beneath him. 

mason huffs a little growl of frustration, halting abruptly. “kira.”

“what?” she demands defensively, “you’re crushing me. you’re twice my size.”

his grip on her chin tightens, so that she only barely swallows down the sound that’s threatening to escape the back of her throat. mason shifts his weight back a little, though she hadn’t been complaining. she sighs.

“didn’t you have enough last night?” he asks. she feels a flush creeping its way across her face again. “you seemed pretty satisfied.”

“oh my god,” she mutters, deliberately not looking at him, “are you done yet? this is taking forever.”

“patience is a virtue,” he smirks, “you’d think you’d’ve learned that one by now.”

her eyes drop. it wouldn’t take much to knee him in the dick, she muses -- it’s right there, after all, his legs spread invitingly where he’s leaning over her. 

the hand holding his eyeliner pencil falls away, and the one keeping her chin steady rubs its thumb across her jaw. “there.” mason’s voice is quiet -- suspiciously soft. it’s probably to get her to let down her guard and abandon any and all thoughts of retaliation for his quips, but knowing that doesn’t make it any less effective. she pauses, her breath catching.

“how do i look?”

their eyes finally focus on each other. it’s impossible to look away from mason as his gaze sweeps her face, and her chest squeezes painfully when he studies her for a moment and then ultimately smiles.

“as sexy as ever, detective.” he considers her for another moment, and then amends, “maybe more.”

“maybe?” finally, she lifts a hand, hooking her pointer finger through one of his empty belt loops. his jeans slip down an inch, exposing a tempting strip of muscled skin. “that’s kind of rude.”

mason’s own eyes go half-lidded above her. without looking away, he sets the eyeliner down on her desk, then grips the back of the chair behind her head for leverage, pushing her backwards. when his hips press forward this time, the chair’s squeak sounds like a warning. 

of course it’s another she’ll be ignoring.

“let me show you just how rude i can be,” he propositions, the sharp tone of his words at odds with the way he’s still cradling her cheek gently in his palm. “you haven’t seen anything yet.”

[mhaccunoval]

Dennis and Charlie being cute? A throwback to Oi!Oi!Oi maybe? Feels? Or trans (ftm) Charlie (maybe highschool or a bad day at the bar? I don't know but who doesn't love to project). Chill if you want to ignore these prompts but I hope theh give you a jumping off point if not for this then for something else 'cause it sucks when you're amped to write but you don't know what so you just sort of sit there vibrating. (Sorry if I already sent a version of this - closed Tumblr, wasn't sure if it sent)

[i’m sorry it took me 4 days to write a very bad drabble based on another little drabble of mine, just expanded a little. i tried to somewhat combine everything asked for but uhhhh it didn’t work out too hot]

This was a bad idea. A very bad idea.

But it was already too late to turn back. He was already near his goal and it was a hell of a walk back to the bar again. Plus, he was already too hyped up on confident energy, rolling through his confrontation speech a thousand times over in his head. 

He was too fed up with what had happened the past few days not to go say something. His hands were in his pockets, thumbs hooked in his belt loops, ignoring the strain of his binder against his chest as his breathing strained a little. He wasn’t overly nervous or anything, just a bit worried how it would actually play out. 

He reached the end of the street to find a group of chairs filled, people who were just above the white trash line occupying them, Jimmy Doyle among them. 

“Hey, Jimmy Doyle.” Charlie scoffed, standing before him, and trying to present himself in an intimidating manner. It was pretty difficult given that he was soft as butter and never hit a significant growth, lowering his potential to appear threatening. 

“Yeah?” Jimmy responded nonchalantly. His eyes told that there was the slightest recognition of the figure before him but just barely. 

“Charlie Kelly,” This seemed to ring no bells so he tried again with, “From high school.” 

Nothing seemed to click and onset panic was starting to buzz in the back of his head, creeping up his chest, knowing the unfortunate thing that he was going to have to do to get any reaction. 

“Ch... Char..lotte... Kelly.” He balled his hands into fists in his pockets to keep from shaking as he feared he’d start doing and glanced away, biting his lip a little.

“Oh!,” Jimmy finally exclaimed smugly, “I almost didn’t recognize you without the the acne and the poor excuse for tits!”

Charlie felt tears already prickling his eyes and his chest flooding with anxiety. He was drained of any confidence and determination he felt, now being replaced by the dreadful feeling of deadnaming one’s self and the flashes of terrible memories. His mind blanked and his first thought was to immediately head back down the street the way he came and pray he found somewhere quiet to break down. 

Jimmy raised an eyebrow at the sudden disappearance of Charlie’s small frame but quickly gave up caring and turned back to his beer. Charlie had taken off the down the street until his legs caved in from beginning to heavily shake, forcing him to sit down and curl in on himself. 

He just wanted to go home. His plan was ruined and all he was left with was the break down starting to gnaw at his insides and nothing he intended getting done. Except, this was a pretty pathetic place to lose his head and a pretty unsafe neighborhood anyway. 

He needed to get home. There he could hide under the covers, maybe behind the couch’s cushions in what he called the crevice. So in a moment of quick association, he pulled out his phone and scrolled with shaking hands down to Dee’s name. 

“’Yelllo?” greeted the voice on the other line, making him realized he hit the wrong number. Between his vagrant shaking and his vision going out as if he was going to pass out (which was highly possible), he scrolled one too far and hit Dennis instead of Dee.

“G-god... G-goddammit...” He muttered, voice barely there, too busy trying to keep his composure to care anymore.

“Charlie? Are you okay? You sound panicked.” Dennis asked, voice backed by some genuine concern surprisingly. 

“H-hey, can you,” Charlie paused to clear his throat, intending to ignore the question, “Can you c-come pick me up?”

“Yeah... Yeah, of course, man. Where are you?” Dennis could be heard leaping up off his and Mac’s couch, stepping away to search for his keys. 

“5th and Cross.”

Dennis nodded to himself, not that Charlie could see, and reassured him everything was alright before hanging up. He was certainly intrigued why Charlie was so freaked out but he knew it would take some coaxing to get anything out of him.

When he arrived, he helped Charlie into the rover without a word, both continuing the silence afterwards. Dennis made the executive decision to get some coffee since he was in the mood for it and he wanted somewhere where he could try to get Charlie to talk. Charlie didn’t bother to acknowledge his glances at the way his eyelashes stuck together a little when he blinked, glued with water from a tear or two, too zoned out to want to notice it. 

Soon after they arrived at their normal coffee shop, the one where the waitress worked, only a few blocks over. Dennis got out of the car first and offered his arm to be looped around but Charlie declined it, opting to just stagger in on his own. Dennis followed him in and guided him to a table from behind, just barely touching his shoulders and yet feeling every vibration of his shaking. 

When he first sat down, Charlie anxiously drummed both hands vigorously against his thighs before inevitably deciding to pull his knees to his chest and hugging them, being just small enough to fit his entire body on the seat of the chair. Dennis pulled the other chair to sit across from him and watched his movements curiously. It took him a full minute to register that there was anyone beside him. 

“Hi, what can I get-,” started the waitress, absentmindedly, now realizing who it was, “Oh, great. It’s you two. “

“Hey, hi.” Dennis greeted meekly, giving a small wave, Charlie too trapped in his thoughts to do any such thing. 

“Charlie?” She said, rolling her eyes a bit to look at him.

“Black.. coffee... “ Charlie stuttered weakly, voice still very much gone. To this, Dennis raised his eyebrow.

“Charlie, are you sure?” He asked, worried that the bitterness and the caffeine would make him feel worse. 

“Goddammit,” Charlie growled under his breath, hands curled into fists from where they had been holding onto his arms, “Yes.”

“Alright, alright,” Dennis conceded, reeling back from being snapped at, “One mocha latte for me, I guess.”

The waitress nodded before cocking an eyebrow and leaning over to ask him what was going on, him briefly explaining that Charlie was somewhat having a breakdown. She shook her head as she walked about but placed their orders anyone and came back minutes later, placing their respective mug in front of them. 

Charlie uncurled his fists as she left again and instead wrapped them around his mug, staring blankly into it, watching the steam rise. Dennis just blinked at him, trying to come up with something to say. 

“You wanna talk about it, bud?” was the best he could come with.

“Caffeine…” Charlie murmured, ignoring his question all together, twitching slightly as he said it. 

“Isn’t that going to make you shake worse?” Dennis interrogated, to which Charlie furrowed his brows. 

“No…” He responded and ended up chugging about half of it, burning everything on the way down. Moments later, he was untucking his legs and fiddling in one of his jean pockets. 

“Goddamn Jimmy Doyle!” He continued, shouting as he pulled out and opened a pocket knife, slamming it into the table’s surface.

“Hey!,” Dennis shrieked, taken aback, “Where’d you get a knife?!”

“Doesn’t matter,” Charlie shook his head, rubbing his palms together, “Went to confront him about Tommy and he only recognized me by my deadname.

“Then he reminded me about that acne I had in highschool and that I, ya know, have a chest… Now, I wanna bash his face in…”

“Well that was a quick transition…” Dennis quiped, trying to make it a lighthearted joke.

Charlie finally made eye contact with him and replied, “It brought back bad memories so I started cutting out but I’m back now.”

Moments later, the waitress walked over with her hands on her hips and her brows raised high, wondering what the raucous was. 

“Great, Charlie’s back to normal,” She sighed, “Now, can you get your knife out of the table before my manager sees?”

Charlie momentarily had a deer in the headlights look before reaching down to pull it out, struggling a bit. Suddenly, Dennis got an evil look in his evil as he came up with a plan.

“Listen, I’ll cut you a deal,” He pitched, “We go back to the bar, grab your rat stick, go try to talk civilly to Doyle, and if he responds negatively, we bash him and run before the cops come.”

Charlie’s eyes lit up as he exclaimed, “Deal!,” and held out his hand. Dennis refused to shake it but he smiled at the enthusiasm, forgetting the waitress was there. 

“Going to pretend I didn’t just hear a planned assault…” She muttered, turning on her heel. 

“Wait!,” Charlie called, “I’ve got this for your tip.” 

He then pulled out a crumpled twenty dollar bill and handed to her, reveling in the momentary touch of their fingers brushing together. Both she and dennis shared the same look of surprise.

“Charlie, since when do you have money?” Dennis asked suspiciously. 

Charlie shrugged.

“I just found it lying around my apartment.” 

“Wow. Thanks, Charlie.” The waitress stated, still shocked.

Charlie gave her a cheesy smile and a failed attempt to finger gun and wink. 

“Don’t ever do that again.” She suggested, going back to her usual attitude. 

“Right…” He agreed. 

“Come on,” Dennis offered, “Let’s go beat us some Doyle.”

Within moments, the boys were high tailing it to the car and eager to get the opportunity to beat the shit out of Jimmy. He was an asshole in highschool and was still one now so it was well deserved. Not to mention, Dennis found it kind of fun to watch Charlie go feral. 

When they came upon Jimmy’s group of chair-sitting goons, Dennis had Charlie stand behind him to try to talk civilly without Charlie immediately bashing him. Of course, it would probably be easier to get him to comply if he was somewhat bruised up with a baseball bat but he wanted to try his way first. 

“Yo, Doyle. Heard you were talking shit about my boy here.” He stated, attempting to see intimidating. 

“Your boy is hardly a boy at all,” Jimmy scoffed, some of the others lightly laughing, “Just a pipsqueak with their panties in too much of a knot.” 

Charlie growled and stepped forward, ready to swing, only to be caught by Dennis’ back pressing against him and his hand reaching back. He was still pissed over that comment but he grabbed onto Dennis’ shirt for comfort anyway. 

“Woah, hey, man. He just wanted to talk to you about your son, asshole.” Dennis affirmed, trying to get them back on track. 

“Because he’s got some serious emotional problems because of you!” Charlie barked over Dennis’ shoulder. 

“Charlie, cool it,” Dennis demanded, glancing back at him, “I’m doing the talking.”

“Why?” Jimmy asked, unphased.

“Maybe ‘cause you aren’t there for him?” Dennis tried to explain. 

“Why?” Jimmy asked again. 

“Really? We’re really doing this?” Dennis huffed, seconds from turning on his heel and ragging Charlie with him. Which is what they did after the next, “why?”

Dennis grumbled the entire way back to the Range Rover but Charlie was in awe of their hands touching as Dennis dragged him along. Their hands were still intertwined when they came together at the passenger side, Charlie still staring at the way they fitted together. After a few moments, he realized his anger had melted away watching Dennis try to defend him and he stepped closer to press their bodies together. 

Dennis took a moment to realize what he was doing, still coming down from his frustration, and hugged him for a moment, trying not to linger too long. Charlie just smiled knowingly, Dennis slightly grinning back, mostly in an embarrassed manner. 

After that, they decided to go back to the bar and drink the thoughts of Jimmy away, with some soft drunken kisses getting thrown in the mix.

[babyboyoonie]

you don't have to do this but I have a request for yoongi x ot6 about 'what min yoongi wants, min yoongi gets' , you really don't have to do this so you can just ignore my ask or whatever >,<

I know I don’t have to but being able to make you happy even if it’s only a lil bit is all that matters. D-do be more specific next time with your requests lovelies, I spend a lot of time wondering just what the hell im going to write and…yeah…👉🏾👈🏾 AnywAY Here you go! ˚‧*♡ॢ˃̶̤̀◡˂̶̤́♡ॢ*‧˚

Time’s kind of a concept when Yoongi dozes off, curled over Jin’s chest like a content kitten. When cracking jokes and complimenting his boy isn’t one of the options, Jin loses himself in just—just enjoying. Buzzing with tenderness. He doesn’t know when, but at one point, an hour or two after stumbling upon the darling man, he does remember the matter that had him puzzled for hours now. “Say, Yoongicchi,” it comes out softer than he intended to, sort of like a hush; rumbling whisper. Yoongi doesn’t waste time into giving him his attention, eyes slightly widened up. Curious. “What did you do?”

The man looks genuinely confused. Head tilted and eyebrows briefly furrowing as he licks at the tips of his fingertips. Remains of the sugar his strawberries left behind. Jin follows the movements and tries not to be too distracted. It’s a fail. Watching Yoongi is like going off the deep end and being fine drowning here and there. There’s a light, feathery tap of a finger on his chest, thoughtful. “What do you mean?”

“Getting our managers to give us all this—all this free time.”

It’s not that Jin doesn’t like performing, doesn’t like their heavy agenda. But, ah, see, even he gets tired sometimes. This sudden announcement had been surprising, but desperately welcome. Jin wasn’t a fool, only one person could have brung forth this change.

Said person shrugs, a little pout on his lips. “Don’t you do that all the time? Saying no to the managers and literally everyone?”

“I do it to flex on the company and remind them I own all their ass. But you asked that for, for all of us. It’s huge.”

Yoongi huffs. Would have tapped his feet on the floor hadn’t they been curled under him in something that shouldn’t be as comfortable as he made it to be. “Why wouldn’t I get my way? I’m always good, they better say yes to everything I ask them.”

It’s not haughty. Simple. The sky is up there, violets are blue kind of facts. Airy, pretty, definitely not arrogant.

Jin can’t help himself though—“Brat,”

“No,” Yoongi hisses immediately. He presses his lips together, an upset glint in the glaze of his eyes. Guilts stabs at Jin’s heart as quick as thunder does. “I’m good, hyung. I just like things done the way I feel is the best, it’s not—I’m not—“

He doesn’t finish his sentence, lets it crumble to the wind as he waves his hand, lost. Starts to retreat, away from Jin’s body, and that—that just won’t do.

Ignoring the half resistance Yoongi presented isn’t that difficult. The man melts into his arms like butter to ambient air. Presses his face into his chin and stubbornly refuses to move, little body relaxing at the pet gifted to his head. “That’s right, that’s right,” Jin whispers, soothing. “I’m sorry. You’re a good boy. So good, you always get what you want, and I’m so proud.”

Further melting. Warm hands grabbing at his shirt. “Mhm…”

“…Wanna go fishing?”

Soundless gasp. Yoongi nods vigorously, the bowl of strawberry forgotten as he fully climbs into Jin’s lap to hug him tight. So tight. Cherry summer taste and gummy bear embrace. “I was, I was thinking about it just before you arrived,” the man admits, soft breeze.

Jin ruffles his head, fondness dripping from his heart like honey. Only warmer. So far gone. “All you need to do is ask.”

And you’ll get.

Yoongi, he…he struts into appearance. Or slinks. Saunters. Just…he’s silent, purposeful, efficient and terribly adorable. Doesn’t make any noises, you’d be alone at one point; and a second later, the air would change and Yoongi would be here. Ambling quietly toward whichever blessed direction he chose. No movements wasted. Hoseok’s thumbing aimlessly at his phone when the pillows on the couch rustle by his side. Then his side’s warm, warm with the light weight of Yoongi’s head on his shoulders. The rest of his body curled on the couch, previously held between the loop he created with his arms. Hands joined together around his bent knees, he’s appeared, just like that, and Hoseok already knows his heart will ache the instant Yoongi ambles away again.

“Seokseok-ah….”

His voice’s soft. Candy soft, cloud soft. The kind of soft that mingles with you when you wake up in the morning and you feel good. Unexpectedly so. It’s cute, kind of whiny somewhere—the notes of it a kind reminder that he’s going to ask something. It’s soft, kind of whiny, Hoseok observes again; and in this instant, he could give Yoongi the world. It’s violent, surprising, and Hoseok he…he panics.

“D-don’t look at me,” he blurts out, silver quick, knocking your knee on the table quick. Surprising and painful. He’s an idiot.

Managing—ah, no…getting through the soft riddle that is Yoongi isn’t difficult for Hoseok. Easier than with any other member. Exchanging and existing together in that strange bubble of theirs is like, like going back to sleep, without a second thought, pleasantly aware that you’re safe. Hoseok’s weak. Has always been weak to Yoongi. Tries, to a fault, to not fall further; not get weaker, lest he won’t be able to refuse anything to Yoongi.

But he’s a fool. Such a fool. The little being curled under his arm, that makes hearts beat and Hoseok’s flirt with thunder, has already got him. Soul and mind and heart. Hoseok’s an idiot.

Yoongi stares. Evading his gaze is an impossible task. Hoseok rips his eyes away from his phone, reluctant, heart of leed sinking further at the sight of Yoongi’s scowl. “What’re you on? I just wanted to ask you something?”

Whiny. Oh Lord, look at this, Hoseok’s dying. And Yoongi’s whiny, touches of confusion dancing with his complaint; tugging at Hoseok’s shirt immediately, and he gets closer, and he smells so goddamn good. Hoseok’s palms are damp as fuck, he wipes them hurriedly and tries to not think of the delicate hold Yoongi has on him. So soft. Those, those gorgeous fingers of his…

He could give him the world on a silver platter. Anything. It’s a troubling thought; one that has him clearing his throat and trying hard to not get on his knees and propose right here and there. It’s a troubling thought. One that makes him say the dumbest things. “That’s why I don’t want you looking at me!”

It,

sounds wrong.

He wants—wants to take back his words the moment he blurts them out. But his heart’s beating, beating cold. Because Yoongi lets his shirt go. That little warmth of his, evaporating.

“Oh.”

Delicate whisper. Yoongi quiets down, and that, that’s just wrong. It’s not a soft silence, it’s a heavy one. Yoongi’s thinking, thinking too hard, and probably wrong—

“No—fuck, no, I didn’t mean…I didn’t mean to offend you baby, that’s not—“

Splutters and mixed words make for a messy panic and nothing resolved. Yoongi blinks at him, sluggish, like those too hot days leaving him exhausted and unable to talk. Unable to look at Hoseok too.

“Hmph,” disinterested hum. Fragile gaze turns carefully blank, pretty lips not quite pouting; mood shifting blue, Hoseok knows those, Yoongi’s getting upset.

Won’t look at him, even as warm hands cradle his doll-face to make him see Hoseok. See that he wasn’t trying to offend him…but Hoseok has been clumsy, lately. He presses on, dejected, still panicked. “Just…what…what was it?”

There are no spring days giggles when Hoseok strokes those soft cheeks, touch tender, careful. A vague shiver, he sees, and Yoongi’s expression closing further. “Doesn’t matter. Forget it.”

Closing in a delicate sigh and pouty, petal lips. Stubborn, now, the upset wave shying away. It may or may not have something to do with the kicked puppy gaze Hoseok has thrown his all in. He won’t say anything, still. That’s fine, Hoseok can be stubborn too.

“No, no, please tell me! I’d do anything, promise.”

Okay now—he’s just being bitter. Hoseok kind of want to cry in frustration. He doesn’t. Instead, his fingers move on their own to get lost in the pretty red chocolate waves of Yoongi’s hair. And this forehead just begging to be kissed, Hoseok showers it in as many as he can and wholly accepts the flutter of his heart as Yoongi sighs in contentment.

“You’re still on that? I told you, baby,” he mutters, knows it sounds like he’s whining too, “it was just a joke.”

His little one shrugs. Deft fingers play with Hoseok’s shirt again. Bless.

“Whatever. I wanted to—I’d like to go biking across some cities,” he starts, soft, and it gets softer, almost timid. “If you want to. You’re not obligated, I just…felt like it would be nice to go with you.”

One would have to be a monster to refuse that. Hoseok melts, cradling Yoongi’s face in his hands, heart unbearably soft. “Okay, baby, we’ll do that. Whenever you want, does that sounds good?”

Yoongi’s nod is timid. If only he knew literally no one could refuse him anything…

“Seok….I don’t, I don’t want you to feel pressured into going with me—“

Hoseok gasps. “Nonsense,” he tuts, a bewildered noise coming frown somewhere in the back of his throat and making Yoongi giggle, all darling. “If you want something from me, darling, you’ll get it.”

Always.

Namjoon wonders.

Head in the clouds, clouds of his thoughts, mindless rays he’ll forget or stumble upon for no reasons one day. He wonders. Doesn’t do so for long, never manages to, when Yoongi’s here. Light yet potent. A solid form still like a statue but softer than kittens and everything nice. He feels good, so good on Namjoon’s lap, silent spell dizzying and dreams worthy, Namjoon barely manages to catch what he said.

Iced and inky strawberry locks dance when Yoongi tilts his head on the side. His eyes are half-lidded, yet glowing with a certain energy he definitely shouldn’t possess at three in the morning. “Joon?”

“m’sorry,” Namjoon whispers, squeezes the oh so soft skin of Yoongi’s hips. His baby’s at his calmest when Namjoon touches him always. “I didn’t catch that.”

“T’s’okay,” Yoongi says. He nods, at the same time, another reassurance, he always does that. Nodding to accompany his affirmation. To say again, softly, that it really is okay. He’s darling, darling, darling. “It’s just, ah…remember that field of flowers we visited with this guy? Tall, kind of old, but so, so kind?”

His legs kick a little bit as he says that, those sleepy and precious orbs he possesses for eyes brightening further. Namjoon remembers. He does. Just takes a bit more time than he was supposed to before humming an affirmation on the milky skin of Yoongi’s shoulder. Too busy, you see, being enchanted by Yoongi’s every little gesture. “I do, baby, did something happen?”

Yoongi positively beams. Turns around, not quite smooth and a lot messy, legs spreading on every side of Namjoon’s lap with absolutely no grace. Namjoon is so, so very in love. There’s a little grin on Yoongi’s lips. This contained excitement, not full blown, adorable teeth presented kind of grin. His lips are sealed, yet bursting with excitement. “He brought it for me.”

Namjoon takes a little while proceeding the information. Stares. Blinks. Repeats the information in his head. His hands kind of just sitting there, under Yoongi’s shirt, still too. Just—“He what?”

“He brought it for me,” Yoongi repeats, beaming strong. Elegant fingers dance an adorable little cha-cha on Namjoon’s shoulders when Yoongi caresses them. Touch light, playful, amused. There’s a certain wonder in his voice. “I could t believe it. Still can’t. But the field has my name now and he told me I could do whatever I wanted with it. Wild, huh? Those kinds of things happen a lot lately…”

“What, the universe bending to your will?” Namjoon says, splutters more like, grip going slack on Yoongi’s hips. The shorter, humming little angel pinches at his shoulder. Namjoon resumes his holding, tighter, probably going to leave bruises kind of hold. The twitch of Yoongi’s lips is a sweet indication that he was satisfied. “Yoon,” Namjoon whines, dazed and still trying to wrap his mind around what he heard. “How—that’s literally the fourth time some totally random person realizes you wish. Are you some kind of witches?”

“Witches are nice,” Yoongi says. Blinks. Tilts his head on the side, lips pursed and pretty and pink. Still in a state of shock, as Namjoon is, he’s struck by the violent desire to kiss him always and leave him breathless. He’s snapped out of his ensnared trance, though, by the dreamy waves of Yoongi’s gaze. “I’d love to be a witch…”

Oh. Oh hell— “Yoongi, no.

Yoongi honest to God purrs. “Yoongi, yes.”

There’s a thing, with Jimin’s most cherished one. There’s a thing, there are many things, but ultimately it’s—its a mannerism? A way to live by? A road to travel so many people forget? Jimin doesn’t know. He just calls it a thing. Yoongi’s thing. So pure, in its simplicity. A thing colored glass life that toddlers manage and wise old men struggle with. A thing that sings like breathing yet is so arduous to grip between desperate fingers. It slips like water from an ear to another and out of them. It’s so basically Yoongi, he sometimes forgets, the older man fought his fair share of battles before claiming this air as his own. This magic. This simplicity. White clear glass so see-through you’d run through it. Yoongi has this thing. This magic.

He—he draws stick figures. He really, really sucks at drawing. The most simple design would take him hours to complete. It would dishearten many, but Yoongi, he patiently struts on his way until his stick figures are the prettiest stick figures out there. He sings like an angel, but most of the time, he’s at his happiest when it’s off kay. Grinning and beaming like a sun crowned with stars. He flirts with Namjoon when it comes to his talent with written words, with lyrics, poems. But his giggles are oh so pretty, as he reads out loud the silly mess of words and ridiculous hashtags that have no business in his arts. Yoongi’s talented, but he pushes it aside, calls it overrated and likes working hard better. Likes effort, doing his best, busting his ass off and turn talent into doing.

Yoongi doesn’t speak empty words, doesn’t go through empty actions. Yoongi has this thing, makes it seem as easy as air. It’s Yoongi, doing and enjoying. Pushing through victories after victories, and at one point—Jimin’s certain that point’s called always—everything just went his way. Predictions, wishes, musings. They just went.

They all went. Head over heels and enchanted as they were, if Yoongi wanted something, it’d be a disaster to not get it for him.

Jimin’s not ashamed to admit he’s particularly whipped. Pleasing Yoongi is the way to go. There’s, ah, like a certain force pushing him. It just has to be.

“Hyung?”

A breath soft like clouds and dreamy stardust blinks sharp eyes at the counter. They’re sharp in their fineness, their delicacy, the sheer art of them. But they’re kind, always, diamond beauty and marshmallow endearment. Yoongi blinks again, and soon the flutter of his eyelashes is turned toward the approaching figure that is Jimin’s. Lends pretty on his rosy cheeks the moment Jimin presses his fingers on his skin. To cup his face, make him look up. His skin’s warm. “It’s so strange, Minnie,” the man breathes, kitten tongue licking briefly at candy lips. Absentmindedly. While Jimin kind of just dies over there. “I’ve had the strangest cravings, worse then a pregnant woman. What’s wrong with me?”

“I’ll just get everything for you,” Jimin says, breathes low before Yoongi has the time to finish his thoughts. He strokes at the skin rapidly coloring, wonders at the softness, wants to kiss it. Lick it, bite it pretty.

Yoongi lets out the softest sigh. Shakes his head quickly, soft, tiny movement restricted by the loving hold Jimin has on him. It’s kind of uncomfortable, from over the counter. But what’s pain when there are three seconds saved to touch Yoongi? Jimin’s a gone, gone man. “It’ll take too much time to get what I want. I’ll just—“

“No,” Jimin lets his fingers wonders to the pout sitting pretty on Yoongi’s equally pretty face. Heart heavy, heavy with feelings. “There’s no such things as too much for you.”

‭Yoongi looks star struck. Yoongi and his thing, doing and predicting. He’s just kind of magic. For if he wants—what the hell are they supposed to do? Say no? Impossible.

The baby will have whatever he desires.

“I could have done that.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t.”

It’s been years. Taehyung still thinks about it. Always like an epiphany. A wake-up call, a reminder of who he is. Yoongi probably doesn’t remember. But Taehyung does. Taehyung still thinks about it. Like a solution knocking at his door when he’s desperate and on the edge of tears. Sliding, graceful, old mother and friend with flowing water for an embrace and an autumn’s breeze for a voice. Dawns upon him, takes its time, but is there, always. Ready to remain him he’s Taehyung. Taehyung and no one else. Taehyung who isn’t made of “I could have done that”, but is described, with startled expressions and surprised murmurings, “he did that.”

Yoongi’s a lot of things. “Could have—“ isn’t one of them. Yoongi just is. And he does his existing pretty, by your side if you’ll have him, quiet as a mouse; but the world inside his head so, so loud. Yoongi’s a mix of many threads, many actions, some he regrets; other he’s immensely proud of. But he’s here because he chose it. Because an “I could have—“ tasted bitter in the tip of his tongue. He liked the “I did it,” better, even when he crashed and burned. At least he had wished, at least he had hope, at least he went through it. Believer and courageous.

He believes in life.

(And for Taehyung…for Taehyung it’s Yoongi—)

There’s a jewel. Kind of small. Pretty tiny, actually. Dark. Soft glow. It sits lonely on the far corner of the display. Few people to none look at it, eyes glossing over it in favor of the brighter ones. Big, imposing, eye-catching. But…there’s this jewel. A wormwood liquor, bright-green color, and Yoongi’s staring at it with no little amount of fascination.

Yoongi loves Absinthe-colored delicacies. His eyes grow just a little bit bigger, the rest of his delicate expression staying carefully blank, it’s endearing, and Taehyung melts. His little one’s tiny enough for Taehyung to be able to peppers a shower of kisses on the side of his head, as he presses closer; as he wraps his arms around Yoongi’s tiny waist and relishes in his warmth. Bathes in the tender pleasure of being able to hold him this way, where everyone can see them but none will give them a second glance. Yoongi leans back in his hold. Blinks dark jewels up at him, strangely focused. Wondering. “D’you want that?” Taehyung says, asks quietly, arms tightening around him. He’s going to buy it anyway. Because Yoongi looks like he wants it, and Taehyung’s dying to make him happy. Dying to do it, and not simmer in a could have.

Yoongi shakes his head quietly. And then, then there’s a pretty smile lightening his face, suddenly. Little, shining thing in the dark lightings if the store. Just like the absinthe. He goes up, up on the tip of his toes, cranes his head backward and asks silently for a kiss.

Taehyung gives it to him. Immediately. Without missing a beat. Swoops down and takes pink petals between his lips, nurses his love-sick heart with the tenderness in which Yoongi moves his lips against his. Sighs, quiet, willing to do anything for this darling being. Yoongi’s smile widen. And his eyes, they’re shining.

“I’ve got everything I desire right here.”

Oh.

Oh.

Taehyung’s chest hurts so, so good.

Yoongi’s nibbling on chocolate when Jungkook finally finds him. Where stress and frustration had created a mini-storm in his chest, the sight of Yoongi makes it all disappear. Melts him like snow exposed to the sun. Jungkook’s body unwinds immediately, and he lets out a little noise, at ease, enchanted. His little hyung doesn’t quite see him yet. Curled in on himself, little ball of dozing man and butterflies lashes fluttering on the dusty pink of his cheekbones. He doesn’t notice Jungkook padding closer inside the room, steps light and flying him straight to where the man rests on his bed. No, no. Still stares at something only him seems to see, little baby teeth barely nipping at his sweetness of choice for the day. Yoongi doesn’t eat a whole lot but he’s the king of snacking. Could go days without proper food; yet also eat something every hour because he’s like that.

Jungkook finds him oh so endearing. But then again, doesn’t he feel like that about every little thing Yoongi does…?

“Hyung,” he says, though it sounds more like whining. Startles Yoongi as he puts one knee on the bed, then the other, before spreading Yoongi’s legs and nestle himself between them. Yoongi discards his barely eaten treat in favor of cradling his head on his stomach; doesn’t ask any questions. Only huffs out an endeared little sound, long, delicate fingers traveling in Jungkook’s dark locks. He’s warm, just like his everything, pleasantly so. Accepting, pliant and tiny under Jungkook’s weight. It makes him want to crush him. But like—in a good way. Just to have his little hyung squirming and reddening under Jungkook’s hold.

Well. He squirms. Nearly forgets why he came in here, until Yoongi traces the hidden lines of his cheekbones tenderly. “Kook?”

There’s a hint of a laugh in his inquisition. Junkook feast on the warmth it gives him, before coming to his senses. Before he smiles, stretch of lips hidden in the cotton of Yoongi’s shirt. “N’thing. Just wanted to see my angel ‘n get my faith in humanity back.”

“...Huh?” The hand treading in his hair stops, and Jungkook groans low in his throat, a barely heard whine; but Yoongi resumes his tender caresses, though he nudges a soft finger over Jungkook’s cheek. “What are you talking about again?”

Jungkook shakes his head. Drowsy. Breathy, nearly gone laughter bubbling in his throat and swallowed by the sigh of pure happiness that is being surronded by Yoongi. Thinks about this little man part-time genie full’time angel, that speaks with such yearning and childish inniocence the universe trips on its feet to grant his wishes. “N’thing...just...wish me luck. Have faith in me, and everything will be okay.”

Yoongi’s touch is so soft. His smell so ensnaring, Jungkook doesn’t resistthe call of sleep. Before everything turns blissfuly black, heavenly like Yoongi’s embrace, he hears this low melody tat is Yoongi’s voice and lovely words.

“That’s my everyday wish, silly.”