#i have no idea how long this is or. frankly. where it's going

[mawlbone]

regular omegaverse again but this time reader is an older alpha, maybe has adult pups and is just chilling in the military. he's too old to posture or peacock like the younger alphas so he just sits and whenever an omega cuddles uo to him for comfort he purrs like a fat lazy happy cat. just dilf reader cuddling with omegas.

idek what this is maybe like a mini request or some headcanons? i just want to see older alpha reader be fat and lazy and happy and purr-y and be designated base dad for the younger recruits

OLD RELIABLE - ABO TF141

SNIPPET: In the government’s pursuit of looking for ways to reduce the stress rates of its soldiers, one can find such a solution hidden deep within a base of Britain where one of their employee’s presence always seem to be surrounded with a multitude of their soldiers.

[CW: amab reader, older reader, muscular chubby reader, children mention, cuddling, puppy crush, sh mention, and non-sexual intimacy]

[COMMENT: Thank you for the request! How sweet~! I love the idea of the base having a giant comfort figure that they can go to. Also I am genuinely fighting with myself to not write so much so I can update more frequently, heh…]

Nobody knows when exactly all of this started: perhaps it had when as a favor between old teammates when you gave your scented items for them during their heats, a rumor around base of you comforting a new recruit after a nasty break-up, or how a comrade shared between drinks of how you’ll escorting drunk omegas back to base after a fun drunk night out because you didn’t want them walking alone at night.

Whatever it is, the sight of you being swarmed by a crowd of omegas whenever you lounge around the common room for a small nap had become a usual sight around the base.

Sitting on a spare couch, more often than not you’ll wake up to the sight of a pile of omegas piled around your body. Usually it’ll be an arrangement where your arms will be used as cushions for their head to rest upon and someone sitting onto your lap snuggling their head into your neck as they all purr noisily like an engine into your ears.

It doesn’t help either that your pups’ scents always seem to linger onto your clothes which made you all so more comforting to be around. Unbeknownst to you, it had also become a bit of a competition for the younger recruits around the building to race against everyone else to fight for their spot to rest with you. It helps that you don’t mind them being affectionate with you, even occasionally purring along with them to sooth them after a long day of drills or coming back from a tiring deployment. Frankly, you were a giant destress toy to them as they nuzzle into your big arms and stomach for warmth.

Though… You were an enigma. No one knows exactly who you are per se. Sure, the soldiers around see you chatting to the janitors in the halls, helping the cooks clean up, and hell even in the medbay carrying boxes for the nurses. And none of the older guys around could give them a straight answer either as they can only shrug before shooing them away which frustrates them to no end.

The younger alphas and betas were a bit hesitant in approaching you with how gruff you looked with your peppered hair and towering figure. Much to their shock, they’ll see you spread your arms outward thinking they were here for some cuddling as well with a slight raise of your brow much to their flusterness.

Also about your pups? Well becoming a father wasn’t necessarily on the list of priorities.

You didn’t know what it was, perhaps it was a right place and time that you saw a pair of orphaned pups no taller than your knee shivering out in the bitter winter one day during your deployment. Shakey and severely malnourished, you can see the way they tremble every so often as another set of chills rack down the spine huddling under a street lamp for warmth. You didn’t what exactly pushed you to approach them. Maybe it was disconcertion of seeing them in the cold against the jolly string lights for the holidays, or the feeling of warmth that surrounded your body with your coat tucked around you, or perhaps the thought that you don’t really have anyone at home to come back to anymore.

No matter what it was, you didn’t have the heart to walk away from the sight.

You… didn’t really want to.

So after a few months of having to go through interviews, screenings, and taking childcare classes under the supervision of the kindness of the nurses taking you under their wing in the pediatric ward. Finally, they were able to come home with you under your name.

Though life is never as smooth sailing as everyone wish for it to be.

You never really had time to go searching for a mate in your younger years, your pups kept you busy enough. Between the duties of a soldier and a new parent at that time, you never felt the need to go settle down. It never really bothered you as you had more than enough love towards your pups to give them so they never feel alone. And thankfully enough, one of your oldest friends agreed to coparent your pups whenever you’re deployed for long periods of time. Something you had deeply appreciate her for — though she waved you off saying it was no big deal knowing how easy you crumble towards the sight of pups. You made sure to still compensate her still with enough money to take care of herself and the children comfortably.

So here you are now in your 40s dealing with the nagging of your adult pups (who also decide to also enlist into the service despite your complaints) badgering you to get married. You love them, you truly do but they’re grown and have their own life now. Still ever so attached to your waist, something you’ll never complain about, they’re your children after all but hearing their fears about you being lonely, something you had heard in their childhood before about robbing you of your opportunities to enjoy life made your heart hurt.

Despite countless reassurances that you’re fine and it’s nothing for them to worry about, they’re insistent because you’re their dad and deserve to have someone else in your life to accompany you. But also because they’re absolutely sick of hearing their fellow soldiers teasing them by asking if their dad is single much so you need to get hitched now!

Price

When Price first met you, he was still a lieutenant with much less experience compared to now. All rough edges and hot headed from constantly being looked down for his secondary sex, he had come off as tense when he was ordered to go on a mission with you. To his surprise, you were pleasant to be around even making light conversation and checking up on him every so often to ensure that he’s okay. Soon one thing lead to another and usually most will find you at the bar together sharing a couple of drinks to celebrate him coming home safe.

You jested that all the smokes and drinks had mellowed him out over the years which he grumbled before rebutting saying how you were the one spoiling him with foreign cigars and expensive alcohol from your travels. He still has them of course, he likes to keep them in his cabinets after a bad day. Your poor captain’s head who’s stuffed with guilt and anger, the only thing you can do in those moments is hold him as he sobs, unable to meet your gaze as his cries wrecks his voice as you rub his back for as long he needs you for.

It was cute seeing your old friend still struggle to ask you for comfort items for his nest despite your history together. You don’t tease him knowing how shy he becomes with this side of him so you usually drop a duffel bag full of your clothes at his door when his heat comes. Despite everything you give him, his favorite that he can remembers was you smiling fondly at him as you tug your wooly black beanie over his head and telling him to keep it.

He gets a bit envious seeing you constantly crowded with the younger omegas so he makes time to find you after work to cuddle against your shoulder. His purrs are deep and rumbly whenever he’s close by you. Also he had met your pups tons of times during the holidays when he’s free and honestly it was a bit surreal to see them grow up right in front of his eyes so quickly as they come running into his arms as well after you.

And to add on, if someone was to accuse him of having a fancy for you, well they’ll be no proof to find with how private you are. But he won’t deny their claims especially when he plays with the beanie in the quiet hours of the night for comfort before you shoo him away to go to sleep.

Ghost

Over the years he had spend watching you and Price work together from the shadows, he thinks he can settle on the sentiment that you were an awfully decent person if you continue to bring him cups of tea whenever you pass by his office to ensure he gets a qbreak at least. It’s usually a mix of his favorites blends or something entirely different that you wanted him to try.

Similarly to Price, he was a bit anxious to meet you knowing you were an alpha despite his captain’s reassurances that you were fine man as he steps out to meet you. Reminders of his father’s treatment towards his mother and him had soured any feelings he has of alphas. But just like that, all those fears immediately threw itself out of the window seeing you carry some pups in your arms from the pediatric ward as they snooze away in your hold. It’s hard to look intimidating when there’s two chubby pups squishing their face against your chest as you peck Price’s cheek in greeting before nodding at him.

You’ll always used to go around and find him after he and Price got into a nasty argument due to his self-destructive behaviors back when he was younger and still nursing the wounds from his past. In those quiet moments, sometimes you don’t even talk, merely sitting by him until his sobs has softened into silence as he turns to you fishing leftovers from the cafeteria out of your bag for him to eat because he missed dinner and you didn’t want to sleep on an empty stomach. The sight is shocking enough to stun him out of his sadness as you shove the sandwich and water into his hands. It helps that you don’t treat him any different when bandaging some of his cuts, just some mere words of comfort was enough to release those emotions in the gym instead.

To save you the trouble, yeah he totally once or twice used his status and intimidation to scare away the younger omegas that was hogging you before guiding you to his office so he can too lean against your shoulder and purr away happily at your warm smell. You oblige because you get severally worried about his lack of a sleep schedule and who’s to say he won’t use favoritism to his advantage.

Also he totally blanked out when you pated his head after coming back from a grueling operation and complimented him on his skill. You had apologized thinking you may had upset him by overstepping his boundaries but truthfully, he didn’t expect how much he liked getting approval from you and he wishes for you to do it again.

Roach

It wasn’t exactly that you met Roach and more like you keep bumping into him when he first started showing up into your life. You didn’t even knew he was one of Price’s boys before it was mentioned offhandedly that he got a new member into his task-force. And Roach might be one of the hardest people you ever had the trouble of finding, no wonder he and Ghost gets along so well… You found out after multiple trials and errors of where his usual spots are, though you almost got a heart attack seeing him on the rafters of the warehouse one time because he wanted to escape Price’s wraith for stealing his boonie hat.

Conversations between you consisted of tracing letters on skin and notes you pass by one another before you learn the gist of some ASL to speak with the man. Something that the sergeant is grateful for you doing for his own comfort due to his burn injuries and smoke damage to his lungs irritating his voice now. Even if you make a few mistakes and need to ask him to speak slower to follow along it warms his heart to see someone actually try for him. Does not know what to make of you but he’s terribly fond at the sight of you wandering around the base.

Eventually you two were able to bond closer over after finding him in the fields one day. In the cool evening as the sunset slowly fade below the horizon, it splashes of rich pink and oranges casting him in a warm glow against the his visor. You weren’t sure what he was thinking in that moment as you stood beside him as the grass crunch underneath your boots and the air crisps into cold under your nose but it nice nonetheless. When the day finally casted you two into darkness, you don’t comment on the way he clutches onto your sleeve as you walked back to the base.

Comes from a more traditional family back in the states so he escaped into the military to avoid their complaints towards him. He did not want to rot under the harshness of the Texas sun but he’ll make small conversation of you how he misses his old horse back at his grandfather’s ranch or the overly sweet peach tea he’ll get from the local diner every Sunday after church. He misses a lot of things from home but he’s satisfied with his decision saying it was for the best for peace of his mind. There’s a stockpile of that same drink reserved in his office just for him to drink when you asked your friend to send you from that same chain now shortly after that tidbit.

While Roach barely speaks, he makes plenty of noises whenever he wants to cuddle with you. Lots of soft purrs and rumbles emit from his voice whenever his face is buried into your chest when you stand. He has no shame when you’re free to cling onto your sleeve and rubbing his scent onto your skin or clothes to erase everyone’s else scent off because his nose gets irritated easily and he doesn’t like any other beside his pack’s smell on you. Occasionally he’ll steal some of his mates’ and your old clothes that you gave Price and place them into his pile. Why? Because it’s softer and more worn and makes great texture for him to touch whenever he’s bored in his nest waiting for his heat to be over.

Gaz

At this point, you’re not even surprised by the captain’s unconventional recruitment as you stared at the young man coming out of Price’s car with a hand to your face. Really John, fresh off the crime scene? Nonetheless you made sure to greet the fellow as he stared quite almost deer-like if you wanted to be accurate at you. Forgive Gaz, he didn’t mean to stare at you but seeing you standing there in the parking lot made him think you were someone’s bodyguard or waiting to beat someone up.

Because you were the first to meet him and being older, he had come to naturally look for you for guidance. Especially after you offered to take him on a tour around base so he won’t get lost when Price had to attend a last minute meeting on that very same day. Quick and reliable is what he had come to think of you gauging off the reactions and numerous greetings everyone said as you pass by them. He appreciated your efforts even if it was a bit crowded getting past everyone along your path.

He gets lonely easily during the first few months of his training due to homesickness and tends to isolate himself whenever the thoughts gets a bit too loud because he gets nervous of anyone mocking him for missing his family at this age. So usually you occupy a seat next to him near the training fields and show off pictures of your pups and discuss your own little family as well and how it came to be to fill up the silence of the room which was nice to have. However you failed to mention that your once very tiny pups had grown into adults now so he may had blanked out seeing two very familiar names on his drill duties much to your dismay of how they successfully met the chances of them going into the same base as you before eventually getting shipped away to another one nearby.

Gets too embarrassed to join on the little competition whenever he sees you getting piled by other omegas from other groups until he sees the rest of the TF141 simply avoiding the competition entirely and pulling you away whenever. He really likes getting hugs from you whenever he’s in a bad mood. And how you’ll come by to greet him and everyone else in the clinic if one of them got a nasty injury usually with some fresh fruits or flowers in hand with one of your blankets for them to hold onto for comfort.

His purrs are not loud as the others so usually you’ll have him settle on your lap when you sit down to feel them against your chest. He gets noisier whenever you smooth his back up and down to relieve his tension for the day and he makes the sweetest whines if he had felt you stopped too early with his big ol brown eyes. Does like cuddling with the rest of the pack so if he sees one of them already with you, he’s scooting them over to make some space to be held alongside them or grabbing onto your other arm to be guided.

Soap

Price punched you in the shoulder when you first met Soap inside the captain’s office, slow clapping and all as you congratulate him for going through the proper protocols for once and getting someone normal. Lighthearted, that was Scot’s first impression as you bump his captain’s arm back before turning and properly introducing yourself to him with all smiles and polite demeanor.

Soap had heard of your reputation around base about you being a little beacon but due to scheduling he wasn’t able to meet you much until he got selected to be part of the TF141 and found you there in his captain’s office, both of you waiting for him to arrive. He’ll bond with Gaz later about how you always seem to need to give a fright almost as if you the back up plan in case Price’s yelling didn’t scare a poor recruit shitless only for Roach to pop in from nowhere and scare them both at that moment.

Growing up in a large family, he didn’t really grew up with the idea of social hierarchy in his family’s pack. Doesn’t matter if you’re an alpha or dirt on the sidewalk, you’re here to help around the house so pick up that broom and go sweep. So it nice to see an alpha not care so much for status as much as him, it made him feel at home if anything.

His nesting habits are wild and bizarre with a purr louder than anyone else. Sometimes you’ll find some of your paperwork and pens inside of his little fortress once you grow closer because he haven’t been able to successfully get any heavily scented ones from his mates much to your amusement before you dropped one of your sweaters for him to have which he did cheered at.

May had too tried to figure out who you were exactly around base because Price will not budge either on where or who you even work for to satisfy his curiosity. You’ll make a series of jokes at his expense telling him a new one every time he asks before he gives up. It had become somewhat of an inside joke between you and him whenever you ask where the others were and giving an obscure location during your free time. He had tried to get you to spill the truth over a drinking game before but lost several rounds to you in bets and games before he can even get you drunk enough to ask you. More often than not he’ll wake up to you carrying him to the bed after forcing him to drink some water before sleeping.

Well whoever you were, you can only smile at Laswell across the laptop’s screen when you came home that night as she shakes her head at you telling how her bosses kept badgering her to ask you to come back from retirement. You can only deny with a huff of laughter at your friend’s annoyance towards the matter.

Some things are best left behind you.

[creepyclothdoll]

I set Angel Free

All of this is gonna sound pretty mean but let me preface this by saying that this girl, Angel, thought she was God’s gift. And I mean that in the most literal sense. Like she’d literally introduce herself by saying, 

“My name is Angel, because I’m a gift from Heaven.”

She’d say it with this smile that was so fake and sickly-sweet you could taste your teeth rotting just looking at it. All her mannerisms were stolen from disney movies, like how she’d talk in this high-pitched little girl voice that she thought made her seem so cute. Like, yeah, yeah, you’re supposed to be nice to people like that, but it was so hard to tolerate her. 

So we messed with her. It wasn’t because she was in a wheelchair, I wanna make that clear. I don’t have a problem with people in wheelchairs. Just Angel. You’d feel the same way if you knew her. Honestly everyone did. 

She literally didn’t know where babies came from. Like one time my friends were joking about having Nick Jonas’s babies and Angel was like “how would you make the baby his?” And we had to literally explain to her where babies come from and ask where she thought they came from. She said, and I quote,

“When a mommy makes a very special wish, and gives it a special kiss and sends it to God, God cuts a piece of Heaven in the shape of a baby and wraps it in the wish and sends it back to the mommy, to grow up and be loved and kept safe on the earth forever.”

This was, by far, the stupidest thing I ever heard in my entire life. So of course I responded by telling her her mommy was lying to her, most likely because she was a whore. 

This made everyone at lunch laugh really hard because her mom, Ms CJ, was the school’s frumpiest old cat lady, and she literally had those 80’s coke-bottle glasses like that guy from Trailer Park Boys and the idea of her getting sexed up for dollar bills was enough to make you piss yourself laughing. 

Angel started crying and doing that annoying pouting thing. Frankly I doubt she even knew what a whore was, just that it was bad. I think she wanted to storm off, but it’s not like she could go very far. Which I pointed out as well, to uproarious laughter. 

Okay again, I don’t have an issue with people in wheelchairs. It was just really easy to mess with her. But this was the incident that, for some reason, made everyone think of me as the Designated Angel Watchman. Like, any time Angel did anything weird and cringey, everyone would look at me like they were Jim from the Office and I was the camera. And then if I didn’t say something funny about it, they’d get all disappointed. But when I did say something funny, it became the new Angel Thing Of The Week that everyone would be saying in the halls between classes, and I’d feel like a genius. Did it go too far sometimes? Sure. But that’s not my fault. All Angel ever had to do was act like a normal person for once and it all would have stopped. 

Angel was homeschooled her whole life until seventh grade, which is probably why she was so weird. 

I wanna be clear– she wasn’t like, mentally disabled or anything like that. That would make me look pretty bad. She was just weird. She was always singing by herself– pop songs, disney princess songs, sometimes songs in japanese from anime. She was convinced she had the best voice in the class, and flaunted it all the time like she thought we were gonna be impressed. She wore these huge ugly cat sweaters with glitter and frills every single day. 

And any time we watched a movie in class, she’d laugh this awful snickering long laugh at ANY joke and then bawl her goddamn eyes out if there was even a little bit of a sad part. It was so annoying!

She refused to do anything outside her comfort zone– no scary stories, no new foods, no games she’d never played before. She turned her nose up at anything unfamiliar.

So let me be clear: Angel deserved most of what we did to her. 

But she didn’t deserve what I did that last day.

Before I met Angel, I thought Ms CJ was okay. After, though, I realized she was batshit. She only let Angel come to our school for seventh grade because she knew she’d be Angel’s homeroom teacher and that she’d be able to flit in and coddle her throughout the day. Ms CJ was Angel’s constant guardian, which should be humiliating for anyone who has shame, but Angel loved the attention. She’d beg Ms CJ to stay with her longer every time she popped in during class. And that sucked, because I couldn’t say shit about anything cringe Angel did when Ms CJ was around, so I missed a lot of really good opportunities to mess with her. 

Ms CJ always sat with her daughter at lunch, which was honestly bad parenting because there was no way Angel would ever be able to make any friends like that. Ms CJ never let Angel join the rest of us for recess. Or for field trips. Once during a group project in French class, as a joke, I invited Angel to a made-up party in the woods. Angel replied by saying,

“I can’t go if it’s in the woods, silly! My mommy doesn’t let me outside!”

She said this like it was the most normal thing in the world for her, so I asked some clarifying questions. She explained, in her girly sing-song voice, that she’s not ever allowed to be outside for more than a few seconds at a time, and only when her mommy is there to hold her hand. 

“My mommy doesn’t want me to get lost,” she said.

“It’s not like you can run away,” I joked.

“I can run,” Angel replied, pouting. “Look.” She kicked her legs slightly. I heard the clack of chains. 

That was the first time I ever noticed that Angel was shackled around her ankles. 

“I run all the time at home,” Angel bragged. “I run alllll over, over all the rooms. I wish I could run here too, but it’s too dangerous. The windows,” she added, like that would clarify it. I was baffled. So she didn’t even need the wheelchair.

“Um, why are you chained? Are you like, under house arrest or something?” I asked.

“No. My mommy just doesn’t want me to get lost. She’s the only one with the key.”

“Your mommy sounds like a psycho. You should call the cops,” I replied.

The French teacher overheard her crying and she got me sent to the principal’s office again. But I swear this time I wasn’t being smart or anything, I was genuinely freaked out for her. I told my friends, who all agreed with me that it was weird. But I guess I hadn’t been the first one to notice the chains. The others who had assumed it was because Angel was like, prone to fits or something. That made sense for Angel, but it still made me feel weird and didn’t sit right.

My mommy doesn’t want me to get lost.

I started to feel sorry for her. She was still weird and annoying, but she was weird and annoying because her mom was out of her mind and wouldn’t let her be a normal kid. How was she supposed to learn to be normal if she couldn’t even go outside, for god’s sake? 

I still messed with Angel when she did weird stuff like quote anime characters in class and bring stuffed animals to school. But if it was ever just her and me, I was nice to her and asked her stuff about her life. 

Her favorite movie was The Little Mermaid. No, she had never been to summer camp. Her favorite time of the week was church. She disliked onions and wanted to be a vegetarian except that her mom was very insistent about her getting enough protein in her diet. She loved those Warrior cat books and wanted to be a veterinarian someday. She didn’t have a dad. Ms CJ took the shackles off her ankles only once they were inside their house and all the doors and windows were closed and locked. That was also when Ms CJ took the locked metal bar off of her chair so she could get up. The bar went over her waist and prevented her from standing. She wore those big ugly cat sweaters every day so we wouldn’t see it. Her mom didn’t want people to know about her special condition, which, as far as I could tell, was all made-up. Any time I asked about her “condition,” she’d just say some stuff about being a very special heaven baby or whatever.

“Do you ever think about running away?” I asked finally. “Why don’t you just… leave?”

She looked shocked.

“Of course not!” she said. “I love my mommy. Where would I even go?” She shuddered visibly. 

The shudder pissed me off. I blew up at her and called her a whiny scaredy baby until she cried, and I got sent to the principal again. 

 She didn’t even want to be normal. That’s what pissed me off the most. 

It was springtime, and the snow was finally mostly gone. I’d been in Mr Bevends’ science class before, so I knew what to expect that day– first real nice day of spring was always a “class outside” day. We’d go out and look at moss and leaf buds and stuff and he’d talk about natural changes during the season. It was all a big excuse for us to get outside– no one liked it more than Mr Bevends himself. He was so excited to announce we were taking class outside, he didn’t even notice Angel’s face go stark white as he led the rest of the class out the doors.

“I– I can’t–” she stuttered, but I interrupted her.

“It’s the most beautiful day in months,” I said. “It’s a perfect day. You’ll love it.”

“I’m not allowed,” she whispered, embarrassed. 

“You wanna be a baby forever?” I said. “Come on. You’ve never broken a single rule in your life. Live a little.”

After a long moment, Angel nodded. She followed me out the back doors of the school, onto the sidewalk. I walked next to her for awhile. She looked scared, but also fascinated by the dripping icicles from the roof gutter above us, and the ice-blue sky above, and the rows of black trees stretching up into the air. 

“It’s cold,” she said. 

“Yeah, that happens when you’re outside for more than a few seconds.”

“I think… I like the cold.”

We caught up to the rest of the science class, and listened to Mr Bevends talk about leaves and crap. Angel oscilated between this vibrating excitement and a frightened, hunted look, like her mom was gonna show up at any second and punish her for disobeying and doing one normal thing in her life. Angel touched the trees reverently. My friends made fun of her for “fondling the foliage.” I didn’t join in this time. I had bigger things planned.

When we broke off into groups of two, I went with Angel. My friends knew I was up to something great then, so they followed us, chuckling eagerly. I grinned back at them when Angel wasn’t looking.

We were supposed to identify different types of trees in the woods behind the school. I helped push Angel’s chair up the hill– it was insanely heavy. The wheels snagged on the muddy grass, but it didn’t matter. It’s not like she actually needed the thing.

“What are you doing?” Angel asked with rising terror as I leaned over her and produced the key. 

Everyone knew Mr Bevends always had class outside the first nice day of spring. It was really easy to slip the key from Ms CJ’s lanyard when she always left it out on her desk during homeroom. It was the one with little white wings on the chain. 

“I’m setting you free,” I said. I unlocked the shackles around her feet first, then the bar around her waist. She screamed at me to stop the entire time, but I knew I was doing the right thing. Someone had to teach her to be independent. Someone had to throw her out of her comfort zone. 

And that’s what I did. I set Angel free.

Angel rose from the chair. 

And rose. And rose.

Her shoes went over her head. She kicked her legs wildly as they drifted rapidly upwards. Angel shrieked and tried to grab onto the top of the chair– the handles, even trying to clutch a handful of my hair– desperate to stay anchored to the ground. But it was too late. She was already six feet in the air. 

Then twelve. 

Then thirty.

I couldn’t do anything other than watch on in shock as Angel shot up into the sky like a helium balloon. She twisted and clawed at the open air. 

It happened in seconds. One second, we were watching Angel make frantic grabbing motions at the ground, howling with terror, and the next second all we could see of her was the glint of the sunlight on her glittery pink cat sweater as she disappeared up into the vast emptiness above.

When Mr Bevends came to see what was the matter, all any of us could do was to point up. But by then, she was just a pinprick against the deep, endless blue sky. 

Then there was nothing.

[fictionadventurer]

Thoughts about The Wonderful Wizard of Oz

Wow, is Kansas bleak. Even the Pevensie kids in actual WWII England didn't feel this depressing. Frankly, not sure why Dorothy wanted to go back.

Dorothy feels surprisingly young. Even Alice seemed to have more agency in her story. Dorothy is mostly under the care of various authority figures. The cover illustration has me picturing her as maybe 5 or 6, which is kind of fascinating.

The dynamic between Dorothy and the Scarcrow, Tin Man and Lion was so sweet. They're like uncles taking care of her. Really nice angle for a portal fantasy.

This is kind of a case where the movie seems to have mostly made changes that tighten up the story. Bringing in the Wicked Witch of the West as a threat earlier, for instance, or cutting the mostly pointless little quest at the end.

However, Dorothy controlling the flying monkeys was amazing and should have been kept (maybe it was? in some form? it's a long long time since I saw the movie).

I can absolutely see why Disney thought it was a good idea to do an Oz-focused prequel. "Nebraska carnie comes to a fantasy world and has to pretend to have magical powers so the actual magical beings won't smite him into oblivion" is the single best portal fantasy story I have heard in my life. Stunning. Hilarious. Amazing. I need fifteen movies about that.

(Also, that makes me even less interested in Wicked. How do you look at that book and think the most interesting story is "what if the Wicked Witch was actually good and Oz was an oppressive dictator?")

Adored how he conned his way into granting the wishes. Less of a fan of how he sent AN ACTUAL CHILD to fight THE BEING SO EVIL AND POWERFUL HE'S BEEN RUNNING AN ELABORATE CON FOR DECADES SO SHE'LL THINK HE'S MAGICAL AND LEAVE HIM ALONE. Sorry, Dorothy, he's not a good wizard or a good man. Still my favorite character though.

Loved how Baum totally committed to the physical reality of the Scarecrow being a Scarecrow. He's light. He's soft. He can be unstuffed and restuffed, etc.

He seems very interested in giving life to inanimate objects. What talking animals are to Narnia, inanimate objects are to Oz.

In general, loved the imagination on display. Not too impressed with the writing style. I was going to content myself with reading the first one to fill in the gap in my classic children's lit experience. But I still find myself considering reading at least a book or two more.

[sezja]

Undercover

"I volunteer to sleep on the floor."

"Don't be daft; have you seen the size of that bed," Guydelot says, thrusting the curtains open to let in the beautiful island sunshine. He hasn't stopped grinning since they'd received this assignment; Sanson's almost sure of it. Under vastly different circumstances, Sanson might have also welcomed the chance to spend three weeks - or more! - in a tropical paradise, with his every expense paid for by the Twin Adder... but despite appearances (and in spite of what Guydelot seems eager to believe), they are on duty.

Matron save me, what a duty.

Sanson unceremoniously drops his bags on the cabin floor beside Guydelot's, and sinks heavily to a seat on one of the generously-upholstered loveseats. Idly, anxiously, he twists the unfamiliar gold ring on his finger, pretending his hands are only sweaty due to the island heat. Fighting nausea. Failing. He struggles with the urge to snatch up one of the pillows that he might scream himself hoarse into it, letting loose all of his bewildered frustration: at this mission, at this entire situation, at himself for accepting it-

"You don't have to be so glum about it." His bardly companion, showing none of Sanson's own reservations, drops himself onto the other side of the loveseat without needing any invitation. "How often do we get a mission someplace nice, eh? At least it ain't Ishgard again. Or Garlemald." Guydelot stretches, draping one long arm across the back of the seat. "Tropical paradise, a proper beach, ocean waves to lull us to sleep-"

"And a serial murderer on the loose," Sanson cuts in, waspish. "You do recall this is no pleasure jaunt?"

Unfazed by his partner's temper - and why should he be, after five years of working together; who knows Sanson's moods better than Guydelot? - the bard grins again, holding his hands up in playful surrender. "Aye, Chief; sat through the same orders you did, didn't I? I'm just saying..." His gaze wanders toward the window again. The warm breeze wafting in carries the tang of salt, and the cries of gulls in the near distance confirms it: they're far from the familiar boughs of the Twelveswood. "I'm just saying," Guydelot continues, letting his hand fall back behind Sanson again, giving a lock of his hair a teasing tug. "The Cieldalaes are a damn sight better than Abalathia."

Some of Sanson's indignation cools. He sighs, resting his face in his hands. Muffled, he says, "I know. 'Tis only..."

Gods, but it's only a dozen things, isn't it? Sanson has never needed to serve undercover before this, nor did he ever wish to do so; he is no actor, and this requires some skill at thinking on his feet...

But the Maelstrom required aid from someone not known to miscreants native to Vylbrand, for a hunt that's left even the vaunted - albeit dubious, to Sanson's rigid view of the law - Rogues' Guild stymied. And so they'd turned to the Order of the Twin Adder, desperate for fresh faces to put an end to the grisly string of gruesome killings happening in a most unlikely place.

A pair of retired adventurers had purchased one of the many desirable Cieldalaes islands... and industriously set about turning it into a couples' retreat, transforming their own considerable fortunes into comfort and luxury for lovebirds all across Eorzea. What had begun as a modest venture had evolved into a truly high-end experience, rivaling that of the Manderville Gold Saucer, or even the most palatial estates of Ul'dah - of a certainty, the sort of accommodations Sanson and Guydelot couldn't hope to afford without the substantial backing of the Twin Adder. It lured in wealthy couples by the hundreds from as far as Kugane, eager to bask in the romantic island surroundings, far from prying eyes...

But something very wrong has happened here.

In recent moons, those couples have been turning up dead - dead and robbed, divested of whatever wealth they brought with them to the island. Distraught, the owners had reached out to the Maelstrom...

And that's where we come in, Sanson thinks, his stomach in knots. A pair of naive Gridanians who, miraculously, haven't heard the first thing about murders happening in our beautiful vacation home.

If it were just that, if it were only that, only the murders to be solved and the murderer brought to justice...

"It's the part where we're supposed to be madly in love," Guydelot supplies, after the silence stretches a little too long. "Am I right?"

Sanson groans in response, still muffled in his hands.

Guydelot, damn the man, laughs, letting his head drop back against the seat. He'd laughed himself to tears when they'd been briefed on the mission, too, all while Sanson stared in numb disbelief at their far-too-amused commander. Surely there had to be a better pair of officers they could have sent - someone better-suited to detective work; someone tried and tested with this sort of thing...

But no, Commander Heuloix had assured him; no, there were no others, and Sanson and Guydelot's teamwork made them ideal for the mission. Which, Sanson supposes, must be a politic way of saying that Guydelot has a knack for getting people to say more than they intended, and that he has a knack for persuading Guydelot to focus on his work. And they do work well together. For the past five years, since their fateful hunt for the Ballad of Oblivion, they've been nigh-inseparable; the best of friends, the most unlikely of teams. They balance one another: the twin leads of Sanson's unit, and together, they've led that unit to victory time and again-

But that hardly makes them suited to pretend to be lovers!

Guydelot stops to catch his breath, letting his laughter trail off into quiet chuckles. He rests a hand on the back of Sanson's neck, gently tugging him back upright. Sanson lets his hands fall heavily into his lap with a sigh.

"I cannot do this."

"Sure you can," Guydelot says, reaching for his harp - of course he didn't leave home without his harp; he could no more leave it behind than he could his head. He strums a quiet, calming melody. "Shouldn't be all that hard, eh? You've just gotta convince everyone we happen to meet that you're in love with the most dashingly handsome elezen they've ever seen. Easiest job in the world."

Sanson casts the man a withering glare - wasted, of course, as the bard's eyes are on his harp. "It isn't so simple."

"Sure it is. You've never pretended to be in love with someone before?"

"No."

"Sanson the Saint," Guydelot sings with a grin, winking at him. Winking. Sanson stifles the urge to kick the man's shin. Guydelot sets his harp aside once more, studying his own hands... and the gold ring on one finger, matching the one Sanson's wearing. "The rings were a nice touch," the bard remarks, plucking his off to study it more closely. "This sort of place attracts honeymooners."

Sanson realizes he's been fretfully twisting his own ring again - he's worn the thing for only a few days, but nervous habits develop quickly. "Honeymooners," he repeats, dismal.

"Aye, but I'm thinking we ain't honeymooners," Guydelot continues, sliding his ring back on. "You and me, we've been married a while; a few years, say-"

"Five years?" Sanson offers the suggestion wryly, but the bard nods.

"Aye, sure, five years. Might as well. You remember what Celaine said; we bicker like an old married couple? We've got it down to an art already. But the spark's gone out, I reckon; we got married too young. And this trip's a last-ditch effort to rekindle the old flame, such as it is." He lifts his eyebrows, eyeing Sanson sidelong. "I reckon it's as good a reason as any for us being a little less cozy in public."

Sanson stares. "That... that's well-considered," he manages. The knot of anxiety begins to unravel. "Still-"

"Still, you're going to have to put in a little effort to act as though you want that spark rekindled." Guydelot drapes his arm behind Sanson again, letting it rest on the midlander's shoulders this time. "And for gods' sakes, Sanson, be a little less stiff," he adds, cheery. "You're meant to be on vacation! If whoever's doing all this killing gets one look at you, they'll see military man just rolling off you like a bad smell."

He wants to argue, but knows better.

Instead, he shrugs the bard's arm away, rising. "Help me unpack," he says. "We'll not be living out of our packs while we're here, and we'd best get familiar with our base of operations, such as it is. We won't want for space." Not with a cabin big enough for a small family - the bedroom suite alone is nearly twice the size of some apartments Sanson has seen, and the kitchen could serve an entire family. Doubtless many of the island's visitors brought retainers to tend to their every whim...

But they've only brought themselves.

And may the Matron help us.

[uncanny-tranny]

Something I realized (which was obvious to me subconsciously) is that... The family that vehemently didn't accept me when I first came out but now do accept me are still the same family that I am most unwilling to be open about things I feel protective over.

I remember that my dad reacted so poorly, not to my coming out, but to my transition specifically that my therapist was the one to ask if I wanted to put it on my file that I wanted nothing to ever be shared with him about my health after I broke down multiple times due to my anxiety that I would never transition. While there are and were protections for me, I was incredibly fearful at the time because I was a minor, and I was so worried that he would have prevented my transition that I couldn't have said for certain what (if any) lengths he would have gone to to prevent that.

He's grown a lot as a person, and made some commendable strides. But he didn't find out from me when I medically transitioned the second I turned eighteen, and I think that's among the things that truly made him realize the scope of the issue.

I'm not here to guilt trip parents, guardians, or other members responsible for the care of the children or teens or young adults in their care.... but this is a cautionary tale. You aren't saving the people in your care when you do this, you simply reinforce an idea that you will never care for them, never want them as they are, would rather them be shoved away.

When you give people reasons to be secretive, they will behave secretively. When you give people reasons to doubt their safety around you, they will become sneaky, defensive, and withdrawn. When you give people reasons to doubt that you value their life, they will believe that you don't care if they live or not.

[guhhhhhhhhhhh]

I am going to make it thru this week even if it kills me I am GOING TO MAKE IT THROUGH THIS WEEK REALLY IM going to make it through this week

[imwritesometimes]

I am once again completely losing any interest or motivation to actually write anything 🙃🙃🙃

[orcelito]

I was on call for nearly 7 hours between streaming my samurai game, watching anime, and then just chatting some. Which was really great for getting my mind off things!!! Hung out with a good assortment of friends, which was pretty great.

Though. Now I'm alone again. Which I usually enjoy. But it also has me remembering why I was on such a long call to start with...

I have therapy tomorrow, and I don't know whether I should mention this. She's primarily my grief therapist, so it'd maybe feel weird to spring something else on her... but I don't know...

[seddair]

.

[lilislegacy]

i love how in heroes of olympus, there’s a boat full of couples (+leo☺️). and yet even if you didn’t know when each couple started dating, it’s so blatantly obvious that percy and annabeth have been together the longest, and are the most serious

cause frank and hazel are still pretty nervous/unsure with each other. they JUST started dating, and are so pure and adorable. they just haven’t quite figured out the romance part yet

and jason and piper have their moments, but they’re just so… distant. like not physically, of course, but they just don’t really seem to connect on a deep level. and they aren’t super affectionate, at least not physically or openly. piper is constantly unsure about where they’re at, and while jason has thoughts about how great piper is, he doesn’t openly show his feelings too often.

but percabeth? they’re the oldest in age (physically), have known each other the longest, and have been romantically committed to each other for the most time. they act like they’ve been together for eternity, which is funny since they were technically only dating for 4 months before percy got abducted. but they just have such a deep history together and such an intense connection. they’re in it for the long run. there’s no doubt or uncertainty - and it shows. like…annabeth is so wife girlfriend. there are so many funny/cute little moments, like her scolding him for putting too much syrup on his pancakes, and telling him to take a shower when he smells bad. and when percy suggests him and jason should go on a dangerous quest instead of annabeth and piper, instead of being like “omg he cares so much about me😍” (which hazel and piper would have done) annabeth is like “what seaweed brain?? you think two guys can do better than two girls??” and percy is immediately like “uh uh NO nope i definitely do NOT think that!!” he knows better. the immediate fear is so husband boyfriend of him. they simultaneously have the most disagreements (remember when percy called annabeth out when she thought she should navigate through rome alone, and basically called her stupid for thinking it was a good idea, and then they argued and had a face-off, which percy won) - while also being the most lovey dovey (they’re constantly putting their hands on each other - annabeth putting her hand on his chest to calm him down, putting their hands on each other’s arms for support, percy having his arm around her when they’re at the edge of the ship, always giving each other a kiss on the mouth or the cheek when they separate, etc). and they have no issues sneaking off in the middle of the night to do some talking and kissing. and quite frankly, making out in front of piper in BoO (remember that? when piper got super uncomfortable at how long their kiss was lasting, and then annabeth let out, and i quote, “grunt-whimpers”). they are just so natural and comfortable with each other. piper says it herself.

i just think it’s so funny. little frazel being adorable and blushing when they hold hands, jiper is happy to be dating but they’re also a little angsty and uncertain, and then there’s percabeth just being the old married couple they are. (and leo is being cute and fixing stuff)

[kithtaehyung]

minted: two (explicit) | myg

title: minted: two (explicit) pairing: street king!yoongi x street vendor!reader series: one | masterlist rating/genre: m (18+) ; angst , action ; haegeum au , gang au summary: after a whirlwind of a detour, you have second and third thoughts about the guy you saved. who even is this man? and what the hell is in that bag? note: holy shit, y’all. thank you so much for the love on this series already! it’s been a minute since we started a new series here, so nerves were firing on all cylinders. but you all showed out and gave me enormous relief and motivation to keep going, so thank you! note 2: as always, this is dedicated to hali @sailoryooons for ur belated bday, nary @joonary for being a cutie pie and letting me adopt the tangerine cart girl idea in general, and luce @minttangerines for ur url and for being a wonderful friend. love you all! warnings: language, violence, weapons (guns), blood/wounds mentions, drugs, alcohol, trauma/pstd, poor reader :(((, but also YES READER???, tension to the max, inner turmoil, mint!yoongi, haegeum!yoongi, tatted!yoongi, his eyebrow is pierced, yoongi visuals in this one areeee… a ha ha, did i mention tension?, tense situations, crass af yoongi lol, reader is also a baddie but who is shocked, slow burnnnn drop date: september 30th, 2024, 9:03pm est word count: 9.8k help me @ god

-

-

There’s something to be said about the human gut. 

Not for being the source of multiple health aspects, nor the way it’s connected to the brain. 

But, other than when violence tears it to shreds, it can be quite the defense mechanism. Just like yours churns and churns with each mechanical click of the elevator shaft.

Who is this person next to you? 

Who exactly did you decide to follow upstairs hours ago, killing your daily life to save and join on the run? 

You don’t know if you release your hand or if Yoongi lets it fall, but you take this unlinking to create space. As you slide your gaze toward your companion, he merely shifts his weight and finds interest in increasing, beeping numbers.

How can someone’s profile be so troublingly handsome? You’d be able to think more clearly if he wasn’t both attractive and dangerous. Or if you simply weren’t on the verge of collapse.

Frankly, if you didn’t just murder a man you’d pass out as soon as you took too long to blink. 

To keep yourself alert—and to hopefully gather some much needed intel—you suddenly question aloud, “Where are we?”

No answer.

Alright.

“That driver called you Agust,” you recap on a second go. “What was that about?”

All Yoongi does is stare at his reflection in opulent, dim mirrored walls. Or whatever else he’s doing besides talking. 

Okay. Well.

You can face forward, too. 

“Those guys after us,” you try a third time, because who are you to give up now even if he radiates annoyance. “They didn’t look like Crane.”

“Doesn’t mean they weren’t.”

Your neck almost snaps when you turn. “Are you kidding me?”

As you watch Yoongi scorn the ceiling again, you can’t believe he doesn’t agree. 

Mm. Does he?

From the flex of his jaw, you have to assume you’re right to some degree. Because it looks like he’s very, very bothered by the people that chased you down. 

If those weren’t any of the high-powers but had equal resources and numbers…

What the hell were they? Where did they even come from?

Geez, it’s freezing. Is a drop in temperature the best barrier to you making sense of things? You can’t even appreciate the way Yoongi’s veins protrude with every adjustment he makes to that mysterious duffle bag.

Lies. You absolutely can. But there’s no way in hell you’re ever complimenting that. Or anything about him anymore because he clearly doesn’t want anything to do with you! 

Why did he even hold your hand? Was that just a ploy, too? 

But that taxi drive…

Yoongi looks down before lightly scuffing his shoe, and both of you fall silent as you finally give up with a huff. 

Massively dehydrated. Sore. Still covered in a myriad of unmentionables and now being ignored by the guy you saved. 

All you wanna do is go home, and you don’t even know where that is. 

How far did you travel? What district is this? You’ve never heard of a grey zone, but they seem fairly peaceful even at night. Neutral enough for you to consider relocating even if it meant sleeping on the street.

That brings up another question. “If we’re in a grey zone, how did you know—”

A ding interrupts your last thought, and you look to see where you ended up.

But the elevator doesn’t say a number. Only letters? What kinda floor did you stop on? 

One thing’s for sure, though. Whatever room you end up getting, if there’s only one bed you’re hogging it or taking the…

Floor…

There are many things that have shocked you in your lifetime. Many things just from today that had your head positively and forever reeling. 

But when the elevator doors slide open, you can’t even fathom what the fuck you’re dealing with. 

And in this second, more than ever, you understand how ludicrously out of your element you really are. 

“Holy shit,” you blurt, barely hearing the huff at your side.

Don’t elevators usually open up to hallways? Why are you walking into an entire living space? Is this a real place people choose to sleep in for a night? A whole floor?

Forget a whole floor, it’s a whole other place.

You slowly survey everything, wondering how much this has to be because you have never seen a living space so big. Or pretty. Or anything like this.

The ceilings vault and the furniture looks nothing like you’ve ever seen. Everything looks pristine. Clean. Is that a whole kitchen?

How are there living arrangements this big? This one place is bigger than your entire apartment level back home. 

And here you are: speechless, virtually homeless, and dragging your filth onto white marble floors. 

Perfect.

“What.” 

You turn at the scrape of Yoongi’s voice, wondering why now is when he finally chooses to acknowledge you. Head pounding, you ask outright, “Who… Who even are you? What is this place?”

He levels your stare before walking towards a long couch, dumping the duffle and raking his hair back in minted waves. “There’s a shower in every bedroom. Take your pick.” 

…Is that really his only response?

“That’s not what I asked,” you fire back, wondering what the hell his problem is so you can add more out of spite.

“But it’s what you need.”

“Say what now?” 

The fucking nerve? Even though you obviously, desperately need one, hearing him mention it makes you wanna re-use the chopsticks in your pocket. 

But Yoongi simply waves you off, grabbing a remote and flicking on a television so wide you would struggle to reach both ends. 

This is all too much. 

“You know what I need? To go home,” you huff out, leaving fire in your determined trek to the elevator. “Have a nice life, Yoongi. Or Agust. Whoever the fuck you are.” 

You get to the door and run into a dirt-slicked forearm. “The fuck are you doing?”

“Shouldn’t be that hard to figure out.”

“You serious?”

“Yes, I am. So move.”

Yoongi pauses, jaw working overtime before he steps aside—wait he’s gonna let you go that easily? 

…Oh.

That was certainly not what you expected, but what else would you even think? This isn’t one of those stories that ends perfectly after trials and tribulations. Yoongi has proven more than once—in mere hours—that he’s no regular civilian. 

But despite that, you blink before freezing at a terrible realization. 

No matter how you slice it, you’re much better off with him right now than you are by yourself. Even if he is a secretive criminal with a smoking gun. 

He did keep you alive that whole chase.

But there’s the smallest, tiniest chance that you aren’t quite safe with him, either. You don’t even know who this man is anymore—maybe you never did.

So in a quick decision, you skim his side to slap the elevator button, chucking daggers at his brows until he leaves you to wait alone.

Good. You don’t need this. You can find your way back to your city block somehow and live the life you’ve chosen to lead again. 

Yes. You can do all of that by yourself. The chase is done. 

And so is your story with the man that will never buy your tangerines again. 

Grabbing your sleeve, a second fact stings your fingers. A jacket woven in Dragon teal. 

Shit. You need to ditch this, too. Either right now, or before you get the hell out of this grey zone because if you don’t, this is the biggest target you could ever have on your back. 

No good. No good no good you didn’t plan any of this well at all. Fucking pride blinding you to everything else logical. Is this how your story ends? Because of regret and resistance? 

You wait for the sliding doors, about to leave the biggest room you’ll ever see to occupy a box. How poetic. 

Your heart pounds as you close your eyes. Yoongi just cut you loose; it’s obvious he doesn’t care so why should you? No going back now. You’ll figure it out. The doors are finally opening. 

And someone’s inside?

Wait.

Your brain both whirrs and skids to a halt at the sight of the staff member occupying the elevator. When they give you a look, you find your hand drifting towards your back pocket.

Fucking hell, relax. You should be safe with a staff member, right? They wouldn’t be out to kill you. This is just your adrenaline on its haunches. 

However, one foot in the elevator and your senses go haywire. 

Because you can’t do this alone. You aren’t nearly as prepared to brave this foreign space as you need to be. With red in your hands and Dragon on your back? Absolutely not. 

You bow to the hotel staff before you face forward into the expanse. 

And as the doors start to close, you see Yoongi’s stare over his shoulder, storming with emotions you can’t name.

Yeah, you fucked up.

Fuck. 

Fuck you actually made a big mistake go back don’t let the elevator close shit—

As you lunge for the door, you get your arm through to block it from closing, turning to the employee inside and seeing their expression change. 

What was that about?

“Sorry,” you blurt to their pressed and polished grey uniform. “I forgot something inside.”

“I can wait, Miss,” they immediately offer, to which you politely and cautiously decline. 

“No need.” When you step out of the elevator, something happens that you think about hours and hours later. “I’ll come down when I’m ready, thank you.”

You can suddenly breathe again. Why was it so stuffy in there?

The worker bows stiff. “As you wish.” 

Without pause, you nod, waiting until the doors close to face someone turned away.

Ugh. It’s like Yoongi knew you weren’t gonna leave. Either that, or he really didn’t give a crap about what you did at all.

Either way, fuck this guy and fuck your indecisive ass!

In full aggravation, you march through the entrance before grating out, “You’re lucky I—”

“Shower.”

“What?”

“The blood,” he calmly breathes. “If you’re gonna hit the streets, wash it out.” 

“It isn’t mine.”

“I know.”

Your mouth snaps shut. 

Fuck. Yoongi’s right. 

“Okay. Well,” you scoff, “Good point but how can I trust you to not do anything.” 

When he tilts his head with a bored, unamused, borderline ticked off expression, you almost scoff before he drawls, 

“Not interested.” 

Oh. He’s… 

Oh. 

But the taxi and the hand-holding and the the the kiss what the hell? Was your liplock not up to this Dragon’s standards? Why are you questioning something so trivial? 

The nerve. You plunge your shoulders in exasperation, hating how you chose to put yourself in another situation with this pain in the ass and he isn’t even… “I swear to—You know what? Good. Not interested, either.”

A lie. 

Scrambling, your stomach speaks the next sentence for you, “But there better be food when I come out cus you robbed me of lunch today. So do something about that.” 

Fucking hell you do not need his lips to quirk up so deliciously. That one look completely offsets what he just said and annoyingly tickles your core. 

Stop. Focus. You cannot entertain any of those thoughts so ignore him and find a bedroom. 

Opening the first door you can see, you continue your tirade, “And no more stealing my chopsticks.”

“Closet.”

Of course it’s a closet! Shutting it with force, you let out a high curse. “Who needs a closet here? Whatever, just—figure it out, I’m starving.”

“Yes, princess.”

You flick Yoongi off as you blaze down the hall, not even knowing nor caring if he sees or not. 

The next door works, and you shut him out before falling back onto its weight, so fraught with emotion that you can’t even register the appearance of the room. 

Today has aged you multiple years. So much has transpired ever since this afternoon that you can’t even think in straight nor curved lines. As soon as you remember something, another thought juts between. Why are you simultaneously thinking about dingy, stained floors while agonizing over Yoongi’s lips? Is there a place other than hell or heaven you can settle on? 

As soon as you’re physically and mentally patched, you are out of here. 

The plan is simple. Shower, eat, give this man a piece of your manic mind, then go home.

Although… It would be nice to at least know what’s in that duffle. If it’s something worth taking you could finesse a piece of the loot. 

Swallowing dry, you push yourself off the door and finally notice a flood of ambient light. 

At your side, you come across an expansive bathroom, eyeing the wall-to-wall entrance before taking in the center shower with disdain and awe.

The whole setup is lavish. 

Does the water just fall straight from the ceiling and into that large square tub? This looks nothing like your cramped, chipped one back home. There’s even lush plants lining the area and towels already folded nearby for use. 

Maybe you did get killed on the run and you’re in some type of dreamworld. 

Too bad you aren’t alone.

As you drag tired feet onto heated tile, you search for the shower knobs, realizing you have a whole panel to work with instead. 

Uhh. 

What. 

You quickly find that one button blows water like a hose straight from the top, scaring you so bad you jump. When you hastily try another, something whirrs in the floor that has your brows kissing—

“You good?”

Fuck!

You flinch and hit the wall, groaning when you see Yoongi lazily resting against one side of the bathroom entrance. Both of your voices echo in the extravagant interior.

“You ever knock?”

“No.”

“Shocker.”

He walks up the tiny steps, and you’re more than relieved you’re still wearing his jacket. When he gets closer, you turn and face the panel, “I can figure it out.”

“Move.”

You get slightly displaced as he gets close, resting a hand on the wall while bending to operate the buttons. As you inhale his musk, you respond to his second question instead of his first. “What?”

“Is this fine,” he repeats, checking the settings before turning to the shower area.

Oh. Wow. It’s a lot more than fine.

A circle of rain falls into a beautifully lighted tub, steam wafting through the glow and coating your skin. 

You’re so entranced that you are quite literally left speechless. Skirting around your present company, you gaze up, down, silently observing the plants sway with the shower air. 

Strangely, this whole bathroom makes everything you’ve seen today believable because of the sheer wonder of it all. It’s almost enough to make you forget what you’ve done. 

Almost. 

When you pause, you see Yoongi watching your face from beyond the rainfall. And he looks so handsome, even now, not doing a thing. 

Is it because he’s clearly roughed up but still so poised? Very unlike you in your banged up, dirty state? 

Huffing, you fold your arms a little too harshly—out of jealousy or whatever else, who is to say. “I’m good now,” you proclaim, keeping your walls high. “I can do the rest myself.” 

Again with that little slant. 

Ignore him ignore him. If Yoongi keeps doing that, you’re really gonna have to brave the outside world instead of dying by smirk. A tub has never been so interesting in your life. 

“Suit yourself.”

You look up again.

But he’s already left you alone.

Solely to undress and contemplate what the hell he implied by that.

Why did you walk left today instead of right?

Under scorching rain in the middle of luxury, this is the question you repeat in your head. Watching all the burnt streams of your decision swirl, and swirl, and swirl. 

The blood will never wash out.

Does the price of saving a life have to be this high? It must be somewhat divine, being that in order to save, you took. If only there was another way to achieve that end goal. Though there’s no way to do it all over again to be sure.

Staring at four chopsticks on the ground, you try to assure yourself. You need to.

Because at least you succeeded. 

But will your price be more damning because of the one you saved? 

Rushing water mutes your hearing as it pours onto sore limbs. When you reach for the scrub for a third time, you make sure to really dig, scraping at every. Single. Inch. In a last attempt to cleanse yourself completely.

Knowing that even after the water runs clear, you still see nothing but red.

You chose left today.

If you had chosen right… 

Doesn’t matter. 

Your palm tingles.

Blood never really washes out.

Holy fuck, you don’t have clothes to change into.

Wrapping yourself in plush material, you hastily pad around freezing floors as you think of a plan.

You can’t just ask for them. How would Yoongi even have any for you? The jacket was more than enough borrowing for today and you’re in a hotel room, not his place.

Thank the universe.  

But the matter is pretty urgent. Because you’d rather burn your belongings before putting them on again. Which leaves zero clothing and a thousand issues. Fuck. 

Dragging feet to the massive sliding doors, you steel your resolve. Hoist your shields back upright. 

Because there’s no choice. You’re just gonna have to dread another conversation with this man. An embarrassing, awkward, unprecedented shit why is he in the bedroom!

You flinch backward as you slam the door closed. Peeking out, you gawk, “What the hell are you—?”

Did Yoongi just pocket a phone?

The duffle rests at his feet. 

Wait. Did he stay in here while you showered? Thank god you had the foresight to slide all the doors shut because you definitely spent a lot of your time scrubbing like mad or standing completely still. 

No. Yoongi’s hair is wet, so he did shower at some point. And he’s donning a robe, which is precisely what made you slam the door shut. 

How can he look like royalty wearing that? The material is quite lush and silken, but still plain. It makes no fucking sense and you wanna rip it right off—

Gathering yourself, you rush out, “Why are you in here?”

“You took too long.”

“So? That doesn’t—”

“In my shower.”

Wait. What? “Oh.” 

You slide the door open a little more to check his claim. And now that you finally see the room, you can tell it’s clearly been used already, clothes and bottles scattered about. “You said pick one.” 

“I did.” Yoongi turns to drop something onto a dark comforter. “Figured you picked it on purpose.”

“No, I… I didn’t notice the room.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he says after a brief look your way. “Not sharing the bed, though.”

“No need,” you snip. “I’m leaving soon.” 

Motherfucker. Yoongi only regards his sheets with a smile that triggers your fight response. And you almost—almost—drop the towel. 

Speaking of. How are you even standing in his vicinity with only a single piece of cloth? Are you seriously that exhausted you didn’t even think twice about it?

Suddenly very, very aware of yourself, you squeak, “Umm.” He waits. “I don’t have any clothes.” 

“That’s what you get for kicking me out so quick.”

Your jaw hits the floor. “So what, I’m walking around with a towel? Are you out of your mind? If you think I’m some—”

“Fuck, relax,” he slowly groans to the ceiling. “I was gonna say there’s robes in the closet.” 

You snap your mouth closed so hard it jangles. “Then just say that!” And you slam the partition closed before fast walking to find them. 

Missing the way Yoongi huffs before staring hard at his bedroom door.

On your second arrival into his room, your steps and demeanor are a lot calmer. 

Is it because he’s a lot calmer, too? Maybe. Is it also because you smell food, realizing he did exactly what you wanted? Maybe more so. 

Noticing a table situated near balcony doors, you blink before regarding Yoongi’s sitting form on one of the chairs outside. 

A man lounging while smoking in a robe should not be this alluring. And yet, that’s the only word you can think of to describe him.  

Throat drying and aching, you slowly walk over and take a seat, already ravenous enough to dive into broth head first. But you eye Yoongi while retrieving new chopsticks, scowling when all he does is flash teeth through the glass.

Do not engage do not engage do not engage. 

Pretending not to care and severely failing, you focus on your— 

“You’re really mad about that, huh.”

You snap your head up to see him leaning on the doorway. “I was hungry.”

“There was a cup of them on your table.”

“So why didn’t you grab those instead!” 

Yoongi ticks his brows before peering into the night. And he stays like that for awhile, letting a breeze lift his damp locks. “Didn’t expect to see you there,” he admits. “Gotta say you threw me off.”

Nu uh. No more heart skips for today. “I didn’t expect to see you, either,” you too choose to be honest. “Thought I’d never see you again.”

“You were going to.”

As curious brows furrow, you break your utensils apart. “Figured something happened.” Guess you’re being honest about a lot of things. “Or you found another tangerine girl.” 

Yoongi holds his look before taking a drag, smoke spiraling around his words, “Why were you even over there? You’re a bit far from Crane.”

You blink at his deflection.

What was that about? What is that look for? 

Holding his gaze because you aren’t done challenging him, you calmly answer, “I was shopping.”

“Shopping.”

“Mmhmm.” 

Falling silent, he observes a little longer before flicking ash off his cigarette. 

And just like that, the conversation dies. 

It’s for the best anyways. If Yoongi kept prying, he was gonna get closer to the truth. And you wanna slip around that as much as possible. 

But he keeps standing in the doorway, inked arm bending as he breathes in smoke. Donned in a dark robe and topped in teal, he suits Dragon perfectly. Way too perfectly. 

Pretending not to care and severely failing, you focus on your noodles instead. 

Your noodles.

Your noodles. 

You’re not hungry anymore. 

Something horrid jams up your throat, and you run through your day in flashes. The restaurant. The food. Dragons. The chopsticks. The kill. The chase. Yoongi. The kill the kill the kill. 

Dirt and shouts and lifeless lips clog your hearing, and your grip loosens completely as your vision shakes and shakes why couldn’t Yoongi have gotten anything else why does it have to be—

A hand. 

A robed arm. 

Your new utensils come back into view. 

But when you face reality, you don’t see them put them back into your hand. You don’t even see them dug in your noodles and left there. 

Instead, you watch as Yoongi plants one palm on the table, slowly lifting strands from the bowl and staring right into your eyes, 

“Eat.” 

Words. Get them out. Something something communication. Key is communication. What the fuck is happening to your brain? 

“I can’t,” you finally croak out. “I’m not.. I’m not hungry.” 

“You are.” 

“Not anymore.” 

Nose scrunching, Yoongi suddenly drops the food and dumps himself on the chair nearest, stretching his leg and revealing a littering of scars. “Didn’t know you were fine with wasting food.” 

The icy descent of his tone freezes your bones.

“Thought you of all people would hate that.” 

“I—I’m not—It’s not that—”

“Then eat.” 

“I literally can’t—” 

“Water. Food. If you’re gonna waste all my shit, then leave.” 

“What?” 

Is he serious? You’re in the midst of post-traumatic shock and he can’t take the hint? You’re so appalled by this man that you can’t even think straight. 

“You heard me. Stop acting like you didn’t.” 

“Oh, I heard you,” you snap. “Just double-checking what the fuck you said.” 

“So you gonna leave or just sit there? If you’re staying I’ll just walk out the roo—”

“Don’t.” 

Both of you still at your words.

And you have to force your palms to unfurl on your quivering thighs. One knuckle. Another. Nails leave half-moons in your skin. 

Breath haphazard, you finally break. “Just,” you swallow, hard. “I’m not wasting it just give me a sec.” 

You don’t want to tell Yoongi why you want him to stay. Despite him being the most infuriating person you’ve ever met, it beats the alternative. And you don’t want the alternative. Truthfully, that’s another reason why you left the elevator earlier. 

Yoongi looks pissed as hell. 

But he hasn’t moved. 

And that’s enough to get you to pick up your chopsticks and try again. 

You stare. Stare. Stare. Mustering courage and inhaling all the aromas you indulged in just earlier today. 

Fuck, you wanna hurl. 

“You’re gonna have to get used to this.”

Your gaze snaps to his, brows and thoughts knitted in disbelief. “What?”

“This feeling.” Yoongi looks out the glass doors, hands resting on the arms of his chair. “The faster you do, the better.”

There’s no way he’s serious. Get used to it? What reason would you ever have for doing that? Caustic, you scoff, “Why, so I don’t waste more of your food?”

You’ve never seen someone laugh in a negative way. But he does before sliding his eyes over. “So when you have to do it again, you don’t lock the fuck up hours later.”

You shoot up from your chair, hellbent on oh fuck you stood up too fast. “You—”

Yoongi just watches as you grab the table for balance, wincing from the pangs in your head. Words grind through your teeth, unable to fully form beyond the light assaulting your brain.

“Like I said.”

Palms press against your forehead before you slump back into your chair. 

“It’s better in the long run.” 

Technically, he’s right. It’s better in the long run if you get used to this. 

But there’s no way you can do it again. Who does he think you are? Yoongi’s got to know that you aren’t planning on making this a daily habit. This isn’t you. You only killed to protect somebody. Killed to save the person telling you to basically get over it.

Fucking hell, this sucks.

Frustration and exhaustion sting the corners of your eyes. 

Eat. Build your strength and get the hell out of here. Deal with it deal with it deal with it.  

As you regrettably pick up your chopsticks, you don’t care if your tears season your noodles. And quite frankly, you don’t give a shit if Yoongi watches them fall, too. 

Because they’re liquid anger. Hot trails blazing down your face, hardening into sticky paths and dried rivers. 

“What were you looking for.” 

Your eyes slide up to regard him, his arms folded and brows low. Because of course he doesn’t care about your state, either. Of course he’d rather entertain his curiosity. “Nothing you need to know,” you mutter, banning him from knowing another truth. 

“Did you find it.” 

You swipe at both your eyes.

As spice coats your tongue, Yoongi keeps prying, “Something you needed to go all the way there for?” 

“Fuck off,” you dismiss, slurping and swallowing with ease. “I don’t have to answer you.” 

“You already are,” he responds, confident. “Now tell me. Is there one in particular you need?” 

Wait. You barely gave anything away, so how is Yoongi asking the right questions? There’s no way he actually knows what you were looking for. No way in hell.

This man is more dangerous than you thought. 

“Why do you even care,” is all you choose to say, more focused on your food now because above everything else, it’s quite fantastic. It somewhat reminds you of a past home, and you can’t help but escape to those distinct walls. “It’s irrelevant to you.”

“But I have what you want.” 

You take another bite before stilling, looking up to see Yoongi propping his head with roughed knuckles. “You’re lying,” you drawl to his smugness, trying to act as if he didn’t just figure you all the way out. Because he didn’t. There’s no way. “And I’m still leaving.”

“If you stay, I’ll show you.” 

When you leer over your soup, he simply stares back with no hint of emotion. 

And you’re so curious about what he means that you finish your whole bowl. 

When you push it forward, you understand exactly what Yoongi did. It worked perfectly, and you have to hand it to him even though he mangled your character minutes beforehand. “Thank you,” you offer some manners. “This was goo—”

The scrape of a chair cuts you off, and your sentence dies in midair as you watch your runaway partner vacate his seat. 

Good riddance.

He knows how to stay on your bad side, that’s for damn sure. 

But Yoongi simply heads back out to the balcony for another light. So you chalk up his swift exit to vices and not wanting to breathe your air. Or maybe he’s done with his fun and is already writing you off before you head out. 

Clearing your bowl from the table, you walk out of the bedroom and bring it to the large kitchen, noting with a scowl that it’s obnoxiously bigger than half your floorplan back home. 

Yearning pierces right through your chest. 

The elevator is right over there. 

You showered, you ate. You can leave as soon as you clean your dish.

Are you way too curious about what Yoongi’s gonna show you? Yes. But is that gonna stop you from getting out of here? No. 

Well. This robe is hugging your figure perfectly and feels way too comfortable to just use for an hour or so… Plus, if you ditched it now, Mister Morals will scorn you for wasting that away, too. 

How rude of him to assume that about you. Of course you aren’t wasteful. The only times you let things go are when you absolutely have to, like you should have back in that noodle shop instead of braving the back staircase. 

Scoffing to no one, you scrub your bowl in the sink, grunting explicatives and stabbing Yoongi with curses until you hear a distinct beep. 

Was that the elevator?

You cut the water off with a twist.

Cautiously, you make your way across the kitchen, peeking around the corner to appease your curiosity and spike your anxiety. 

A bellhop? Another grey uniform looking to and fro to survey the area. It’s the same person that sent a look of panic your way before you went up to the room. 

And your defense mechanism blares. 

But before you can hide behind the partition, their eyes lock onto yours. Arm outstretched, the staff is motioning for you to… join them? Why? 

You’re the one bunking with a gangster. Why does this person make you even more uncomfortable? This feeling is just like the one you had when you called the elevator the first time. Was your gut warning you then, too? 

Maybe it’s because you don’t like the staff thinking they can come in unannounced. Grey zone etiquette or not, you can’t see how this is ever appropriate. In fact, it poses so many safety concerns. How is this okay? 

Walking into the foyer, you rest a hand on a robed hip. “Can I help you?” 

“I’m the one trying to help you,” they whisper, harsh and with another swipe of their hand. “You have to get out while you can.” 

Wait. What do they mean while you can? “And why’s that?” 

Sputtering, the bellhop sticks one foot out the elevator while pleading and, for some reason, that pisses you all the way off. “There’s no time to—”

“Get. Your foot. Off my floor.” 

Is that fear in their eyes or surprise? “Oh, apologies. I didn’t realize you were… I thought—”

“Thought what?” Your arms fold, weight shifting to your other tired foot. “Speak up.” 

Frankly, you don’t know where this newfound energy is coming from. All you know is that there are certain things you still despise and this person is ticking all the boxes. 

“I thought you were taken, Miss. I’m here to save you.” 

Pausing, you grip your arms, feeling silk gather under your palms. 

There’s a lot you tolerate. Many things that a lot of people can’t. But someone assuming you’re the weak one that needs saving? There is no quicker way to lose your interest. 

Stepping towards the elevator, you unfurl your arms, robe swaying and billowing around your freshly showered legs. 

“Yes, that’s right. Come on, we can take you away.” 

Hand on the entrance, you lean forward. “You’re not taking me anywhere,” you command, finger pressing the button at your side. “And you aren’t coming back up here until I say so.” 

Slowly, the doors slide shut, your reflection two halves in the metal shine. 

Well. 

So much for leaving. 

You may spend more time here than you thought. 

With more thoughts swirling, you spin, heading back into the kitchen to pick up the same bowl you were washing. Hoping you and your gut made the right call. 

Yoongi’s a criminal and a madman. But he’s not… the worst. At least, not horrible enough to warrant someone coming up to steal you away.

Besides. Is Yoongi aware that staff can come and go as they please? He seems like the type of guy that would hate that. 

Staying vigilant seems to be a little more important now. 

It’s soon after, when you’re placing the dish somewhere to dry, that you hear noise in the living room beyond the countertop. Looking up, you see someone much more familiar enter the space. 

Hmm. Whatever’s in that duffle must be worth millions for Yoongi to lug it around everywhere. 

As he dumps it next to the couch again, you don’t choose to ask about it just yet. Only because you want to ease into it later when you’re both not at each other’s throats. And while you’re not reeling from another strange encounter at the elevator. 

So you go with a safer question instead, choosing not mention what just happened. “Is this whole floor… your place?”

Yoongi looks up. “Only when I need it to be.”

Interesting. “Does anyone else know about it—”

“Do you always ask this many questions?”

You blink. “I mean. I don’t get by selling fruit cus I’m quiet.”

“You’re quiet with me.”

“And even then I get you to talk.”

Yoongi frowns slightly before moving away, more towards the sliding door leading out to another outdoor area. 

God, this place is obnoxiously huge. There’s still a whole other half you haven’t seen yet. 

When you peer out, you watch as he leans against the railing, seeming to look both up at the building and down at the streets below. 

Well. If you aren’t leaving anytime soon, may as well offer some sort of peace offering. Maybe the two of you just need to chill the fuck out. 

Rummaging through the kitchen, you manage to find some high quality beer in the fridge. On your walk to the sliding glass, you’re reminded of the time you gave him one before when he helped fix your cart. 

That was so long ago. 

You’re so lost in thought that you barely register Yoongi whipping a hand to his waist when you walk outside. But you catch the metal just in time. 

“It’s me!” you quickly alert before regressing back to annoyance, “Really…”

You’ve had way too much to deal with today. You don’t need a bullet in your chest to be another problem. 

Especially since his little maneuver showed a bit more skin than you meant to see.

Yoongi eyes you before his shoulders rest, and you stride forward to offer up the cold can in your palm. 

But you decide to hesitate while he goes to grab it, and you instead open it to have some. 

Ugh. High quality, your ass. This one is way too bitter. 

Your companion snorts as you make up an excuse, “I’ve had better.” 

“Do you even drink?” 

“Well, yeah,” you pout. Needing to prove it, you decide to keep the can. “Lemme try again.”

Somehow, this leads to you sharing the beer with him, tasting the mix of alcohol and smoke even after he tosses another cigarette off the ledge.

It’s not quite enough to forget, but it’s certainly helping. Observing the clouds so close and the city so far beneath your toes is extremely calming. It’s almost like you’re flying. 

“It’s different here,” you mention out of the blue.

“This sector?” 

“This high up.” Breathing in altitude, you sigh. “I’ve never been higher than my fourth story. It’s nice.” 

“It’s usually silent, too.” 

Your eyes slightly stab. “Whatever. You like having me around and just won’t admit it.” At this, Yoongi avoids direct contact. “Mmhmm. Don’t even try to hide it.” 

“You’re useful to me.” You freeze. “That’s why you’re here.” 

You shake your head. For someone deeming you useful, Yoongi’s pretty nonchalant about you dipping. Taking a tangy sip, you clarify, “But you don’t care if I leave? If someone comes to take me?”  

He takes the offered can. “Mm.” 

That answers that.

You should probably still tell him about what happened, though. His reaction could give more away than his words.

Instead, you drink in the night with your eyes. Knowing that you should know better about the company present. 

The more you converse with Yoongi, the more you pick up. And one of those sad facts is that he doesn’t give a shit about anything you do or don’t do. Because all he really cares about is what he needs. 

You can’t do anything to change him. Fix him. Whatever exists in fairytales. So you decide to take the night in stride. Not give a shit about him, either, per se. 

Your curiosity gets the better of you now. Not just about what he’s gonna show you, but about that duffle. You quite literally don’t have anything to lose anymore, so may as well go for the question you’ve been wanting to ask all day. 

“I was gonna ask for a cut of that,” you divulge with a head-tilt to the bag. “But figured you won’t even show me.” 

“Why not?” 

“Uhh.” You didn’t expect this. “You don’t like questions? You’re always secretive?” 

“Never talk to the streets, princess. They’ll snitch on everything you say.”  

“That’s deep,” you admit, taking a once full beer in your palm. “But I’m no snitch.”

“I know.” 

Your look carries a slight pang. 

“Come here.” Both of you walk inside as he plays with his lighter. When you round the couch, Yoongi dumps the bag right onto the cushions. “If you wanna see what’s in here, do it.” 

You stare before slowly walking forward and kneeling to unzip the bag. As your slide reveals the contents, you’re nervous about what you’ll see. 

But when it’s open, you freeze. 

It’s all…chil-don? Tons of money wrapped in sleek stacks with edges so… Crisp. New. 

Wait. 

These patterns. 

These are il-don? 

Holy fucking shit there’s no way these are real. This is currency seven generations old. The first ever of the established system. Worth more than anything in current circulation, especially in their pristine state. Forget being worth millions, these are next to priceless. 

You’ve never seen them like this.

“They’re some of the last in mint condition.” 

The shock value is so high you forgot you were alone. Slowly turning, your breath catches as you ask, “How did you know where to find these?” 

“Like I said,” he drones. “Streets talk.” 

You look at the bills before glancing back up. “Can I…?” 

Yoongi cocks a brow before angling his mouth. “Touch them? Do what you want, doll.” 

You blink at the name this time. Because him saying that with a fresh cig in his lips is making your stomach flutter. 

Picking up a fresh stack, you inspect the ancient pattern inlay with eyes wide, admiring how paper so old can have such detailed engravings. “These can’t be real.” 

“They are.” He shifts. “And most people never see one in their lifetime.”

You put the money back on the pile inside. Yes, these have got to be worth a fortune. But there’s nothing else in the bag? No drugs, no lethal substances, anything? “Wait, so. This is it?” 

Yoongi fully laughs before flicking his lighter again. “You want something else?” 

“No, I—” You back away. “There’s really nothing else in there?” 

Coolly, he lights up before taking the initial drag. “Nah.” 

Smoke spirals around you. “I dunno what I expected but it wasn’t that.”

Yoongi lets a wisp leave his mouth. You know it’s getting in your robe, but caring about the little things has now jumped out the window. “Whatever’s in that bag can feed half the city.” 

“What?” As you look, he walks over to what looks like a small section of a bar. “Is that why you stole it?”

“Stole it?” Yoongi grins and shakes his head. “Sure. That’s why we stole it.”

“We? Leave me out of this.”

“Too late.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

You step forward in anger, but you only get a sound out before Yoongi straightens, aura blazing,

“I—”

“Say I do leave you out of it. Nothing happened tonight, according to me.” He discards his fresh light in an ashtray, watching it die before sliding his gaze your way. “Doesn’t mean whoever we just fought will suddenly leave you alone.”

Shit. He has a point. You ran for so long and fought plenty of those guys.

Is this what he meant? Getting used to that feeling? Maybe your consequence is joining the cycle of the damned, forced to kill in order to protect. Both others and now yourself. 

“But I’m… Just a nobody. A civilian, I…”

Yoongi walks until he’s in front of you, hand cupping your chin and voice whispering mortifying allegations in your ear, 

“You took a body for a Dragon, love. You’re not a civilian anymore.”

Your arms shove him backward without pause, face distraught as you watch his smirk bounce with his shoulders. His cackle echoes mad through the room, pinging the floors and piercing through your robe. 

Truthfully, it doesn’t even feel like you’re wearing one. So naked and exposed in the open for this man to see. “You’re despicable.”

“That right?” His mouth sets as his lids lower. “And what about the one that killed and kept running?”

What.

“There was a police car at the restaurant,” Yoongi continues, a reminder so sharp it slices clean. “Yet you didn’t turn yourself in.”

Your feet sink into the rug beneath. “That’s not…” 

With measured steps, he stalks forward, a harbinger of horrific realizations that you don’t want to hear, “You didn’t have to keep running. Didn’t have to get in that taxi.”

Stepping back, you find the room so stuffy it’s hard to move. “You—”

“Could’ve taken another train.” 

“Stop.”

“Could’ve stayed in that elevator.”

What the fuck is happening right now? 

Yoongi’s close. Very much too close, and the energy he radiates sets your instincts ablaze.

This is the man you’ve been pining over this whole time? If you ever get back home, you have got to remind yourself to avoid him at all costs. There’s nothing good for you if you stay. Danger surrounds every inch of him, and there’s no telling when you’ll take collateral damage.

“But you didn’t,” he delivers the final blow. “And you’re still here.” 

Lifting your chin, Yoongi grins slow when you yank away. 

“I should’ve never saved you.” Gaze finally locked, you growl from within, letting a monster loose, 

“I should’ve left you for dead.” 

Wait. 

Stop. 

This isn’t you. This isn’t who you are. You’re a helper. A healer. Those words came out so strange that you’re questioning how they left your mouth so freely.

Did you really mean that? Or was this some feeble attempt to hurt him?

Yoongi doesn’t seem phased. But you clearly don’t know him so it’s not like—

Something heavy and dark as fuck is placed in your hand, and you snap your eyes to his in utmost disbelief.

“Go ahead then.”

Oh, this man is psychotic.

“Be my guest.”

No fucking way you’re gonna do it. “Stop—”

“If you regret it, why waste time—”

“Seriously, I’m not gonna—”

Yoongi forces your fingers flush against metal as he holds the gun to his forehead, both eyes piercing right into yours with no hesitation whatsoever. 

And it is frightening. 

All anger from before flees as fear and intensity rush into its place. Your brain fizzles and cracks as you try to wrestle out of his grip, and you feel burning at the corners of your eyes. “Stop!”

“Why.”

“I’m not gonna shoot you, the fuck!”

“You sure?”

“Yes!”

Mercifully, he lets go, pistol thrown as you’re tugged forward with a—

“What’s stopping you,” he grounds out, formidable presence all-consuming. “Tell me.” 

You’re breathing so hard it hurts. “You”—a shaky heave—“You are out of your fucking mind.”

When you struggle from his grip, Yoongi pulls you even closer. Reacting in a rush, you propel your knee up to wrap around his side and twist. 

But he proves just as quick, gripping the bare skin of your leg as you shove him down against the sofa. Grunting, you both curve with the furniture, Yoongi locked onto your knitted, conflicted brows.  

“You regret saving my life,” he simply repeats to your frustration. “I gave you the chance to fix that.” 

“Shut up—”

“But your will is weak.”

“I swear to—”

“Guess I was wrong.”

Who the hell does he think he is? This guy—Yoongi, Agust, whoever the fuck—has no right to play with you so casually. 

But something else is swirling inside your ribs. Because through his cutthroat words and actions, this man is somehow stirring the deepest waters of your soul. Ripples rumble and stretch into waves, tugging your toes in undercurrents of obsidian. Dark. Primal. Hazardous. All you. 

Is it from being subjected to such a heavy dose of his power? 

Or is it because—even if just for a moment—he’s handing all that power to you?

Quite literally, you’re the one on top.

And Yoongi holds your gaze, unfazed by the way your robe completely spread open during your tumble. Or the fact that you have nothing beneath that silk. 

He could easily take over. From the feel of his build beneath your hands and between your legs, you know he can. 

But he’s not. There’s no hesitation. He’s legitimately giving you the choice and reveals no ounce of remorse.

This revelation courses through your veins, pumping a new kind of life into your palms. You have a shot at a criminal with a bag of il-don waiting to be snatched. And you know you won’t take it. 

And that alone alters the chemistry of your brain.

With more fear of yourself than anything else, you shake out, “If I’m killing you, it’s gonna be entirely my choice.” 

He’s laughing? You’re instigating a threat and he’s enjoying it? God, you are teetering on the brink of madness and another emotion that won’t dare be acknowledged. 

Tugging Yoongi up a notch, you proclaim to the glint of his eyes, 

“And when I do, you’ll die exactly how I want.”

Yoongi’s lips slowly, dreadfully spread, teeth shining in the dim lamp lights that sharpen half his features. When he speaks, you shiver. Because it’s a mix of pride and fear, sprinkled with a hint of alarm,

“That’s my girl.” 

The room quiets, your bodies locked in a way that you’ll remember years from now. Breaths. Your bare chest hovering inches above his. If there were bystanders, they would no doubt get the wrong idea. Because if things were different, and if this man underneath you wasn’t who he was, you’d entertain another type of ferality and not stop until morning. 

To be fair. That same dark part of you would still do it. 

But this is about the righteous part of who you are. The one that abides by the rules. The one that fights to keep days boring, uneventful, the same. 

So you quell that monster pacing in your core. 

One more exhale leaves your lips before you let him drop, sliding off his silken, tone form to quietly readjust your robe. Turning away, you focus on the night skies, wondering if the people back home are sound asleep as you should be. 

“My will may seem weak. But I don’t care what you think of me.” 

Sound is crisp again as Yoongi rises to his feet. Around you, the air starts to lighten, cold slipping delicately into your skin. 

Slowly tying the wrap at your waist, your words float to the ground, “Because I know who I am. And no one can take that from me, not even you.” 

His presence fills the space at your back. But it’s muted. Less intimidating. Or maybe you’re just at your limit because you admit a little more than you intend, 

“This world has already tried enough.” 

Both of you come to another standstill, two black robes staining a room full of white. Even time itself gives you space, slowing and circling until you’re ready for it to flow straight again. 

As a cloud shadows the light of the moon, you feel knuckles caress your neck. And Yoongi’s never sounded so calm as he starts, “They’ll come after you.”

You slightly turn. 

“You still want to go back?”

A pause. A nod.

His knuckles continue to glide along your neck, slipping down your back before traveling the swoop of your shoulder. Everything in your body thrums, silently quaking because you have no idea where this is coming from and you can’t say you hate it. 

Quite the opposite. And that scares you more. 

“If you do, you’re dead to me.”

Of course. You’ve seen and know too much. There’s no reason for him to show up to your street now, especially if tangerines are all he’s looking for. He can always find them anywhere else. 

But, for some reason, this still stings. In a way that irks even your reasonable side. Is it because of his touch? No. That’s only making you nervous from the fact that you probably aren’t… as experienced as he is. The uneasiness is wholly from your own limitations. 

“I’ll survive without you,” you whisper resolute, chest squeezing when he replies,

“I know.” 

The same fingers get bolder, tracing down your arm before sliding along the wrap at your hip. 

And you freeze. 

Because the tension is palpable. The power is intoxicating. It’s a new type of anticipation and you are fighting yourself to not give in. Don’t let everything get to your head. Don’t let anyone in again. Don’t stray onto a path you can’t quite navigate. 

But fuck, you kinda want to. 

Rocks slide against exposed skin when he decides to speak again. And it makes you wish the two of you were extraordinarily normal. Or that you at least knew what the fuck to do here because the attraction you feel is not as one-sided as you presumed. 

“What made you stay.”

A breath you didn’t know you were holding huffs out, and you swallow with difficulty. “I just…” 

Get it together. Keep up your guard. It’s proving so hard, especially when his touches spark fires along your limbs. But you have to. 

And therein comes another lie. “I wanted to know what you stole.” Gulping down the truth, you harden your resolve. “That’s it.” 

With more restraint that you want, Yoongi bunches silk at your pelvis, hitching your robe and your breath all at once. When his other hand slowly holds your neck in place, you can’t help but flinch, and his low hum pours lava straight down your chest, 

“What a shame.”

Oh. Is this how it ends? Did your gut get it all wrong? 

He could end your life with a flick of his wrist. You know far too much. You’re not useful anymore. 

“Someone will take you back tomorrow,” Yoongi murmurs, proving every single theory wrong. “After that, you’re on your own.” 

And just like that, he releases you to stand alone. 

Oh. You’re going home. 

Good.

This is good, right?

Your heart beats overtime, almost drowning out your entire thought process. The thumps and pulses seem to cut every string of consciousness short. 

What was that? What was any of that? 

Never mind. Nothing happened and you can keep it that way, for the better. Yoongi is risk draped in beauty, and once you’re back home you can cut ties with anyone like him for good. You saved him; he spared you. It’s over. 

…But do you want it to be? 

Yes. 

Of course you do. 

Clouds let moonlight shine again. 

When you arrive at an answer, you turn to find that Yoongi’s already gone, duffle and all shut inside his room with a muted click.

A flip switches as you let exhaustion take over completely, falling onto cushions that still hold his scent. Inhaling, you drift into darkness, wondering how your final decision will affect the rest of your days.

Whether awake or asleep, nightmares are real. 

Only this time, you aren’t quite sure if the blood and guts you’re seeing are yours or someone else’s. Can’t discern the limb on the ground from the limb on your torso. Screams echo and ping from all directions, a cacophony of death that has you scratching at mania to stay sane. 

Murderer. Murderer. A murderer that regrets who she saved. No, wait, that’s not true. You’d still do it again.

And you watch the same swing over and over. The same arc of finality. Those lifeless eyes. Closer. Closer. Sharper. Judging. 

You were wrong. Were you wrong? Running does nothing and doesn’t provide an answer. The ground under your toes gives out. 

How far are you straying? How low are you sinking? If you told your neighbors who you killed for, would they be upset or betrayed? 

They’d hate you. Their fingers aim straight. Their tongues fire bullets. 

They’ll hate you. Hate you. Hate you hate you hate you—

A room bursts into view as you jolt awake. Sounds snap silent, the hum of the air all you can hear as you rub your eyes. 

So much for sleeping. There’s no way you’ll be able to now.

Focus on something else. Anything else. The past cannot be undone, so live with the choices you made and deal with the faces that haunt your dreams. 

Staring into the dark, shapes and sharp edges slowly form, your vision sharpening with every passing second. Tiny pops and creaks tickle your eardrums, and Yoongi’s scent still lingers with your own. 

You don’t want to focus on him, but it’s better than what forced you awake.

A lot happened tonight. But also, nothing at all. Something is keeping you both together, tightening and squeezing the strings in your chest. But you don’t know if that’s from the adrenaline of today’s events, or from the pure shock of your unexpected reunion. 

There’s something else you haven’t considered until now. Despite his unorthodox and hellish methods, Yoongi did keep your head on straight. You showered. You ate. You drank. You inhaled fresh air. 

Your compass righted itself when you didn’t blow his brains out. 

The nothingness was all to your advantage. Was that all calculated, too? 

One part of you—the bright side of you—knows that it doesn’t matter. No matter how helpful he was tonight, distance is crucial. Stay away from people like him. They’re all too cunning to be kept close.

But if leaping that crevasse allows you to keep your mind off everything else? If you need to stop the bleeding, why not reach for a cure?

Your exhale shakes as your shoulders fall forward, self-deprecation destroying your brain because what the fuck are you thinking? This is nonsense. Madness. 

Maybe you’ve just been insane from the very start. 

Your breath quickens at the possibilities. The potential outcomes of what you’re about to do. 

This is the most solid decision you’ve made all night.

As your toes travel across plush, trek over marble, and arrive at their destination, the rest of your body quietly, nervously follows. 

Raising your hand, you listen for movement. When you find none, you softly knock and wait for what seems like an eternity. 

For nothing. 

All that worry for naught. Yoongi’s most likely fast asleep and not dreaming at all. 

Good. This is your sign to let it go completely. In the morning, you’re going back home. The nightmares will consume you and you’ll wake up everyday to brave the streets. Assassins will be on the hunt for revenge. You won’t be saved by the boy in teal. 

What a shame, indeed.

As you step to leave, you hear the door slowly swing.

And Yoongi emerges from behind, minted hair mussed over lowered lids and robe slipping down a tatted shoulder. 

Fuck everything. 

“I don’t regret what I did and I’d do it all again,” you admit with finality. To him, to yourself, to the ones you’ll disappoint back home. “And I refuse to get used to this feeling because it reminds me I’m still a good person.” 

Yoongi’s eyes don’t change as he stares. 

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

This is it.

The brink of no return.

Your soul dips into the dark.

“Please make me fucking forget.”

—

—

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

a/n: once again, i cannot thank y'all enough for being patient and understanding as i go through life while working on this and all the other writing projects we have going on! it means the world, and even though there were some not-so-fun asks to get, the supporting and wonderful ones are what i will continue to focus on! so if you've ever left something sweet, thought provoking, encouraging, etc - thank you from the bottom of my heart! you're what keeps this writer going. a/n 2: if there's something you liked about this or a line/scene/whatever thing you enjoyed, feel free to let me know! feedback is never expected, but always appreciated. if the interest level is high, that adds motivation like no other. thank you all for reading! ++ feedback box: ⇥ of course, any reblogs/comments/messages are appreciated! ⇥ for the ones that are too shy to reblog with a review, comment on this, or send a message, i went ahead and made another anonymous form where you can send in what you think! ⇥ no emails collected, no need to put in a username. it’s literally just a comment dropbox :D feedback can be as short/sweet or as long as you’d like! ⇥ here! ++ more links: ⇥ masterlist  ⇥ minted masterlist

[vanoilette]

୨ᰍ sypnosis. beach day w the main four ! — going to the beach with them.

disclaimers. light swearing, suggestive content.

notes. ugh just got swarmed with tons of homework :( + two upcoming ken fics !

eric cartman.

literally like a guard dog.

everytime he sees someone staring at you for two seconds too long he takes it into account, and attacks them with insults. because as he puts it, the view is only for his eyes.

is drooling all over you but hides it, stares holes into the back of your head, and other places.

besides that he treats you as usual, but with his own kind of attention—such as calling you pretty, his queen. etc. [ im sorry i cant help but make cartman a mix of a bastard and simp ]

asked you to put sunscreen on him, mostly just chills on the beach instead of actually swimming.

sort of follows around everywhere you go when hes not sitting down.

falls asleep while hes laying on the beach chair and and gets a sunburn, is crying to you the next day how much it burns.

screams when he sees his skin peels.

back to the actual beach part, he always holds your hand, even when laying down, as long as your beside or near him at least.

is mean to almost everyone there, especially if their “in his way.”

kenny mccormick.

is all over you, never lets you get even a breath of space.

opposite of cartman, and actually begs you to swim with him.

lets be honest, hes putting his face in your chest, no matter how small or big they are, he just loves em’

doesn’t even mind when other people are looking at you, he loves showing you off because he loves showing other people what they can’t get.

swipes drinks off the bar when other people aren’t looking.

if someone flirts with you or him, he makes it very clear that he is not interested, and if your the one being flirted with he is standing right behind you.

although, if your not able enough to stand up for that, he’ll gladly deal with it for you.

he loves swimming but if you offer to lay down with him, he’ll pass on swimming, just the feeling of being with you is much more of a rewarding feeling then feeling the hot sunlight on him and cold waters.

brings a bunch of convenience store snacks so you don’t have to buy any of the ones they serve there.

calls you his belladonna

kyle broflovski.

brings tons of things, a canopy, chairs, snacks, sunscreen, etc.

insists on putting on sunscreen, puts it on you aswell : ]

even if he is a pretty pale guy.

carries you almost everywhere, he treats you especially special because he doesn’t want you to lift a finger or worry your pretty little head.

is in between, hes fine with swimming and chilling, its up to you.

a bit off topic but he loves when you call him pretty boy, it can get him to do anything, just something i wanted to point out.

if you just so happen to praise him for being so helpful, or taking cafe of you the entire day, he acts as if its not that big of a deal. As humbly as possible.

swimming with him is fun because i feel hes a bit competitive with it. he tries to swim all super far away.

remember that episode where the waterpark floods with pee? yeah, thats what terrifies him.

that takes him a while to get in the water.

stan marsh.

frankly; was not his idea to go to the beach, but once he goes he’s running straight to the water.

the type to hold his breath under water just because.

probably falls asleep when he does lay down after all the running and swimming, or shoves food down his throat.

after his nap wakes up with sand in his mouth and freaks the fuck out.

doesn’t even try to hide it, he straight up swipes drinks off the bar and if someone mentions anything—he doesn’t even spare them a glance.

brings one of the digital cameras and takes photos of you two.

got chased by a dog.

forgets that sunscreen exists and gets sunburned terribly.

as soon as he gets home he tapes the photos on his walls.

mostly a chill guy at the beach.

[is-this-even-relatable]

Misfortune Teller

tldr: An older Danny, apprentice to Clockwork, does a lot of field work across dimensions, resetting the timeline, queuing future events, and who knows what else. Occasionally, he warns people about such upcoming possibilities, to set them on the right path. How, you might ask? Well in this case... as a wandering fortune teller.

Crack-fic (oh god, it's getting long and my logic brain won't let it remain as crack) where Danny becomes Clockwork's apprentice after getting his GED. Living his infinite afterlife to the fullest. Inspired by this tumblr post.

Working for Clockwork had been... interesting so far. At first, Danny got frustrated by how vague and cryptic Clockwork was. He'd just shunt Danny off to some ancient time with a few words, his own time medallion (Danny carried it everywhere with him now), and then pop back into the portal, leaving Danny with only the faintest idea of where to go.

Eventually, after enough time (ha!) spent around Clockwork, Danny figured out that it just basically meant that he had free reign and to do whatever he wanted. Because if he went on the wrong path, (like that one time in Pompeii when he had almost caused the volcano to explode a few years too early), Clockwork would just pop on by, say another few cryptic words, and then it'd all be fine and dandy, or as he liked to say, "All is as it should be... Now stop practicing your wail by an active volcano."

After telling Jazz about that (it was supposed to be funny, not concerning), she just sighed and shook her head, with a forlorn "think before you act, Danny!" but hey, it'd turned out fine so far, so who cares how he does what Clockwork asks him to do, as long as it gets done, right? Even if it's with a liiiiitle more mischief than strictly required.

Besides. Danny was the one who had been doing time shenanigans across millennia, not Jazz. And he thought he'd been getting pretty good at it too! He'd actually started giving himself a different made-up background for each universe he visited. Sam and Tucker were helping him keep up with the identities on a spreadsheet, so if he had to go back to one he'd already visited, he'd remember who he'd said he was supposed to be.

---

He was on a call with them one evening while haunting Jazz's apartment, doing just that, when he felt a familiar tingle in the back of his throat, as well as a heightened awareness of the seconds passing by, that always accompanied his mentor's appearance.

Sam was talking about his past stint posing as a god of death when he cut in. "Hey- sorry to interrupt, Sam- Clocky's here, guys, I gotta dip."

"Aw, come on! We hardly talked any this past week since you passed your certifications, man," Tucker complained.

Danny rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "Yeah, yeah. Partly on you too though, you've been caught up outside of class, and Sam's schedule is nearly the opposite of yours."

Sam hummed in agreement despiter Tucker's scoff.

Danny missed hanging out with them as much as they had in high school, but hey, life goes on. Or at least, theirs did, to college. After finally flunking out of Casper High, he'd taken some time to get used to his responsibilities in the ghost zone, and when he had, he realized that he didn't really have much enthusiasm or timeleft for his human life.

And he didn't really want to go back home either.

But Jazz had made him tie up any loose ends before he noped-off to god knows where, which frankly, he had to thank her for. Getting his GED took a few years, but it was an accomplishment that could be attributed to Danny Fenton, no ghostliness required. Then he was able to let that tether go free.

Pulled out of his musings by a few more grumbles from Tucker, Danny said his goodbyes, promising to call the next time they were all available.

After hanging up, Danny swiveled around, anticipation already lighting up his eyes an ethereal green.

Clockwork, for his part, had been waiting patiently through Danny's lengthy goodbyes. Although he supposed that it tracked for the watcher of time to be patient. With his job, it'd be a nightmare if he wasn't.

"Phantom," Clockwork spoke, calm as always. "I have some tasks I need you to complete as my apprentice."

And Danny, always ready for adventure, didn't need him to explain any further. "Sure! When do you need me to be?"

Clockwork smiled at that. "I am fortunate you are eager. Follow me."

---

Danny popped into existence in this universe with a burst of cold air and static electricity. He found himself hovering by a clocktower above a sprawling, gothic city. Smog and light pollution obscured the stars above him, to his disappointment. He comforted himself with the fact that he'd probably have all the time he wanted to fly someplace less populated to see them later.

He started off by familiarizing himself with the city. As he flew, he followed the trail of power and met the resident city-spirit, a spooky- but kind underneath- woman draped in black lace, who told him her name was Gotham. He spoke in length with her about this universe, its heroes, and her knights. On that, she was very enthusiastic... or at least Danny thought she was, her projected emotions belaying much more than her gloomy exterior. She told him how her knights had been through a lot and would need some guidance fighting the darkness that pooled in her deepest corners, smiling with too much glee, filling lungs with fear, and terrorizing with cold hard bullets.

Danny could sense that the dangers she spoke of were growing in power, ever slowly. The longer they shadowed people's minds and hearts, an intangible thing grew that lent them more otherworldly pull than their physical forms had right to hold.

That must be what he was sent here for.

But... they were weak, pitifully so for him, infinite king as he was. And besides, he wasn't here in that sense. He was a messenger, a simple apprentice. And he could do this however he wanted.

Cue his talk with Lady Gotham, and subsequent idea to arm her knights. With what? Well, he figured knowledge would be a start. Flying high above the city invisibly, Danny noticed a sea of colors and lights by what appeared to be the city's pier. He flew down, noting that it appeared to be the setup spot for a travelling circus or carnival of some kind.

He considered what to do. One of Lady Gotham's troubles was a madman clown, right? Well maybe he'd be attracted to his ilk here... and with the danger came the knights. Maybe he could catch one of them here?

Danny was floating around at the entrance and beginning to formulate a plan when a flyer caught his eye. Looking for a mystic to read fortunes. URGENT!

Hadn't Clockwork said something about fortunes? And he hadn't made an identity in this universe yet...

A mischievous smile crept across Danny's face, splitting it in two with far too many teeth.

---

Half a city away, a man in all black, perched on the very same clocktower that Phantom had Appeared by, shivered as he felt an ominous premonition about his sanity in the near future...

Said man quickly opened his comms to check in with his many, many kids. Yet even after hearing back from each, he still felt apprehensive.

Somewhere even further, Clockwork laughed.

---

And that's how Danny found himself seated at a fortune teller's booth at a pier in Gotham, two days later, for the Tricksy Traveling Circus's grand opening.

[finsplurtz]

hello! may I request a subbot afab hawks x domtop amab reader?

idk what trope to pick bc I have so many ideas, but if you're comfortable with it, could it be a sugarbaby x sugardaddy reader AU? maybe with some praise and breeding?

feel free to ignore lol (love your fics btw <3)

— GUYS NEWSFLASH first time writing ftm character hahaha erm i hope i didn’t fuck this up😢😢🙏🙏 (i lvoe dis requets)

something more — keigo.takami

— dom ! male.reader x ftm ! sub ! Keigo Takami

— contents : afab ! Hawks , use of pussy cunt clit and stuff…. Sugardaddy reader , tooo much yap , hawks falls in love with u… er praising , a bit of breeding kink , u might get him pregnant actually…, :( ending..

warnings : love NOT reciprocated sowwy

✩°｡ ⋆⸜ 🎧✮

Hawks waved flirtatiously at a guy walking by to try and get his attention, he scoffed after the guy payed no mind to him. He got a cigarette out and patted himself to try and find his lighter..where could it have gone…

he felt a tap on his shoulder and he turned to see .. you. Took him a bit but he apologized and took the lighter from your hands.

“thank you..! uh where was it..?” he nervously, struggling to light his cigarette up.

“you left it behind at the bar.” you took the lighter and lit it for the blonde.

“ah..thank you..” he smiled looking away.

“Ya know, you’re a pretty thing. I noticed you at the bar and was going to talk to you but I looked away for a second and the next, you were gone haha” you chuckled dipping your hands into your pockets.

“uh yeah sorry I was…I just needed to take in some fresh air” he seemed a bit more calmer than he was a second ago- he couldn’t get anyone else to pay his drink. that’s why he left the bar.

“mhh. well. I was wondering if maybe I could spend a night with you?” Hawks perked up and looked at you. You were….tall and handsome..you had a nice face…….

“sorry I don’t go around and—“

You held out 200$ to him, waiting for him to take it. “how ‘bout it?” you look at him and smirk.

one night..couldn’t be bad plus, 200 dollars??

“alright then, mister.” He takes the money and smiles at you.

well that’s how you met keigo. after one night you proposed the idea of being his sugar daddy and since the sex wasn’t bad at all, and you paid good money, there was no harm!

overtime you guys became very fond of each other, you weren’t just some cash pig to him, you were special. but to you…..he was sure he was just a fuck toy for you.

you weren’t that old, you had great looks so- why haven’t you gotten a wife? or husband?? a great business guy like you would’ve had someone special by his side by now.

“hey yn…would you ever want to start a family at some point?” Hawks asked. He was sat on your large couch in small shorts and a loose top.

you looked at him and flashed him a smile. “someday, but not now” you were working on your laptop, you kept typing away.

“hmm…” he stood up and walked over to where you were and sat next to you, cuddling your arm.

“what’s wrong, baby?” he hid his smile at the pet name. he shook his head and you chuckled.

the way you treated him was as if he were your special person, you always took care of him. his place wasn’t so safe and it quite frankly- disgusted you… so you insisted he moved in with you. you always paid for him, got him what he wanted, in return he’d let you use him in bed for however long you wanted to.

not only that, but aftercare was amazing. you treated him like if he were made of glass, gentle with him when you bathed him, gentle kisses every now and then. he fought the urge everyday to tell you he loved you because he knew this wasn’t that kind of relationship.

but he started to fall for you. badly. at one point he didn’t really want your money anymore, he just wanted to be there for you and for you to be there for him.

it was about to be a year since you guys started this…thing you guys had going on and he decided to be straight up with his feelings, just tell you. That anniversary or whatever, you took him out to eat like any other day and got him a couple gifts, he was extremely happy and confident things would go well. He was hoping that maybe you guys could be something more than.. this. I mean you already act like a couple! There’s no way he could be wrong..

you guys got back home drunk as hell, laughing and shoving each other around. There was absolutely no fucking way you didn’t like this guy….then again you could just be the devil in disguise

your hands roamed his smaller body while you kissed and fought for dominance. He was losing himself in the pleasure, he had to tell you he just had to..

“uh- yn wait I…need to..” you kissed his neck and sucked on it, he moaned under you and grabbed at your hair. he pulled you off and you looked at him confused.

“I just need to…t..tell…” his words started to get stuck in his throat, nothing was coming out why couldn’t he just spill it out.

“you’re so cute Kei, baby…” you sat up and removed his pants as he squirmed, propped his legs on your shoulder and kissed the inside of his thighs.

“ahh..yn p..please let mhh..~” his back arched at the feeling of your mouth on his cunt. Maybe it was the alcohol in his system that made this all the more enjoyable, but he figured he’d tell you after you guys were done.

he pushed his hair back and gasped when you slid your fingers into his loose hole, all while lapping at his clit. He was crumbling underneath you, his hands pulling harshly on your hair as he squirmed and moaned at the pleasure.

“F-fuck! I’ll c..com..~” he bit his bottom lip, his lower half twitched as he came intensely, His hands letting go of your hair.

You sat up and prodded your cock at his entrance, teasing it over his sensitive clit making him flinch.

“w…wait…no condo-..mm…?” He looked so out of it and cute covering his cunt with his hand.

“what…don’t want my babies…?” you coo gently taking his hand off and leaning down into his ear.

“we’d make the cutest babies..” you harshly grab his hips and slam into him earning a scream from the younger male. He shouldn’t have found that as hot as he did, he’s holding onto you and biting your shoulder as you violate his stupid cunt.

He’s asking you to slow down as best as he can but you ignore him and continue to chase your orgasm. You almost completely stop when he whispers into your ear, an ‘I love you’.

It sounded desperate and whiny, you sit back up, not looking at his face. You look down at your dick, engulfed in the blondes pussy, you push his legs closer to his face and grab his hands, placing them on the back of his knees.

He hold them tightly, so many thoughts running through his little head.

Did you ignore him just now?

Your big hands spread his cunt and you slowly push all the way in, a stretched out whimper leaving Kei.

“Soo pretty, hon….aren’t you such a good boy for me..” you smirk to yourself, your thumb rubbing his clit gently. You grab his legs and move them aside to finally look at his face again.

His face was red and sweaty, tears running down his sad face, droll peaking out of his mouth.

“You’d do anything I asked…wouldn’t you, dear..?” You caressed his face, wiping his dumb tears away. He just stared into your lustful eyes before slowly nodding and smiling.

“Thats right, baby. Your pretty self belongs to me.” You tilt his head and begin to mark his neck as you continued to fuck into his twitching pussy.

He’s losing himself, those dumb thoughts about you not loving him still lurked in his mind. Of course you love him! You love him so much that you want to start a family with him, take care of whatever he needs for the rest of his life. He loves you more.

He’s all smiles and giggles that he doesn’t realize that he agreed to letting you finish inside him, till he feels your hot semen shoot inside of him.

His smile slowly falls, his heartbeat speeding up.

“…y…yn…?” You sit up and pull out, grinning at how your cum spills out of keigo’s cute pussy.

“what? take some pills, dear. You’ll be fine.” You kiss his forehead ignoring the tears that fell from him as he touches his tummy.

“what was it that you wanted to tell me? I’ve got something I wanna say to” you smile and lay down next to his smaller figure, he’s staring at the ceiling, you keep looking at his side profile waiting for him to answer.

“I….don’t have anything to say…” he says tiredly. He finally looks at you waiting for what you were gonna say.

“Hm..i met someone who could join us next time. He’s real cute I think you guys could really get along! Don’t worry though, kei. You’re still my favorite baby…” you smile, exhausted, you kiss the blonde one more time before pulling him into a hug.

“….what…?”

a/n; you guys rlly like hawks y’all are FREAKS (i love him more)

[thebestsetter]

He has never been afraid of dying.

Death doesn't fright him. He sees it as a natural part of the cycle of life. One must be born, live their life, possibly reproduce so their species can keep on existing and then die. All animals, be it a big magnificient whale or a little insignificant ant, have to do this too. This is what they all have in common (and honestly, it's beautiful how all animals have to experience this. It brings humans and animals closer).

Everyone dies, be it the sinner or the saint, the rich or the poor. Death doesn't discriminate people. It just comes and takes everyone (which is kinda funny, since people think that money or looks make them different from the other. They don't. We're all equal. The bullet that kills the powerful is also capable of killing the weak). And frankly, he's okay with that. He knows it'll happen.

Given his work condition, he knows he's more inclined to die than the average person. Everyday, he has to go out there and risk his life, saving hundreds of people he doesn't even know and sometimes not even getting a "thank you" back. It's frustrating, but it's not like he's giving up. Before he dies, he wants to make this world a little bit better. It probably won't be much, but he still wants to feel useful. He wants to feel like he did something good.

"Oh God! You're okay! You're really okay! I was so worried about you!"

He doesn't fear death. Which is why he doesn't understand why he feels like crying when you visit him at the hospital he was staying at after a mission that went wrong. Death doesn't scare him, so he's not quite sure why his hands tremble when they reach to pat your head. He shouldn't react like this. He's never reacted this way before

"Please, don't ever do that again! Never ever!" Your grip in his waist tightens to the point where his lungs are burning for air, but he still doesn't want you to let go.

"You have no idea how scared I was. When the hospital called me saying you were here, I felt like my mind was going a hundred per hour! Please, don't die..."

How can you ask him this? You both know it's impossible. He's going to die one day, it can't be helped. You can't escape death's claws. No one can escape their funeral. You're torturing him. You know he doesn't like to lie to you. He can't just say "I won't die" cause it's simply not true!

"Please don't die" you repeat, and his hands movement comes to a halt "Because I'll be lonely if you die. Don't leave me alone, please."

And suddenly, it all makes sense.

He still isn't afraid of dying. But suddenly, the mention of death leaves an itching feeling at the back of his throat. It makes him sick thinking about you going on with your life, possibly mourning over his death for a long time (he doesn't ever want you to be sad, especially not because of him. Strangely, a sick, twisted part of him wants you to cry when he dies. To be sad. To not move on fastly. He quickly supresses those thoughts though) and then completely forgetting him and starting a new family (this thought makes him sick to the stomach. He feels like a very bad guy when thinking about how he doesn't want you to find another man to replace him. You always said he was irreplaceable after all).

He will forever be someone who was, not someone who is. He'll be lost in time, a name you'll mention once or twice on a conversation while smiling and thinking about the good times you had together.

He'll never hear your laugh and your voice again, will never take you out on extravagant dates and have movie nights watching silly movies and laughing at the special effects. Leaving you alone in this dangerous world feels almost criminal.

Death doesn't make him feel bad. Having you forget him after he dies makes him feel like absolute shit.

And so, even though he can't promise you that he won't die, he can promise one thing. He grabs one of your hands in his, looking at you as serious as he can be.

"You won't ever be alone." He says, and you feel like crying. He then smiles weakly "I promise. I love you. Our love is too strong to be stopped by death." He kisses your hand and then quotes the same sentence he uttered at your wedding day "Remember? 'And if death do us apart, I promise to find you in every other timeline.'"

And just like he did that day, he props up in the hospital bed and kisses you.

MEGUMI FUSHIGURO, ITADORI YUJI, Gojo Satoru, Inumaki Toge (or maybe I'm just a glazer ☹️), Nanami Kento (idk, I just feel like it fits him), TODOROKI SHOTO, Bakugou Katsuki, Kirishima Ejirou, Izuku Midoriya, Aizawa Shota, HAWKS + any character you think fits this!!

~ A/N: this can be read as a sequel of another fic of mine. It also can be read on it's own though (but please, do check the other one if you're interested!!). Also, you can see some Hamilton songs' references here and there (cause I'm a theater kid 😔) AND this was inspired by a line in "Cowboy Beebop"

Masterlist

[cutielando]

Hiii I'm kinda nervous cuz I'm still kinda new to requesting stuff! Could you maybe do like female!reader x Oscar Piastri where r is not English but knows it fluently but when it comes to talking in it she stutters and stuff cuz she's shy but wants to say things good like she does in her head and maybe Oscar comforts her or teaches her to say them easier myb??? Idk if you understood my request, hope you did.. write it if you fell comfortable with it!! 🤎🤎

language troubles | o.p.

warnings!!: difficulty speaking English

my masterlist

Oscar loved the way you talked.

Especially your accent whenever you spoke English.

It wasn't your native language, you had learned it your whole life as a second language, so you still had some troubles when it came to pronouncing certain words and expressing yourself.

When you met Oscar, the whole dynamic between you two was very funny and awkward at first due to his accent and the differences between Australians and other English-speaking countries.

It was especially endearing to both of you whenever he would use certain Australia-specific words, which you would have no idea what they meant, and watching your cute scrunched up face made Oscar's heart swell even more in his chest.

In contrast to Oscar's endearment of your little pronunciation problem, you were embarrassed every time you wouldn't be able to say a certain word.

You found that you struggle most with talking in English right when you wake up. It takes a while for you to function in the mornings, so you always need a little time before things get going in your brain.

That's also Oscar's favorite time with you, mainly because he loves the way you stutter because of how tired you are.

It was currently 8 in the morning and you had woken up purely by accident, therefore ruining your sleep. Oscar was still sleeping when you walked out of the bedroom silently, but it wasn’t long before his steps slowly walked towards the kitchen where you stood, his tired eyes taking in your figure immediately.

“Morning” he murmured, kissing the top of your head once he was close enough.

“Hey” you smiles tiredly at him, leaning against his warm body.

“What are you doing?” he asked, wrapping his arms around your shivering body.

“I’m waiting for the kapushino machine to finish my drink” you said, not even realizing what you had said.

“What machine now?” Oscar asked you, trying to suppress the laughter threatening to escape his lips.

“The kapushino machine” you repeated, confused and unaware still.

Oscar couldn’t help now but chuckle, making you look up at him as you felt his chest vibrate against your cheek.

“It’s cappuccino, babe” he corrected you, making you furrow your eyebrows.

Slowly, realization started spreading out all over your face, making your cheeks pink up in embarrassment.

You hid your face into Oscar’s chest as he laughed softly, rubbing your back in soothing manners.

“I can’t believe I just mispronounced cappuccino” you groaned, making Oscar pout at how cute you were.

"That's okay, you don't need to be embarrassed about it" he cooed, kissing the top of your head just before the coffee machine finished brewing the fresh pot.

You threw your head back as you stepped away from Oscar's hold, filling your mug and taking a sip of the hot beverage.

Oscar was used to correcting you whenever you would fail to pronounce things correctly, it was something you secretly loved about him.

He never made fun of you, never made jokes about the fact that you sometimes struggled to speak the language, he just accepted you for who you were, helping you along the way as best as he could.

That was one of the many reasons why you loved him.

Even if it sometimes got annoying for the both of you.

♡♡♡♡♡

Another cute moment like this happened at dinner with his family after the Australian Grand Prix.

You were fairly new to the whole world of Formula 1 and frankly, you were still a foreign when it came to Australian culture.

Oscar’s family always did their best to help you adapt more and more with each visit there, especially his mother and sisters.

You spent a lot of time on Twitter, it was a very bad habit for you, but you were very confused when tweets about your boyfriend being a serial killer popped up on your page.

Your eyebrows furrowed, looking at the posts confused. Oscar came into the room in the middle of your deep dive, stopping when he saw how focused you were on your phone.

“Babe? Everything alright?” he asked, watching you jump up and look up at him.

You hadn’t even realized he had come into the room, that’s how distracted you were.

“Why is everyone on Twitter saying you’re a mureder?” you asked with a frown on your face.

Oscar tried to contain his laughter when he heard you trying to pronounce the word murderer, but he figured laughing in the current situation was not the best idea.

“Who’s saying that?” he asked, indulging you as he slowly walked and sat down next to you on the couch.

“There’s a bunch of people who made a thread on Twitter saying you’re a mureder and that you killed people” you urgently explained, showing him your phone.

He took the phone from your hands, barely glancing at what you were reading before he gave it back to you.

He tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear before he cupped your cheek in his hand, smiling at your still distressed face.

“They’re confusing me with someone else, Oscar Pistorius. I’m not a murderer” Oscar explained, putting an emphasis on the word murderer.

You nodded silently, taking in his words. When you noticed the smile with which Oscar was looking at you, you slowly realized that, most probably, you had just had another fail when dealing with the wonderful English language.

Smiling sheepishly, you buried your head into his shoulder as he chuckled lightly and wrapped his arms around you, hugging you close to his chest.

"English gives up on me when I least expect it" you complained, getting more comfortable in your boyfriend's hold.

"You just have an on-and-off relationship, pretty toxic if you're asking me" he joked, making you laugh out loud.

Oscar always knew how to make you feel better, especially after some fails which would leave you embarrassed in front of him. He was sweet like that.

Even when your own brain and language failed you, Oscar never did.

You'd conquer English one day.

Oscar would make sure of that.

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