#like at least if i spill something on one of my cards odds are i can replace it for under a dollar!! damn

[unnonexistence]

hehehoohoo new mtg cards

[a99jazzybean]

Why do we Keep Playing These Games?

Chapter 2: The Bet

Ch.1/ Ch2./ Ch.3/ Ch.4/ Ch.5/ Ch.6/ Ch.7/ Ch.8/ Ch.9/ Ch.10/ Ch.11

synop: College TA au

Jayce Talis... He's your unrequited sworn enemy. You are the object of his obsessive affections. After discovering your disdain toward him, He decides to win your heart... Through playing games. Winner gets to make the loser do whatever they want. You'll take him up on the bet, but what will happen if he wins?

words: 2.6K

includes: jaycexfem!reader, sexual implications, sexual tension, enemies to lovers

A chessboard sat on the table in front of you. You stared at it with a puzzled look. In the chair across from you Jayce watched your reaction, a teasing gleam in his eyes. After a moment you looked up at him.

“Did you want to play chess?” You asked. 

Jayce had texted you to meet him at the office to discuss things before the first week of school. The two of you were in the small space provided for Heimerdinger’s TAs. A desk was pushed against one wall with a small lamp on top. In front of it sat a small table reserved to help students one-on-one. Along the walls were mostly empty bookshelves, with the occasional textbook placed in random spaces. 

You gave him a questioning look, waiting for him to answer. He stood up from the chair, stretching up and cracking his back. Then he walked up to you, a smug smile on his face. 

“Yes, I do. But I have conditions…”

“Conditions? For chess?” You were confused.

“Yes, conditions. Extra rules if you will…” The smile on his face grew as you continued to grow more confused.

“Talis, explain. I don’t like this vagueness.” You waved around your face to emphasize your annoyance with the “air of mystery.” 

“You know, patience is a virtue.”

“And one I do not have, spit it out.” Your eyes narrowed at him.

“You’re no fun.” He pouted. “But I’ll spill.”

Jayce had been plotting out ways to get closer to you, trying to work with all of his knowledge he had learned. He spent the weekend relaying his ideas to an exasperated Viktor. The man growing tired of hearing Jayce’s plans, hoping he would either give up or come to a final conclusion to end the incessant talking. 

Viktor had been shuffling a deck of cards to keep his hands busy while Jayce blathered on. The motion caught the taller man’s attention, making him pause. Then a lightbulb went off. 

“You said y/n has a thing about betting, right? I remember you had talked about teasing her about how she always was taking bets.”

Viktor looked up from his hands, an eyebrow quirked.

“Yes… but where is this going?” 

It was true, you were a sucker for taking bets. Many ended up with Mel holding your hair back as you chucked up some grotesque concoction into the toilet. But dammit, fifty dollars is fifty dollars. You had made somewhat a name for yourself taking bets, even if you were sure you couldn’t do it, you would at least try. Some odd part of you that you pretended you didn’t have. It desperately craved attention. And it somehow endeared you to your peers. So when someone was challenging you, you always took it up. Even one time risking arrest as you streaked on every floor of a dorm hall, but again, it was nice to have some extra change sitting around. 

“Well, maybe I can use that to my advantage. Considering she can’t seem to say ‘no’ to a bet.” 

“I don’t know Jayce…” Viktor gave the man a stern look. “I feel like taking advantage of that flaw might not work out the way you want it to.”

“What if I added my own stakes to it?” Jayce could feel the desperation in his voice. He needed something.

Viktor hummed thoughtfully, continuing to shuffle the cards. 

“I could see her taking it up if both of you added equal stakes” Viktor chuckled. “I’m sure she’d love to see you grovel.”

“What? I’m planning on winning here.” Jayce said with his cheery confidence. 

“Right. So what exactly would you be betting on?”

Jayce realized he hadn’t thought that far ahead. He glanced around the duo’s apartment. Eyes landing on their shelf stuffed with board games.

“What about games? She likes games, right?”

“Almost everyone likes games, Jayce.” Viktor sighed, but decided to aid his friend. “But she does have a proclivity for Uno. Oddly enough, really good at that one.” 

Jayce placed a hand on his chin as he thought.

“Then I’ll make bets over games.”

“What exactly will these bets entail?” Viktor was growing curious. His friend often had wild ideas, he wondered where this one was going.

“Oh, you’ll find out.” Jayce gave him a smirk.

Now you found yourself in your shared office space with Jayce. He explained how he wished to make bets with you over games. It was odd… but you had to admit you were interested. 

“What would the stakes be?” You weren’t going to do it if the payout wasn’t sufficient. 

“The loser has to do anything the winner wants them to.” Jayce said.

That had your eyes widening. The implications of what that could mean were loaded.

“With parameters, of course.” He gave you a smile.

“Those parameters being…?” 

“Whatever we collectively choose them to be.” 

You didn’t like that he hadn’t given you an example. What was he suggesting? He looked too smug. It would be easy to decline participation in this activity. Yet, you found yourself greatly intrigued. Surely accepting this little deal wouldn’t hurt. What’s the worst he could do? Besides, you could definitely beat him at these games.

“What would you wish for them to be?” You stepped closer to him. Watching his pupils dilate at the closer proximity. 

“Well, um… no public humiliation for one.”

“Okay.” You motioned for him to continue.

“Nothing to harm ourselves unwillingly.” 

“We could be harming ourselves willingly?” What could he mean by that phrasing?

“Yes. Like if you told me to get a dumb tattoo, I wouldn’t accept the bet. But if you bet me to eat like…I don’t know… a super spicy sandwich, then I would be willing to.” He deflected, he knew what he was trying to imply, but didn’t know how to reach that conclusion without turning you off of the idea.

“Right, okay. What else?” You were waiting for a certain answer, especially based on the implications of the original bet.

“Nothing to hurt our relationships with others, nothing that could hurt career prospects. We can opt out of betting, but that will put an official end to the games.” 

“You have this all planned out, don’t you?” It had you wondering what the catch would be. 

“So outside of the parameters we have, the winner gets to make the loser do whatever they want?” You were pushing him to admit what you both were thinking. 

The man had already revealed his affections for you. So what was he really wanting out of this?

Jayce felt hot. Should he admit what he truly wants from this? 

“Yeah, the winner gets to choose anything they wish.” He left it at that. Again, not wishing to push his luck. 

You pondered on it. Would allowing him to do what he wished really be so bad? You looked over the man. Even though you had your one-sided feud with him, you knew he was objectively attractive. That wasn’t something you could really argue against. Who knows, this arrangement might be beneficial for you. Lord knows you haven't really gotten around much, your studies taking up too much of your time. This could work in your favor. 

“Fine.” The man visibly lit up at your acceptance. You put up a finger. “But we’re making a contract. With witnesses to sign it.” Sure, it wouldn’t be legally binding, but at least the two of you would have some sort of accountability. 

“And we should have a contingency plan. If we don’t want to stop the games, but don’t want to do a bet, the loser pays up in cash. A decent amount to avoid too many cop-outs.” 

Jayce nodded, he would accept almost anything if you would agree to this. 

“I’ll be sure to have it in the paperwork.” 

“Good.” 

You looked over to the chessboard on the table.

“So will this be our first game?” You asked. 

“Yes. Every week we’ll switch up who gets to choose the next game.” Jayce was giddy.

“And these games, can they be any kind? Card, board, video games?”

“As long as they only require two players, yes.” 

“Alright Mr. Talis, bring me paperwork and your witness, and I’ll bring mine.”

“Of course, Miss l/n.” He gave you a bright smile, offering his hand.

With feigned confidence you grasped his with a hard grip. His hand dwarfed yours in comparison. Warm, soft, yet slightly calloused. You gave it a hearty shake. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“That doesn’t seem like many parameters…” Mel said, emphasizing her point by swirling the wine in her glass harshly.

“Yeah… but it’s kinda exciting. I think.” You said sheepishly.

“You think?” The woman sighed. “Darling, you and I both know how he’s going to use his wins.” 

After speaking with Jayce you set up an emergency girls night with Mel. First of all, you needed her as a witness, and second, you needed to tell someone about this immediately. Now the two of you were lounging on her couch, already having downed a bottle of rosé. 

“You’re making it sound like he’s going to win something.” You looked at her offended.

She raised a brow at you.

“Don’t underestimate Jayce. When he sets his sights on something he will continue his pursuit of whatever it is.” 

“Whatever. I know I can beat him. That man won’t be getting anything from me.” 

“Darling.” She placed her glass down and reached for your hands. “I’m going to hold your hand when I say this; “Jayce Talis will not back down. Especially not when you’ve basically offered yourself up on a silver platter for him.”

“You’re just over exaggerating.” Your confidence was waning. Mel knew what she was talking about, you just didn’t want to believe her. 

“Look, I’m just trying to warn you. He’s VERY persistent. And I’m sure you know now, has had his eyes set on you for quite some time. He will not be letting this opportunity go to waste.”

You bit your lip nervously. No, you couldn’t concede. There was no way you were going to let the golden boy win. He might have drive, but so do you. 

“I’m accepting being your witness for this odd contract because I’m your friend.” She grabbed her glass to take a deep drink. “But don’t think for a second I’m helping you get out of any of the bets you two place.” 

“It won’t be that bad. Even if he wins, I’ll take everything like a champ.” You took a drink from your own glass of wine.

“Even if it’s a sexual favor?” Mel said pointedly.

You choked on your wine, punching at your chest to catch your breath. 

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about…” You lied.

“From what you told me none of your exceptions included that, meaning that Jayce very well could ask you to do anything of that nature for him.”

“And I’ll take it like a champ.” You said nervously, visibly cringing. “I’m no pussy.”

“Right.” She gave you a knowing look, a smirk dancing on her lips.

“What’s that look for?”

“Oh nothing.” She chuckled. “I’m sure that your lack of adding that to parameters was merely an oversight. We can easily add it before you sign that contract tomorrow.” 

“Well, we don’t necessarily have to do that…” You tried to play cool. 

Fine, the thought of you and Jayce doing anything sexual in nature didn’t turn you off per say…

“And why not, surely you wouldn’t want Jayce Talis, your sworn enemy to take advantage of you like that.” She teased. 

“I can make those same requests too, you know?” You jabbed back. Red bloomed on your face as you realized what you said. 

Mel laughed at your embarrassed state. 

“You’re too easy to read. Though I can’t say I blame you, Jayce is very nice to look at. Even if you have one-sided bad blood with the man.”

You grumbled. No, you would not admit it out loud. How maybe the thought of Jayce having his way with you was kind of hot. 

Sure, you didn’t like the man personally. That didn’t mean you hadn’t had certain types of thoughts about him. Thoughts that kept you up at night with your hand between your thighs and shame painting your cheeks red. God, you wished you didn’t have dumb base human instincts to copulate. 

“Whatever Mel. It doesn’t even matter if he can take advantage, because he’s not going to win.”

“Again I say; “do not underestimate Jayce Talis.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next day had arrived. You stood in the small office with Jayce, Viktor, and Mel. Jayce was buzzing with excitement as he laid out a printed contract on the table before you. Viktor and Mel both rolled their eyes at the dramatics. While this was a bit much, they did find it quite amusing. How you were tiptoeing around your attraction to the man, and he was fully ready to take advantage of the situation you agreed to. You argued that it was all for the bet. For the glory of the win, and nothing else. Still, something primal stirred inside you. Something you did your best to swallow down as you read through the contract. 

Your eyes trailed down the rules and regulations the two of you had placed, then stopped and widened. There, towards the end of the page it was explicitly laid out.

. Sexual favors are allowed with EXPLICIT consent between participants. Consent is the agreement to an activity with a spoken “yes.” Consent must be given before the start of all activities. Consent may be revoked at any time. When this occurs the bet can either be:

Rescinded entirely by the winner

Changed by the winner to a more acceptable activity

Require a monetary exchange to pass over the bet

Jayce could tell you had reached that part of the contract. He nervously shuffled as he watched you reread the part multiple times. Spotting a blush on your face as you continued to read the rest of the contract. He breathed out a sigh of relief when you placed the pages down with a nod. 

“It’s acceptable to me.” You said, avoiding Jayce’s gaze.

A bright, gap-toothed smile appeared on his face. He clapped and reached for the pages. 

“Wonderful. Now we sign.” He said, pulling out a pen from his pocket. 

He leaned over the table and signed his name above the line listing him as “Player One”. Then he slid the sheet over to you. Warm fingers brushed against your own as you reached for the pen from him. The connection sending a shiver up your spine. 

With a huff you quickly signed the page.

“Alright, witnesses, your turn.” Jayce passed the page to Viktor. 

Concern was laced in his golden eyes as he looked at you. He wondered if you knew what you were getting yourself into. Quickly, he signed his name on the designated line before passing it to Mel who did the same. 

Jayce grabbed the pages.

“I’ll make photocopies of this for your files, then we can let the games begin!” The smile had yet to leave his face. 

You gulped nervously.

“Right. So chess is first, correct?” 

“Yup.” 

“And what are we betting on?” You asked, voice wavering slightly.

“I’m not telling.” He said. 

“What! That’s not fair!” You exclaimed desperately. 

Jayce tsked you. A teasing glint in his eyes. He opened the second page of the contract and pointed.

“If you remember correctly, in section 5 part a, bets do not have to be announced before the game is played.” He said smugly.

You grumbled, of course you skimmed over that. 

“Fine.” 

Jayce offered his hand to you. You grasped it harshly and shook. 

“I can’t wait to play with you.” He said with a wink.

[ghostspiritnovel]

GhostSpirit: Chapter 1

Evan Ghost steps out of the shower, towels wrapped around his head and waist. He grabs his phone and turns down the music he was playing. It's Twenty One Pilots. He looks into the mirror at his chest. Two light scars can be seen. He smiles. It has been a year since his family where able to get him top surgery. He is proud of this fact.

"Its a trophy for all the BS life throws at me, at least I can be happy in my own skin finally."

He rushes to his room to get changed. Black hoodie, blue pants with a white stripe around the thighs, and signature red beanie. With comfy clothes on he heads to the bathroom again. Looking in the mirror again, bright orange hair is a mess. Would be worse putting on the beanie now. His hair is moderately long, just enough to come down to the middle of his neck or so and peek out the back of the hat. He oddly finds brushing his hair relaxing. Texture reasons. Nice and smooth the brush slides though. His eyes are two colors, red and purple. Normally the his hair fringe hides the red one. Something about it just felt. .. Odd.

"Evan!" A woman's voice shouts from downstairs. "Are you almost done? Don't you have a call with your friends soon?"

He perks up "Oh yea! I do! Thanks mom!!... I can't believe I almost forgot."

He leaves the bathroom ready for the day.

Its 1:02pm...

Before heading to his room he heads downstairs led by his stomach and the taste for something that is not water.

"Hi mom." he says looking though the fridge. "Do we have any mango nectar juice stuff?"

Evan's mom, Cynthia Ghost, is making breakfast for lunch. "Did you drink the gallon already? We just got that!"

"Haha! I found it... damn. One cup left. Ah well." He closes the fridge and takes the mango drink to the counter.

"Evan, you know I'm proud of you right?"

He turns to his mom after grabbing a cup from the cabinet. "What did I do this time?" He asks knowing that this is a good thing and not a normal "oh no what did I do bad" thing.

"Your decision to go independent. The move."

"Oh, yea, " Even completely blocked this from his mind. Too overwhelming. "Yea, I mean like, life is a thing heh."

"Would you like some help packing?"

"PLEASE!" he finishes pouring out the drink and goes to toss the gallon jug in the recycling.

"I know, its scary, you're going to a nice place. I grew up there." She says this with a sadness.

Evan doesn't pick up on it instead thinking "ok its safe if mom lived there."

He quickly glances at the time.

"GWH!! IM GINNA BE LATE!"

"DONT SPILL!"

Evan takes his mango deliciousness upstairs to his room and sets it on a green resin coaster with a Bulbasaur Pokémon card embedded into it. He opens up discord. The call has already started.

[badgerbl00d]

one piece boys being overprotective...

☆ characters: sir crocodile, dracule mihawk, captain smoker

☆ up next: drinking with the one piece boys pt. 2

☆ summary: how each of these characters comes to your aid and save u

☆ a/n: definitely want to make more parts to this.. please feel free to make suggestions! enjoy ;3

crocodile:

“Meet me there tonight,” Crocodile yawned, placing a soft kiss on your forehead. 

You closed your eyes as he tucked you back into bed, gently covering you in a mass of blankets and sheets. 

Sleep overtook you as you watched him put on his coat and slip out of the door, smiling to yourself as you noticed he’d left his watch on your nightstand. 

The bed he’d bought you was unbelievably comfortable and dangerously warm. The biting cold desert nights were remedied with the matching duvet and silk pillow sheets he’d gifted you and the only thing that made sleeping better was when he’d stay the night. 

But you understood the nature of your relationship- if you could even call it that. 

The affection and softness he showed you were for no one else to know about, and that much had been made clear. 

Yet, you couldn’t find yourself worrying too much. Crocodile was, of course, one of many benefactors whose attention you’d grabbed and you were overtly aware of the effect you had on him. 

You’d meet him at any bar he asked you to, take care of any business he needed handled, and when he called, you’d come. 

But as much as you knew you weren’t entirely his, he knew he wasn’t entirely yours. 

The clock read 9:00 when you decided to get ready.

A sleek black dress with a plunging neckline that hugged you where your flesh curved. 

Glossy black heels, extending your long legs and paired with a red lip. 

You grabbed your wallet and pulled your coat over your shoulders.

It smelled like Crocodile. Expensive cologne and cigars. Last time you’d worn it some wine had spilled and he offered to have it washed. It carried the clean scent of lemongrass that all his clothes smelled like. 

You couldn’t help but take a deep breath before stepping out. 

The bar was busier than usual, there was even a jazz band playing. The music was soft and cool, you made a mental note to ask them for a business card, as you were sure this was the kind of thing your lover would love to have at his next party. 

Sauntering towards your usual spot at the bar, you took the only open seat next to a blond gentleman who was chatting with the bartender. 

He had on a blue suit and an obnoxiously loud laugh. 

The bartender made his way over to you, “Anything I can start you off with?”

“Just a martini please,” you asked. 

“Fufufu~ Put it on my tab,” the man next to you said to the bartender. 

You looked over at him, smiling, “Thank you. Do we know each other?”

“Not yet,” he said, he wore sunglasses, but you could feel him looking you up and down and suddenly felt very vulnerable, “But I’d like to.”

Something was off about him. You could sense something predatory in his voice and the hairs on the back of your neck started to rise. 

But Crocodile would be there soon and you’d been looking forward to your martini so you decided to at least finish the drink before finding some bad excuse to leave. 

You sipped on your drink and politely entertained his odd questions, like Where did you like to shop? What fabric feels best on your skin? and What perfume were you wearing?

The longer you spoke with him, the more you felt an intense and unnerving hunger invading him. 

“What brings you here?” you asked, finally reaching your limit to his never ending questions.

“Just waiting for an old friend,” he answered, amused by you.  

Silence followed your question. You’d finished your drink a while ago so there was nothing left to do but sit and wait. 

You could feel the man’s eyes watching you, almost as though he were trying to look through your skin. 

You heard the door of the bar swing open and turned around. 

Relief washed over you as you saw Crocodile walk in, extremely tired and in need of a drink and some sloppy kisses. You’d provide him readily with both. 

He walked over to you smiling and placed a gentle kiss on your cheek, “Sorry about the wait, Sweetheart.” 

“Pretty girl you’ve caught,” your ‘friend’ said, the odd lilt in his voice setting you on edge.

You watched Crocodile’s entire demeanor shift in an instant. 

His eyes narrowed like a cat’s and there was a shift of energy in the room. It filled with tension and sand from floor to ceiling. 

“Doflamingo,” Crocodile stated. 

“She’s kept me in good company,” he mused, gesturing towards you, “Clever girl, and such a sweetheart. Didn’t even recognize me. Isn’t that cute?”

“Y/n, we’re leaving.”

You nodded and got up, making your way towards him.

“Ah-” you yelped as a sharp slice of pain cut through your wrists as you felt yourself jolted a few feet backwards, your back hitting against his clothed chest. 

“Surely, Crocodile, you’re not too vain to share?”

You felt the air get sucked out of the room, a wave of anxiety flooding through every living thing in that bar. 

Awkwardly yet quickly the bar's patrons left, running once out of the confines of the four walls holding the two warlords.

Sweat dripped down your body and your breathing was starting to become panicked. 

The pressure along your wrists was getting worse and you had no idea what was happening. A thin line of blood dribbled down your forearms as your hands were raised above your head as though pulled by some invisible string. 

A calloused hand pressed your face against his own, and you froze as you felt Doflamingo’s tongue 

“I suggest you end your little game now Doflamingo,” Crocodile said, his voice calmer than he looked, “Out of the two of you, there’s only one I can dry out, and it isn’t the one covered in sweat.” 

You felt grains of sand rubbing against your skin and looked down to see your assailant's leg was getting dried out.

“Fufufufu~ too much pride to share, but not enough to avoid jealousy.”

With a grunt of dissatisfaction the hold on your wrists ceased and your fall to the floor was stopped by surprisingly soft sand. 

Crocodile helped you up, wiping away the blood from your wrists and tearing his pocket square in half to tie around each of your wrists. 

He helped you up with a shocking delicacy, and walked you out of the bar. Sending in Mr. 1 to finish taking care of the situation for him. 

A car picked you up and your lover tended to your wounds. Brushing your hair out of your face and letting you change into his shirt. Your clothes were torn and stained with blood and dirt. 

“I’ll buy you new ones,” he assured you.

You laughed, “That’s okay, I did like the coat though. It smelled like you.”

He sighed, rubbing circles on your back. 

You’d be the death of him.

“Let me take you back to yours,” he said, pressing kisses to your head, “I- I’d like to see that you’re alright.. and I believe I left my watch there.” 

mihawk:

You rubbed your husband’s back in an attempt to console him as you both watched the Red Haired pirates unload their ship on Kuraigana Island. 

“You know this means we’ll get no sleep for the next week,” Mihawk said, “And that we’ll be in dire need of food and a maid by the time they leave.”

You laughed, “But it gets so lonely here! You wouldn’t know because you’re always leaving, but I get lonely and bored. And I’ve heard they like a drink or two.”

“Or two.”

The two of you sat and observed as they finished unloading and docking the ship, and you pressed an outburst of kisses to his head, tugging your hand away from his. Laughing at his reluctance to greet his unwanted guests. 

“How are ya’ Sweetheart?” Shanks hugged you and pressed a big kiss onto your cheek, earning a glare from your husband. 

“I have one for you too, Hawkeye,” he said, approaching the swordsman who reluctantly allowed himself to be embraced. 

You greeted the rest of the crew, and only Beckman had the decency to withhold a kiss. 

The drinking had started before the sun had a chance to set. By early dusk, with golden rays still streaking the sky, cups were being filled. To your pleasant surprise Mihawk allowed himself slight indulgence and was portioning out a pint for himself. 

You’d started off well, just a glass of wine. But by your second you were already messily kissing your husband- much to his (well hid) enjoyment. 

Since you weren’t a pirate or a powerholder you rarely accompanied Mihawk on his expeditions, they were too dangerous. And though you couldn’t complain about the castle you were living in, you could definitely complain about the boredom. 

There was plenty to do, you’d planted a garden and the island cats had taken a liking to you. You had an enormous library and a beautiful kitchen. 

Yet you found yourself incredibly happy to be here, partying with pirates who had stories and scars and were loud and boisterous and dangerous and exciting. 

So when the crew’s sniper suggested shots you were the first to participate. 

Mihawk stayed seated in the back and gave you a nod of encouragement 

“He does leave me here with his wines all day,” you joked, earning an eruption of laughter from the men. “She’s drinking you dry, Hawkeye!” one yelled. 

“Oh I most definitely am,” you teased, winking at your husband, who choked on his drink. Another fit of laughter seized the pirates, especially the captain. 

“I like her,” he said, taking a seat next to the swordsman.

“How about a drinking game,” one of the men yelled.

A chorus of yeses followed. 

“Rules are simple, player says heads or tails, if their guess is right the coin goes to the next person, if the guess is wrong you remove one article of clothing and take a shot.”

The sound of a sword unsheathing silenced the entire party. 

“Might wanna adjust some rules there,” Shanks laughed.

“I-if the guess is wrong you take a shot.”

“One more sweetheart,” Shanks laughed, “C’mon!”

You nodded eagerly, firmly gripping the overflowing shot glass in your hand, the bitter brown liquid sloshing over the rim. 

You choked down your sixth shot of the night, biting back the urge to gag. You weren’t sure what you’d just swallowed but its effects were nearly immediate. 

The sound of your heart pounding throughout your body was making you dizzy, and the sound of waves crashing led to a subtle nausea spreading across you. 

The sun had long set and night covered the island. You’d all been partying and drinking for hours.

“Another!” you slurred, grabbing onto the captain’s arm.

The crew laughed and Shanks poured you another shot, bringing it to your lips for you.

“That’s enough,” you felt a strong hand wrap around your waist, and saw Mihawk pull the shot glass away from your lips. 

“‘m perfec’ly fine,” you insisted, hiccupping. 

“I can tell,” he mused, “Let’s go sit for a while.”

Mihawk held a water bottle to your mouth, wiping the spilling water off your lips with his thumb. 

“Tired, cariño?”

You nodded, bringing his arms down around your waist.

You were undeniably adorable with pouty lips and warm, rosy cheeks. 

But he knew drunk pirates and didn’t think you needed to be surrounded by them any longer. He lifted you up onto his lap, where you found a worthy pillow in his chest, bringing your arms to rest around his neck. 

Mihawk started the walk up to your room, to get you ready for bed and you half-heartedly waved goodbye to the loud and laughing entourage of pirates in your backyard. 

You’d have a terrible headache in the morning and be hungrier than usual, and your husband would bring you medicine and breakfast in bed. 

smoker:

Vice Captain Smoker was a serious man who was both dedicated and loyal to his work. Morally and legally he upheld his reputation and duty as a successful marine and had a generally better record than his subordinates, peers, and supervisors. 

Loguetown’s reputation had been single handedly transformed under his supervision.  

More often than not the man’s mind was occupied with quotas and deadlines, meetings with higher ups he was dreading, and whipping the lower ranked marines into shape.

But Friday nights when Tashigi would stay late so he could leave early, there was one other thing he allowed himself to think about.

You.

He wouldn’t admit it to himself and it was more of a subconscious attraction than a spoken one but every Friday, without fail, he’d stop by the bakery you worked at to get a latté. 

You had found yourself looking forward to Fridays. The city was surprisingly quiet those nights despite it being the start of the weekend and by the time the Captain came around you were getting ready to close up shop.

He was easily noticed for several reasons, mainly because he was well known (and feared) but also because he always made conversation with you. The first few times you were slightly taken aback at how chatty he was, he was known to be a man of few words and it unnerved you to see him so talkative. 

By the fourth cup of coffee you’d served him you saw him as a regular. 

In reality, Smoker himself was surprised at his change in demeanor when he was around you. 

As though someone were feeding him lines, he found himself able to just talk. 

About the weather and the city, but also to ask you about yourself. 

After a month or so of visiting you he found himself craving coffee on Mondays. And eventually Tuesdays and Thursdays, and sometimes- when he was in a particularly good mood- he’d even go on Wednesday mornings to pick up coffee for the entire department. 

And you, increasingly eager to see your favorite regular, would always have his order ready when he arrived. 

A time or two you’d even brushed hands when passing the coffee and in both of you a feeling of nervousness and pleasure was revealed on your skin through a light pink blush. 

It was a Tuesday evening, right as you began closing that a new customer came in. He asked for a cake and said he’d need it by morning. 

You explained that it wouldn’t be possible, as you were closing now and he was welcome to put the order in the following morning. 

“I’ll pay five times whatever you’re selling this stuff for,” he offered, “My captain likes sweets and I was just let on the crew and he gave me this errand and said I had to-”

You interrupted his rambling with a nod and said you’d do it for five time’s the asking price. 

 ฿550 for a single cake wasn’t an opportunity you’d pass up, and you figured you’d compensate for the lack of sleep tomorrow.

You’d stayed up the entire night working tirelessly to make sure the cake was ready. When you say to take a “short break” before opening, you’d passed out on the counter, forgetting to set your alarm.

You heard soft knocking on the window and were jolted awake. Rubbing the exhaustion out of your eyes you looked over to see Smoker puffing his cigar outside your shop, a concerned look on his face.

You got up to unlock the door and let him in.

The sun wasn’t up yet. The clock read 5:00.

“You’re here early,” you said.

“Yes.. Well, I walk this way to my office and I saw you sleeping. Are you alright?”

You nodded.

“You’re sure? Did you sleep here? Do you need anything?”

Your eyes widened and the color of your cheeks conceded your embarrassment.

“No! Yes, I stayed in the shop late,” you explained, “A customer needed a cake ready by this morning.”

Smoker nodded.

“Thanks for asking.”

He nodded again. 

You started getting his coffee ready as you talked.

“ Don’t those take a long time to make? Do you usually do that? Stay late, I mean.” he gestured towards the display of pastries.

“Not usually, no,” you laughed, at his onslaught of questions, “But he made a fantastic offer. Five times the asking price! He said something about his Captain. I think he was a pirate. I didn’t pay much attention after he offered the money.” 

Smoker laughed.

“Oh,” you added, “Please don’t arrest him until after he pays.”

You liked the sound of his laughter and joined him in giggling. 

“Any requests for your latté art today?”

“Surprise me.”

You handed him his coffee and refused his payment, assuring him he was a regular customer and it was quite alright. 

“Then let me use this to buy you a coffee.”

You smiled and assured him you had all the coffee and sweets you could possibly need.

“But if you’ll let me borrow that bill for just a moment, I’ll leave you something.”

Smoker looked confused, but had no hesitation in offering you the money.

“This is probably the only way I can get you to keep your money.”

You took out a pen and scribbled down your phone number on the bill.

He blushed as you handed it back to him, gently folding it into his pocket. 

“If.. you aren’t busy tonight” he started, hesitating, “I’d love to take you out to dinner.”

You looked up at him. 

“I’m not busy!” you nodded eagerly, “I’d love to!”

“Is 7 alright then?”

“Perfect,” you said, “Just call me.”

Smoker walked out, smiling more than he thought he ever had, 

It was cold out and he went to take a sip of his coffee, he thought to himself that it tasted better than usual. 

[heartfullofleeches]

I'm still thinking about you...mister detective that lost the poll...

(he's thinking about you too)

"So... demons, huh?"

The man sets his cup on the table between you. Kind brown eyes, the beginning of a beard on his chin, auburn locks pulled back into a low ponytail. Mid twenties to early thirties. His words linger in the air; his way to cut the tension within. You smile nervously. It's a nice smile - He notes.

"Yea.. My neighbor sorta has it out for me since I accidentally walked on his lawn while he was outside one day."

You don't make eye contact. You're hiding something, but he just can't see there being any true behind your neighbor's claims. The man's name was Travis Middleton. A private eye who had recently been hired by your older neighbors across the street. He felt bad for the old man; even moreso for taking his money over such a case. Practically in a fit of hysteria on his desk the day he showed up. There had been odd things going on around town, but the thought of monsters was absurd. Especially ones haunting a cute thing like you.

Travis had been tailing you around for a while, and found nothing too out of the ordinary. As inappropriate for his job as it was, he couldn't lie that you were catching his eye. One day, he decided to finally just confront you over these allegations. A short talk later and here you both were at a little dinner near your job.

He watches as you take a sip of your own drink, training on your lips around the cup's ledge. He clears his throat.

"Well, I'm sorry for the troubling you then."

You shake your head. "It's alright. You're buying me lunch afterall. The least I can do is answer your questions."

He nods, tapping the table as he looks out the window before back at you. "Would.. you mind if I take you home?"

-

A short meal later and you're in his car on the way home. He offered to take you back to your job or let you call someone, just to let you know that you were in safe hands. The whole drive, he snuck passing glances at you. How long had it been since he'd gone out with someone? A turn over a speed bump snaps him from his racing and stubborn thoughts.

He walks you to your doorstep once you arrive, pulling something from his pocket in the process.

"Here's my info. In case you need anything from me." He hands it to you, his phone number written on one of napkins from the dinner rather than the business cards he had a case full of. You take it and wish him a good night. As you open your door, the living room is empty, but he feels an unbearable heat bellow from within. Almost choking him.

"Hope you get your AC fixed soon. Goodnight, Y/n."

-

Alone in his office, Travis pulls out the folder for the case. Multiple photos spill out, yet he only picks up the one your neighbor gave him. It was of you in the early morning, leaving your house for another day of work. In the corner of the photograph, almost out of view, is your window. A shadow lingers by its frame. It could have been a lamp. It could have been more. All he focuses on is the dedication on your face for another day of living. He shoves it into his coat pocket as he shuts off the lights in the room and heads home.

[pippytmi]

Supercorp + Hogwarts AU + meet messy + "is that the best you can do?"

“Hey, do you guys want to see a muggle magic trick?”

Kara doesn’t have to look up to know Alex and Kelly are exchanging glances over Nia’s head. Nia is the best witch in the fifth year hands-down, but her grasp of muggle illusions leave a lot to be desired.

“Sure…” Kelly agrees, politely but unsurely, while Alex shakes her head.

“If this is that stupid coin trick again, Nia—” she starts, but Nia is already squeezing between them on the grass, unfolding a pack of muggle playing cards.

“It is not,” Nia says. “Prepare to be amazed! Yvette says I’m really good at this one.”

“Oh, joy,” Alex mutters under her breath, which turns into a pained yelp when Kelly elbows her in the ribs.

Kara finally raises her gaze from the newspaper she’s been half-reading, fully prepared to commit to Nia’s trick, but then she catches a glimpse of dark hair and a brisk pace. It’s Lena Luthor, notorious loner, actually sitting outside by the black lake with her books.

It’s odd—Lena never sits outside. People talk; Lena doesn’t have many friends (someone even started a rumor that Lillian Luthor pays Jess, another sixth year, to hang out with Lena). In fact, the only time anyone really sees Lena is in class, or in the Slytherin common room when Jess is also there. Kara sees her even less (only when Slytherin and Gryffindor share classrooms), but that doesn’t make the hopeless crush she’s fostered on her since they were eleven any less potent.

Kelly starts clapping suddenly, reluctantly dragging Kara’s eyes from Lena (who is reading a book; Kara is wondering just what kind of book it is). “Aw, Nia, that was good!” she says. “Do it again!”

Even Alex is curiously lifting up the cards one by one, as if trying to determine the trick herself. “Did you use actual magic for this?” she asks.

“I’m just that good,” Nia brags, though the way she tries to expertly shuffle the cards right back into their box suggests otherwise; half of them spill onto the grass. “Oh man!”

“I’ve got this,” Kara says, absentmindedly reaching for her wand. “Accio—”

“Kara, no!”

Oh, that’s right, Kara thinks belatedly. My wand is broken. It had been an unfortunate event on the Quidditch pitch involving an overzealous Hufflepuff seeker (Winn is still very apologetic about it, but it can’t be helped now). Unfortunately, Kara never seems to quite remember that magic is off-limits until it can be fixed.

And even more unfortunate is the fact that her mind and her words have begun to converge; she’s thinking about the book Lena is reading while glancing at the cards, and her mouth is forming silent words, and really it’s not a surprise at all when said book rockets out of Lena’s hands and aims right for Nia’s head.

No one dies, though, nor do they have to make the unpleasant trudge to the infirmary—Kelly is far quicker than any of Kara’s botched magic, and the book explodes into nothing when she mutters a firm, “Evanesco.”

“Kelly!” Kara forgets, for a second, about the whole Nia-about-to-break-her-face thing; her heart drops to the pit of her stomach at the thought that something of Lena Luthor’s has been reduced to figurative dust. What if that book was personal? What if it was special? What if it was—

“Excuse me,” says a quiet, sudden voice, and Kara just about falls over in the grass at the sight of Lena Luthor standing there. “I think you summoned my book.”

Kelly winces. “Oh, actually—”

“I destroyed it,” Kara blurts out, because really, this is her fault and Nia still has a face so the least Kara can do is take a fall for a friend. “I’m sorry. My wand is broken, and I was trying to summon some cards, but I was looking at you and thinking about your book and it just…I’m sorry. Again. I can pay for it?” She immediately begins digging into the pockets of her robes, but all she manages to scrounge up is a broken sugar quill and a drawing on a torn sheet of paper that depicts Professor Grant as a dragon.

For a moment, all Lena does is stare down at Kara in a peculiarly quizzical way. She doesn’t seem mad or anything, just perplexed. A second later she says, “You were thinking about ‘Voyages with Vampires’ strongly enough to summon it? I don’t really enjoy Gilderoy Lockhart books myself.”

“To be fair,” Kara’s quick to defend herself, “I couldn’t read the title from this far.”

“Right. You decided you wanted to snatch my book from me because it was mine.” And just like that, the curious expression on Lena’s face drops entirely, twists into something resigned and exhausted. “Is that the best you can do? Petty little child games?”

“What? No, I would never—”

“Because last week Eve Tessmacher hit me with a furnunculus curse that was far more clever than this,” Lena all but sneers. “It’s always the pig-headed Gryffindors that aim out of their league.”

“You wanna say that again?” Alex is jumping up, her wand brandished out, and Lena glances from her to Kara to Kelly to Nia, as if just realizing how potentially outnumbered she could be.

Except, well, that’s so not the issue. Kara hastens to stand between Alex’s wand and Lena’s body, nearly knocking her sister over in the process. “No! No, I didn’t do that as a prank, I—” She pauses, feels her cheeks go hot, and then rushes out, “Ijustthinkyou’rereallypretty!”

Alex lowers her wand; Kara can tell, because Alex uses it to jab her in the ribs. “Oh, bloody hell,” Alex grumbles, and she nudges Kelly to join her. “I think that’s our cue. I’d rather study for Potions than watch this.”

Kelly obligingly drags Nia along, who looks like she wants to protest, but eventually Nia caves in—though not without trying to wink conspiringly at Kara, which doesn’t work because Nia “winks” with both eyes.

“But—” Kara watches as her friends scatter, and then she is left with the heavy, accusatory gaze of Lena Luthor. She tries to smile, but imagines her attempt is more of a wince than anything. “Did I mention that I’m sorry?”

Lena takes a step forward. She raises her chin in the air, no less guarded, but her eyes convey a tiny bit of that earlier curiosity all the same. “You’ve already had your fun, Kara Danvers,” she says. “But I will give you credit, no one has played the ‘I have a crush on you’ prank yet.”

Kara frowns. “Do people really play pranks on you so much?”

“I am the weird little sister of a boy who tried to blow up Hogwarts,” Lena all but deadpans. “What do you think?”

“I think you’re way more than Lex Luthor’s sister, and that’s just...really mean,” Kara says, words bursting out before she even pauses to rein them in. “I mean, you are so smart! Last year you saved a bunch of first years who wandered into the Forbidden Forest. A-and you never tried out for Quidditch, but sometimes you fly with Jess on the pitch and you’re so fast you could easily run circles around anyone on the Slytherin team. You’re the coolest person ever. Even when you were eleven, you—” Finally, her brain starts to catch up with her mouth, and Kara flushes hotter than she ever thought possible. “Oh, gosh. I’m sorry. I swear, I didn’t mean for that to sound…stalker-y. I only know about the first year thing because Professor Grant’s son was new that year and I was supposed to be babysitting him. And then the flying, well, sometimes I go to the pitch with Winn whenever he wants to practice—”

“Kara. You can breathe any time you want,” Lena prompts, and Kara pauses to do exactly that.

“Sorry,” Kara adds, again, after she’s let her lungs rest a bit. Her whole body feels shivery from head to toe, like she is seconds away from fainting, and honestly? She just might. “Anyway. Um. I can replace that book if you want. Or I can give you the money and you can pick out a better one, since you said you weren’t a fan? Whatever you want.”

Lena is quiet for a beat. “What were you going to say before? About when I was eleven?”

Kara bites her lip so hard she knows she will inevitably have to ask Kelly to heal it later. “Oh, that,” she says evasively. “I meant, when you were eleven, and I walked face-first into the wrong wall trying to get to platform nine and three quarters, and you didn’t even laugh at me. You just...helped me up, and promised you would walk with me to the train until I found my family again.”

“I remember,” Lena says, and her voice is softening, as is her expression. “You somehow got lost between platforms seven and eight. Your sister was furious when she caught up with us.”

“Yeah.” And Kara finds herself smiling at that memory; this time it’s a real smile, and she couldn’t stop it if she tried. “That was really nice.” She wants to mention more—how even when Lillian Luthor scowled at Kara’s hand-me-downs, Lena complimented her right away on the shirt that had once been Alex’s—but all Kara does right now is step back. “I’ve bothered you enough, I think. Will you…let me know? About the book?”

“I don’t care about the book,” Lena says, and she swallows, loud enough that Kara can hear it. “Do you mean it?”

“That you’re...nice?”

“Yes.” Lena’s cheeks are a faint pink color, and Kara’s entire mouth goes dry.

“Well, yeah,” Kara says, and in that moment—with Lena blushing, and Kara’s chest tightening—they both know that she’s confessing to so much more than thinking Lena is nice. “So. Um.” She squares her shoulders, and prepares to be brave enough to live up to the Gryffindor name: “Can I buy you something that’s not a book? Sometime? Maybe on our next trip to Hogsmeade?”

“Like a date?” Lena asks, so impossibly soft, and Kara nods.

“Exactly like a date,” Kara says, and honestly, she should demand ten points to Gryffindor herself because her voice does not waver once.

And Lena Luthor smiles, just cautious enough to show how unsure she is, but still warm enough that Kara’s heart skips a beat. “Okay,” she says. “But on one condition: I’ll handle any magic until then.”

“Deal,” Kara agrees, and it’s official; breaking her wand might have been the best thing that has ever happened to her, ever.

[joshslater]

Grunts N' Poses

Similar stories and bonus material on my Patreon.

I found it two weeks ago next to an Asian food store. The letters on the "Grunts N' Poses" sign had begun to shrivel at the edges. Since it was an obvious pun on Guns N' Roses it wouldn't be unreasonable to think it was from back when they were big. I had no idea when that was. Before I was born, or at least before I was interested in non-Disney music. I was intrigued though, since I'd thought of taking up gym again. Last year had been chaos but now with the move done and me settling into the new job it was the right time.

The metal door was unlocked and opened up to concrete stairs leading down into the basement. Gyms need a lot of space, but it doesn't have to be prime estate. In fact not working on display for passersbys was a plus, and the low rent in such a bad location hopefully translated into low membership fees.

The large basement room was exactly what you could have predicted. Whitewashed concrete walls, fluorescent lights, machines from many different decades, and various mismatched weights at racks or just piled around the room. The floor looked fresh though. The odd placement of walls made it clear this wasn't purpose-built as a gym, and there were openings to more rooms, from one of which music was pumping. This room was quiet though, except for the clanks from a machine a beefy guy was working on. Once his repetitions were done he looked up and saw me looking around. He nodded a few times and shouted "Brad!". A few moments later an even more jacked guy walked in from the room that was spilling out beats and looked first at the beefy guy and then discovered me. He nodded upwards at me and approached. "Can I help you?"

I suddenly felt unsure. This felt like some private men's club you had to be invited to, and then only if you could bench a fridge. "I was just passing by when I saw.... I live nearby and... Is it possible I could get a membership or join here and workout here?"

He looked at me as if I was mad, which admittedly I sounded like. "You want to work out here?" he said as if that was the first time anyone asked him that. Before I answered he continued. "Sure. How does $20 a month sound?"

"Yeah. OK. Sure."

"Great dude. Machines in this room and that room. Cardio in there. Free weights in there. Over there are toilets, shower, and some lockers. I'll get you a card for the door. Works 24/7. Light switches on the box over there. Turn them off if you are the last one out. I'm here most days 8-10 and most afternoons. Ask if you need anything."

Over the next week I found out that Brad was an old school bodybuilder who ran this gym more as a hobby than a real enterprise. Whenever a gym would go bust he'd buy more equipment from the bankruptcy auction, if he found anything that interested him. There were enough regulars that the gym paid for itself, which probably was really the only thing he cared about. Most of them were there in the morning, before work. Some of the more dedicated bodybuilders tended to be in during the day. There were a few that, like me, showed up in the evening, but not that many. There were something like 6-7 people that I regularly ran into, but never all at once. I myself had the very ad hoc schedule of only going to the gym with at least a rest day since the last, and only if I felt good and no sore muscles. Effectively that meant 2-3 times a week.

The day it happened was a Tuesday and I was later than usual, though not terribly. I think 8 or 9 in the evening. It was the first time I had been there alone and the lights were out when I opened the door. I flicked the switches and headed down. I started with 20 minutes on the orbital machine. I find it pretty relaxing, and probably completely a waste of my time to not floor it with some high intensity interval training. But once I was done both me and my heart rate were upbeat. I decided to do some squats, perhaps some curls, and then finish by randomly using some of the machines.

The weights room consisted of a couple of benches, a weight lifting cage, and some other contraptions you could use the weights and bars in, several sets of various weights along one wall, and the opposing wall just filled with mirrors. On top of one of the benches sat a black baseball hat someone had forgotten. It had contrasting white on the underside of the brim and the front of the hat was embroidered in white thread with some logotype I didn't recognize. There was something alluring about it that made me pick it up and put it on my head.

It looked good, as baseball caps go. Made me look perhaps not younger but at least sportier. I took a pair of light dumbbells and began to curl in front of the mirror. I hadn't really made any visible progress in the few weeks since I took up workouts again, but I felt good about what I saw in the mirror. I completed my dumbbell routine alternating between facing the mirror and using the bench. I then decided to move to the barbell. Giving my arms a bit of rest I decided to go for squats next.

There’s some sort of contraption that looked like you could do squats in. Big padded things you put your shoulders to and then use your legs to lift with, perhaps. I've never seen anyone use it before, but I think that's how it works. Maybe it would be safer to use that instead of the barbell, since I was alone. I load it up with plates a bit lighter than I would do on a bar, since the contraption itself must weigh quite a bit.

I take place inside the machine the way I think it should be used, center my body, make sure my feet are aligned and flat against the floor and begin to push upwards. It's heavier than I thought it would be, but it feels very stable so I slowly go down again and repeat a second time. This is everything a weight workout should be. My pulse is climbing and my breathing gets deeper as all the involved muscle groups greedily start drinking oxygen from my bloodstream to release energy from the sugar molecules they've held on to. Literal fires, chemically speaking, burning energy throughout my body, generating heat, and forcing my body to release sweat to keep my temperature down. I make a fourth and a fifth repetition, and I can feel that tingle of equal calm and power spreading in the body as hormones are released. To prime the rest of the body of what obviously is a situation where strength is needed. Countless struggles with wild animals, hanging from trees or mountain sides, or carrying heavy loads of wood or water to the campsite has taught the body to be prepared. One exertion often leads to another. Another lift or a quick sprint.

I make a final push. Almost trembling I push the contraption up and then try to slowly guide it down again with the last of my strength. I try to let go of the machine, but my body doesn't do what I want. Sometimes in weight training you try to do something but the muscles refuse to work, depleted of all stored energy. This is the opposite. My body pushes up again, and I let my will join in and push it up as far as I can make it go, hold it there for a few seconds and then slowly guide it down. My mind is playing tricks with me, I decide, and make another attempt to leave the machine. But my body continues with another push. This time I'm not trying to agree. This time I try to will it to stop. To lower the weights, but it doesn't. It just pushes on, holds it in place, and then slowly lowers it.

I'm getting scared. This isn't just one of those times when you detach yourself from what your body is doing and end up putting the butter knife in the jam jar. This is straight up the body being possessed by something. I consider screaming, but what good would that do? My body is stuck in a rhythm. Push up, hold, lower, repeat. Every time I think is going to be the last time, because I sure don't have more energy left, and every time I'm wrong. It has to end. It physically can't go on forever. I'll black out, someone will find me, and I'll wake up in a hospital somewhere where a doctor will tell me I have auto-musculus-motus due to my bad diet or whatever.

That's when I hear the sound of fabric slowly tearing. I look down and see the seam of the T-shirt coming apart. It doesn't make sense. My chest, my pecs, my shoulders, my arms, all of it has clearly increased in size, like that of a professional bodybuilder. The swelling muscles can no longer be contained by the clothes sized for my until recently much thinner frame. But it doesn't make sense, because these are not even muscle groups that are part of squatting.

It's well after midnight when I exhausted fall forwards and just lie on the rubber floor in agony. It was hours since I ripped off the remaining tatters of the T-shirt. My formerly loose shorts now sat scrunched up around the top of my thighs. My bronzed, smooth, incredibly stacked body glistened with sweat. Not an athlete body or a fitness magazine cover body, but a proper bodybuilder body, almost bordering a strongman body weren't it for how cut it was. I wasn't sure what had happened, why did it start, why did it stop. Was it the hat? Was it the machine? Right now I didn't care. Right now I wanted a long hot bath and to never set foot here again.

[readerstories]

Tie Reveal - Aaron Hotchner x male!reader

What is it with me and turning short and sweet ideas into long one shots? Yeah so anyway, enjoy (AO3)

Warnings/tags: relationship rreveal, fluff and humor, light angst

Wordcount: 2837

Summary: You come into work wearing the wrong tie

You hate rushing in the morning, preferring to start your day in a calm and relaxed manner. That’s not on the table for today however, as you and Aaron both rush to get dressed.

“You’re going to be late.” You say as you button your shirt, glad you had had the forethought to grab on from your to go bag, as not wake any suspicion or teasing from the team. Aaron glances at the clock as he puts his shoes on.

“It’s still before the time you usually get in.”

“Yeah, but not for you.” You pick up your ties from the floor, giving Aaron’s to him. You’re quick to put yours on, Aaron mirroring you.

“I’ll just say that I got a flat tire.” You nod, stealing a quick kiss from him as you grab your jacket on the way out.

“Okay, see you at work!” You’re out the door before he can respond, making your way quickly down, not even bothering with the elevator in your haste to get to your car.

—-

You make it to work on time, only a few minutes later than usual, but that can be blamed on the fresh coffee in your hand from the coffee shop down the street.

As the elevator plings to announce your arrival on the right floor, you’re met by Garcia, Reid, and Morgan standing right outside, groaning as they spot you.

“Well, good morning to you guys too.” You say with a confused look at them all as you step out.

“It’s not you, we’re just just waiting for Hotch.” Garcia explains and you raise a brow, faking confusion.

“Hotch? Isn’t he here already?”

“No, so I got worried, so I checked his phone and it was pinging on the road just outside his apartment building, which is weird cause he’s normally the first one here-”

“Are you even supposed or allowed to do that outside of a case or emergency?” Garcia hesitates, and you huff and shake your head at them.

“Well, I’m going to go and start work, like you all should.” You leave the team as they go back to watching the elevator doors, quickly shooting off a text to Hotch to let him know that the flat tire excuse won’t work.

A few minutes later you hear a happy Garcia shout Hotch’s name and seconds later he comes in through the glass doors, followed by Garcia, Reid, and Morgan.

“Guys, I’m fine, I just slept trough my alarm this morning.”

“But you never do that.” Garcia responds, hot on his heels.

“So what’s her name?” Morgan quips, Hotch stops in his tracks to give him a withering glare before resuming his path to his office.

“Ohhh, lover boy!” Morgan teases at Hotch’s back.

“Remember we got a briefing in ten minutes sir!” Garcia yells after him before the door to his office is closed behind him. You hide your smile behind your coffee, trying not to bring much attention to yourself. Garcia leaves to prepare a few last things for the briefing, but Reid and Morgan linger next to your desk, still standing.

“Do you really think that’s what made him late?” Reid asks.

“Come on, that man never misses anything and sleeps light, and Jack is away for a week, so what else could it be?” Morgan glances at you. “What do you think?” You take a sip of your coffee, pretending to think.

“Maybe, or maybe he is telling the truth. The man is only human, and with the amount of hours he spends in the office he might actually just have slept trough his alarm.” Morgan nods, but doesn’t seem convinced.

You all make your way into the meeting room. You sit down in the chair next to a standing Garcia as you often do, Reid, Morgan, JJ, and Rossi joining you around the table, Hotch striding in as usual a few minutes later.

“Garcia, please begin.” He stays on his feet, ready to go as soon as he can.

“Look to the screen my mighty crime fighters, because today you’re goi-”

“You’ve switched ties.” Reid cuts Garcia off mid-sentence, making everyone look at Reid, wondering what in the world he is talking about. He points at you.

“You and Hotch, you’ve switched.” Both of you look down, then at each other as the team looks between the two of you. Shit, he’s right.

“When you came in I saw your tie was the same as Hotch wore yesterday, a grey tie with a Gucci pattern. I just thought you had bought the same one, since you both have a similar taste in ties, but Hotch got the same as you wore yesterday, a grey tie with stripes, which still has the small coffee stain from when you spilled some yesterday.” Hotch frowns as lifts up the tie to inspect it, and yes, there’s indeed a small, barely noticeable speck of coffee about halfway up the tie he is wearing. No one says anything for a few seconds, you yourself have turned into a statue, neutral expression on your face. Hotch is much the same, everyone else looking between you two. Garcia is the first one to break the silence, squealing with glee.

“Omg, omg, guys!” She yells as she hugs you from behind, the angle a little awkward with how she leaning over your sitting form. You’re not stone anymore, but you don’t return the hug before she lets you go. Morgan and JJ are both grinning, Rossi is looking at Hotch with smile, Reid is trying not to do the same at you while you glare daggers at him. Hotch sighs.

“Garcia...” His tone is chastising, reminding everyone that there is something else to focus on, which seems to snap her back to work mode. Sort of.

“Right, right, case, lets just brush past that revelation about two of my best friends, so, uhhh, where were we? Or right! Today you’re going to-” She begins to explain the case, both you and Hotch get a few more glances before everyone turns their focus on the case.

----

On the jet you think you’re in the clear, until Rossie settles in the seat next to you. Which is odd, because you’re the only two on the jet so far, and he usually doesn’t sit next to you.

“So you and Hotch huh?” You pretend to read over the case files in front of you, and Rossi chuckles.

“You know, none of us expected a thing. Well done on hiding it from a group of profilers I must say.”

“Rossi, there’s nothing-”

“There’s nothing?” He’s grinning, clearly teasing as he looks down to your tie and taps it with a finger. “Something tells me otherwise.” You sigh, but are saved from answering by the rest of the team joining you on the jet. Everybody buckles down for take off, and not long after you’re in the air, and then all the attention is on the case.

For a little while at least.

You can tell they want to talk about it, but the case keeps everyone occupied, so there’s nothing else before JJ comes back from the hotel with the room cards. Everyone is spread around doing different tasks, so she finds you alone in the conference room the team had been given. You’re reading trough the victims files for some more specifics on victimology when she places a keycard on the table in front of you. You look up, startled as you hadn’t even noticed her entering the room.

“You’ve seen Hotch?” She asks and you furrow a brow.

“I think he’s talking to the police chief in his office, why?”

“His key card, but you can just give it to him when you see him, since you’re sharing a room.”

“I thought we were past the budget cuts-”

“Oh we are, but Garcia made some changes to the booking after this mornings briefing sooo....” JJ grins and you sigh, rubbing your forehead. There’s silence and no movement for a few seconds, then there’s a hand on your shoulder.

“Hey, you know we will always support you guys right?” You sigh heavily, resting your own hand on top of JJ’s, looking up at her.

“I know, it’s just... It wasn’t revealed in the best way.” She grimaces.

“Yeah.” She looks uncertain how to respond, but seems to go for light, which you are grateful for. “But I’m surprised none of us caught on until then, it has been going on for at least a couple of months right?” You try to hide your grin as you pretend to go back to reading the files.

“Well, I’m not a ‘kiss and tell’ kinda guy, but it’s a bit more than a couple months.” JJ laughs and pats your shoulder before leaving the room.

You find Hotch not long after, and when you tell him the whole situation around the shared room, he sighs too, but mostly in a ‘oh what can you do’ kind of way, seemingly mostly resigned to everyone knowing now.

Even with sharing the same room and not needing to hide anything from the team, you go back to the hotel without him. The man is a workaholic, and you want a shower and some sleep, but he promises to join you soon. Instead you end up sharing a car with Reid and Morgan, neither of which say anything in the car, but while you’re waiting for the elevator, all bets seems to be off.

“So, you and the bossman huh?” Morgan teases with a grin as you do your best to ignore him, watching the numbers on the display tick down. The elevator door opens and you quickly step inside, hoping to leave them both behind. But alas, no such luck, as they step inside and Reid presses the button to the floor above yours.

“You know, work place relationships aren’t actually that uncommon. Did you know-” Here you tune him out, once again watching the numbers off the elevator. Normally you like when Reid goes on a tangent, but now, not so much.

“Reid, I will strangle you with my tie to shut you up if I have to.”

“Don’t you mean Hotch’s tie?” The grin on his face is shit-eating, which is rare from Spencer, and Morgan laughs loudly. The combination of it makes you curse under your breath as the doors finally open to your floor. You don’t bother saying goodbye, just going straight down the hall towards the door with your room number on it. Sliding the keycard in, it opens with a click. You drop your bag on the floor as soon as the door shuts behind you, and you switch on the lights.

You can’t help it.

You laugh as you take in the big room in front of you.

Or rather, the suite.

The honeymoon suite by the looks of it. Red and white decor, candles, big bed, nicely decorated with towels shaped like a heart, and some champagne in an ice-bucket on the desk in the room. There’s a small white card right next to the champagne, which you quickly read. ‘Have fun ;) -G’. You snort at it, that woman is a menace. (But also very nice, but you do shoot her text to warn her that she should sleep with one eye open. The only response you get is a winking emoji).

A surprisingly short time later you hear the door to the suite unlock, alerting you to Aaron’s arrival where you just stepped out of the shower. He calls your name in a questioning tone, you’re quick to respond as you wrap a towel around your mostly dry form.

“In here, one sec.” You step out of the bathroom, Aaron’s attention going straight to you before pointedly looking around the room. You lean on the door frame of the bathroom.

“Garcia.” You offer as an explanation.

“Ah.” He accepts, looking around once more. “This is going to be a fun expense report.” You snort at that, pushing yourself of the door frame and walking over to him. Putting your arms around his neck, you pull him close for a kiss.

“Certainly, but let us enjoy it for now, I’m sure Garcia has an explanation locked and ready for the report when we need it.” Aaron tries not to smile at that, but is halfway to failing when you catch his lips in a kiss.

----

The next time your relationship is brought up is on the jet back when the case ends well a few days later. Everyone have found their way to pass the time as usual. Reid and Rossi are playing chess in the one of two seaters, Morgan is half asleep, JJ is typing away on her phone next to him, across from them in the aisle seat is Hotch who has started on more paper work already, and you’re laying down on the couch across from them reading a book.

Everybody is in their own little bubble, that’s until Rossi is standing in the aisle and clearing his throat. Everyone looks at him, even Derek who JJ jostles awake with an elbow. Rossi got a bottle of expensive looking whiskey in one hand, several glasses in the other.

“I believe a little celebration is in order.” He starts handing out glasses, you sit up and close your book as you accept yours, just as Garcia pops up on the screen over the couch.

“What for?” You ask, genuinely curious, giving Garcia a look trough the screen, a very grinning and happy looking Garcia.

“Well, the case went well, we saved several people, and ah yes, your not so secret relationship anymore.”

“Rossi-” You and Hotch try to say something at the same time, but Rossi doesn’t let either of you speak another word.

“Oh no no no, neither of you get to Rossi me. Just shut up and listen okay?” He pours a hefty helping of whiskey in everyone’s glass as he speaks, even Garcia got a glass back home somehow, no doubt filled with something similar.

“We just want you both to know that we are very happy for you, both of you. And though the way us knowing came about wasn’t ideal, we will always support and be there for you.” You and Hotch look around at your team, noting the happy faces watching you before making brief eye contact.

“I want you all to know that nothing in this team changes with this, we’re still going to work together and remain professional while on the clock. There will be no preferential treatment here.”

“What he said.” You incline your head towards Hotch as you look around the jet once more.

“Aaron, we know that. Like I said, we just want you both to be happy.” Rossi says, soft smile on his face. You raise your glass, trying to pretend that the slight sting you can feel in your eyes is just tiredness.

“Cheers to that.” Everyone joins in, clinking their glasses together in loud celebration and happy voices, Garcia cheering with her glass against the camera lens back home. Everyone takes a sip of the whiskey, several mentioning the smooth burn of it.

“So, how long have you two love birds been together?” Morgan eyes flicker between you and Aaron.

“See, that right there Morgan is the million dollar question.” Rossi points between you both. “Come on, out with it.” You grin, trying and failing to hide your grin behind taking another sip of the whiskey, Aaron doing the same.

“Do you want to tell them or should I?” You ask, getting up to lean on the chair Aaron is sitting in. He looks up at you, taking your hand and placing it on his shoulder.

“I think you should.”

“Okay.” You say with a shrug, looking at all of the team before settling your gaze on Spencer. “Remember the strangulation serial killer we caught in LA earlier this year?”

“We caught him and finished that case 6 months, 11 days, and 9 hours ago.” Spencer helpfully supplies.

Then it dawns on them all what that means.

Yells of surprise from everyone, and this time neither you or Aaron try to hide your matching grins. Rossi is laughing loudly while slapping his knee, Reid seems to have lost his composure, mumbling that he should have seen something sooner, Garcia is speechless for perhaps the first time since you have known her, Morgan looks frozen in shock, and JJ is trying to hide her laughter behind her hand.

“6 months? How even?!” Morgan exclaims. You shrug, your grin shit-eating by now.

“What can I say, we’re good profilers and now how to hide our tells.” You glance at Aaron and squeezes his shoulder, who in return brings your hand to his lips for a brief kiss on your knuckles. Garcia squeals from her screen, gushing over how cute the two of you are as you smile and laugh in response.

[triptuckers]

Drunken words - Kaz Brekker

Request: yes "Hi, I have just binge read almost all of your shadow and bone one shots and was wondering if you could do one where f!reader goes out drinking with Nina and when she comes back drunk she accidentally confesses her love for Kaz but doesn’t remember it when she wakes up and Kaz doesn’t mention it but he also loves her?" Pairing: Kaz Brekker x reader Summary: You wake up with a pounding headache and some very vague memories of the night before. Luckily Nina is there to help you remember Warnings:  mentions of alcohol/drinking, language Word count: A/N: mmm see this? this request right here? I like it 😌 thanks for requesting it! TAG LIST (grishaverse): @ayushmitadutta @mrs-brekker15 @dancingwith-sunflowers @thegirlwiththeimpala @parker-natasha @story-scribbler @romanoffstarkovs @daliareads @meiitanoia @itsnotquimey @sanktaesperanza @whymyparentscheckmyphone @aleksanderwh0r3 @ilovemarvelanne1 @marlenaisnthappy @brekker-zenik @just-deka @graceknxwlson @the-very-tired-mess TAG LIST (kaz brekker): @mufnasa @Janesofia7 @stairscortana @parker-natasha @illicitghosts @brick-by-brick553 add yourself to my tag lists here

Every last Friday of the month, you go out for drinks with Nina. It's a tradition you started a while back. You'd gotten back from a particular rough job, and Nina suggested to go and have a drink. The others were tired, so you were the only one to accompany her. Ever since, the two of you go out every last Friday of the month.

Sometimes you both make it back in time, sometimes you don't show up til morning. And sometimes you're leaning heavily on each other, giggling and laughing.

The crows didn't mind now, though they were a bit concerned at the beginning. But after you showed them that even drunk, Jesper is only a slightly better shot than you are, they trusted you to come back home alright.

On one Friday night, you and Nina stumble into the kitchen of the Slat somewhere around 2 am. You're surprised to see it's not empty.

Kaz is sitting in one of the chairs, and he looks up when you and Nina try to silently enter the building. You fail when you stumble and squeal as you hold on to Nina's arm to prevent yourself from falling.

Nina seemed to be less drunk than you are. At least she can stand on her own feet.

Kaz' eyes follow you as Nina drags you to the kitchen to get you a glass of water, hoping it would sober you up a little.

You hop on the counter and take the glass from Nina without protest. When you look at Kaz, you see he's turned his gaze away from you.

'Aren't you going to ask if we had fun?' you say, pouting slightly.

Kaz looks at you. You're wearing a dress that's only reserved for nights out with Nina. You're also wearing heels and though you'd styled your hair nicely before you went out, it's now messy as it falls over your shoulders.

'You look like you had fun.' says Kaz. 'But I'll ask anyway. Did you have fun?'

'Yesss.' you say, dragging out the word. You don't look up when Nina puts a new glass of water in your hand.

'You should come sometimes.' you say to Kaz.

He merely raises an eyebrow, and doesn't answer you.

'I don't think Kaz is the type of person who goes out a lot.' says Nina.

'But it's fun!' you say somewhat offendedly. 'If anyone needs to let loose every once in a while, it's Kaz.'

'How so?' says Nina, chuckling.

'His jaw is always clenched.' you point out.

'No it's not.' says Kaz.

You nod, smiling happily. 'Yea it is! Don't think I wouldn't notice, I look at you a lot.' you say.

'Do you, now?' says Kaz, not paying much attention to you, as you're drunk and probably not aware of what you're saying.

'Most of the time. All of the time.' you say. 'Just a lot, really.'

'You're drunk, Y/N.' says Kaz. 'You should go to bed.'

'Night's not over yet!' you say and you jump off the counter, spilling some of the water on yourself. 'We could still go out! You should join us, Kaz.'

'I think you should go to bed, Y/N.' says Nina.

You glare at her over your shoulder. 'Buzz killer.' you say.

Nina puts up her hands in defence. 'I'm just saying tonight I'm not going out anymore, I'm going to bed. And you should too.' she says.

When she walks past you, she gives you a new glass of water. You're not aware of taking it, but you drink half of it anyway.

'Nina, you should stay.' you say when she walks to the door. 'Don't leave me alone with Kaz!'

'Why not?' says Kaz immediately, his curiosity getting the better of him.

You turn to him, then back to Nina. 'Nina! Don't leave me alone with Kaz, you know I say stupid shit when I'm drunk!' you say.

She looks over her shoulder. 'You say a lot of things when you're drunk, Y/N. At least drunk words are sober thoughts.' she says as she walks away.

'Nina come back! I might end up exposing myself!' you say.

This makes Nina stop and turn around. She looks at you and frowns.

'Expose yourself how?' she says.

'I might tell Kaz I love him.' you whisper, loud enough for everyone to hear.

You see Nina's eyes go wide. Before you can say anything, or turn around to look at Kaz, Nina's marched up to you, grabbed a hold of your arm and is pulling you up the stairs.

In the doorway, you look over your shoulder at Kaz.

There's an odd expression on his face you can't quite read, you've never seen it before. He doesn't look at you as you start to walk up the stairs with Nina's help.

You barely register anything after that moment, the exhaustion suddenly kicking in. You fall down on your bed without even taking your heels off.

The next morning, you wake with a pounding headache despite all the water Nina made you drink. You push yourself up in a sitting position and rub your head.

None of the crows had been so stupid to wake you. Everyone knew the last Friday of the month was spent drinking, and the morning after it would be unwise to wake you or Nina before noon.

After stripping off your tight dress and heels, you take a hot bath, scrubbing all of the sweat of last night off of your skin.

You get dressed in comfortable clothes and head downstairs to get a big cup of coffee.

But when you want to enter the kitchen, you are met by Nina standing in the doorway.

'Oh good, you're up.' she says.

'Morning.' you say. 'How's your headache?'

'Almost over.' she says. 'Don't go into the kitchen.'

'Why not?' you say, frowning.

'Because Kaz is there.' says Nina.

'What, is he in a bad mood or something?' you say.

'No. But he hasn't said anything all morning.' she says.

'So he's normal.' you say, pushing past Nina.

She attempts to stop you, but you walk away from her, straight to the fresh pot of coffee. You pour yourself a generous amount of it, and then sit at the same table Kaz is sitting at.

He looks at you, but doesn't say anything.

'You good?' you say after a while. 'I'm sure that's the longest you've ever looked at me. Have I got something on my face?'

Kaz shakes his head.

'Then why are you looking at me like that?' you say.

'Do you remember anything from last night?' asks Kaz.

You squint your eyes, trying to remember.

'Nina and I played card games with some Zemeni tourists. They lost. Then we lost. Then we lost again. I don't think I threw up, though. I remember walking back to the Slat and going to bed.' you say.

'That's all?' says Kaz.

'Yeah, I think that's it.' you say. 'Why?'

'Just curious.' says Kaz.

'You're never just curious, Kaz, you always have a reason. What's this all about?' you say.

'Fine.' he says. 'I have a bet with Jesper, how much you would remember. It appears he needs to pay me.'

He gets up and without another word, he leaves the room. Your eye catches Nina's gaze and you shrug, turning back to your coffee.

'Did I do something stupid last night?' you say. Most of the times when you got drunk, you did stupid stuff. You wonder if last night would have been any different.

'Well.' says Nina as she sits down in front of you. 'That depends.'

'On what?' you say as you finish your coffee.

'You should talk to Kaz about that.' says Nina. 'He doesn't have a bet with Jesper.'

'Then why would he leave like that?' you say.

'Again, you should talk to him about that.' says Nina.

'What aren't you telling me, Nina?' you say.

You see her debating wether or not she should tell you.

'Tell me or I'll tell everything how horrible you dance when you get drunk.' you threaten.

'You told kaz you love him.' she blurts out.

Your eyes widen. 'Oh no.' you say. 'No, no, no, I did not. Fuck.'

'Well, you didn't exactly tell him. You told me not to leave you alone because you might end up telling him.' says Nina

You bury your face in your hands. 'Oh, Saints, this is bad.' you say. 'This is really fucking bad.'

'How so?' says Nina.

'He's still technically our boss, Nina. And there's no way he has the same feelings for me.' you say.

'You won't know unless you ask him.' says Nina.

'What would I even say to him?' you say.

Nina shrugs. 'Well you could sit here thinking about it, or go up to his office and talk to him.' she says.

You shake your head and rub a hand over your face. 'Fuck.' you mutter. 'You're probably right.'

'I always am, darling.' says Nina.

You finish your cup of coffee and get up. Nina gestures for you to start walking. You head to the stairs and walk them as slowly as you can.

Would he be mad? What if things would forever be awkward between the two of you? Maybe if you were fast, you could still take it back. You were drunk, you could tell him you didn't mean it.

You stop in front of the door to Kaz' office. You determinedly raise a hand to knock on it, but your fist only hovers mid-air.

'It helps if you actually knock.'

You jump slightly at the sound of a voice. When you turn around, you see Kaz standing behind you.

'Or you could just go in if you have a key.' he says, walking up to the door and pulling out his key.

You're at loss for words, watching as Kaz opens the door and head inside. You're still standing in the doorway when Kaz looks up.

'You can come in, you know.' he says.

You enter his office and slowly close the door. He did not seem bothered by last night at all.

'We need to talk.' you say.

Kaz looks at you and merely raises an eyebrow at you. He gestures to the chair in front of his desk and you sit down.

'About last night.' you say. 'Nina told me what I said. I didn't say it to you, but, well I might as well have. I was drunk and it was stupid, and I'm here to apologise.'

He looks at you and then he starts to smile. Your eyes widen a bit, you'd never seen Kaz smile. Let alone smile at you.

'Are you okay?' you say hesitantly.

'Y/N, I wasn't in my office when you got here because I was at your door.' says Kaz, his words taking you by surprise.

'Why?' you wonder out loud.

'I was going to bring you a glass of water, Nina once told me it helps when you're hungover.' says Kaz.

Your lips part in surprise. 'You were?' you say.

'That saying Nina said last night, drunken words are sober thoughts? Well, I'm glad your drunken self decided to speak the truth last night.' says Kaz.

You stare at him, not sure you heard it correctly. Kaz pulls a stack of papers toward him and begins to read through them. He doesn't tell you that you need to go, so you decide to keep him company while he works.

Who knew a night out with Nina could lead to something like this?

A/N: If you want to request something, make sure to read my house rules Here’s the list of characters I write for. Everything that I have written can be found on my masterlist. Please don’t repost my work, as I spend much time and effort on it!! Thank you for reading! Much love, Marit

[alpacaparkaseok]

Could you repeat the question?

pairing: Taehyung x reader, oc x Yeonjun (TXT)

premise: a joint interview with your group, BTS, and TXT two months after you met your soulmate.

word count: 2k

[2/2] continuation of Can’t Keep My Hands To Myself

requested by anon - a picture of your request will be at the bottom of the post! 

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

“Please don’t tell them.”

“Me? Why would I say anything?”

“You...you have that look.”

Yeonjun whirls around to face Taehyung, who just entered the room. “Do I have a look?”

Taehyung winks at you in greeting, something that nearly makes you swoon and your group members snicker. 

“A look?” He frowns for a moment before giving his dongsaeng a pitiful smile. “Oh yeah, you do. Definitely.” Taehyung smiles at Jiwoo, my band member who is busy sending death glares at her soulmate. “He’s gonna spill it.”

Yeonjun jumps up from his seat at the same time Taehyung settles down beside you, placing his arm on the back of the couch and brushing your hair off to the side. It’s enough to make goosebumps rise on your skin, which of course he notices. 

Oh, how you’d like to wipe that knowing little smirk off his face right now. 

“I can’t believe this! I’m not going to say a thing-”

“Yeonjun, and I’m saying this with love, if you say a single thing about it, I will personally unplug your refrigerator when you least expect it.”

Your attention is pulled away when you feel Taehyung leaning in to whisper something in your ear. “So, do we know what they’re arguing about?”

You can’t help but giggle. “Nope. Jiwoo won’t say anything.”

“Neither will Yeonjun.”

The smitten couple have been teasingly arguing for the entirety of the morning, leaving the rest of us in complete and utter confusion. 

Oh well, I suppose it’ll help make the broadcast a bit more exciting. 

It’s been two months since Jiwoo and I first *ahem* teleported to our soulmates at the MAMA awards. Or rather, since I landed in Taehyung’s lap and Jiwoo was nearly knocked unconscious when Yeonjun was thrown into her at full force. Of course, Jiwoo claims that it was horribly embarrassing, to which I’m always quick to say that she should feel lucky that at least she didn’t end up in a grown man’s lap. For all to see, no less. 

Ari, our other group member, just rolls her eyes and tells us that beggars can’t be choosers. 

Yeah, whatever that means. 

The past two months have been busy, with hardly enough time to spend with my soulmate. Between the busy schedules and BTS and TXT and our own schedule, we’ve had to settle for late-night FaceTimes and the occasional lunch at the Bighit building. I’ve become really good at sneaking in and out of that building in broad daylight - so far I have yet to be discovered. 

Today, however, is an important one. It’s our first official schedule together as soulmates. Naturally, all three groups have come together for the interview/variety show. 

“Alright, time to head on!” A manager shouts into the room, and suddenly there’s a flurry of movement as we all head toward the door. “I need all the soulmates to stick to their own groups, ok? We don’t want to be causing a riot today.”

Right. With a gloomy expression, Taehyung parts from me to head back to his members. Jiwoo and I glue ourselves to Ari’s side, much to her chagrin. “Ready?”

Both you and Jiwoo respond simultaneously. “Nope.”

Ari just sighs, feigning annoyance. Together, the three of you await your cue as one by one, your groups are introduced. 

TXT goes first, the hosts making a big deal out of swooning over Soobin who now has a cult of his own due to his MC abilities. They make a show of handing the microphone over to him, begging him to take it over from there. He politely declines, while the rest of the boys bicker and chat in the background. 

Then your group is called out, and you find yourself walking out before a huge crowd. You didn’t realize that many people could fit in this building, but here they are. And all of them are here for the same reason: to get a look at the soulmate couples that have newly formed. 

And that have been trending on Twitter and Tumblr for two solid months, breaking all kinds of records. 

As BTS is introduced with an almost reverent tone, you understand why you’ve been trending for so long.

It has a lot to do with one of the men walking out right now, smiling at the crowd and waving, graciously bowing his way across the stage. 

Taehyung wears a gray casual suit which has him looking like he just stepped off a photoshoot. Hair perfectly styled and eyes glowing with adoration for the fans that roar and wave, he commands the entire room with a single raise of his eyebrows. 

Your soulmate, ladies and gentlemen. 

Today is the day where you prove to the rest of the world how much of a perfect match you are for this man. The notion is terrifying. 

“Wow!” The host, a jovial man named Donghyun shouts out, exaggerating how amazed he is by the crowd’s reaction to all three groups sharing the same stage. Indeed, it’s a rare sight. “Ok! Should we get started?”

After a few minutes of more introductions, a few cursory questions (he asks Yeonjun what he’s been up to recently and you’re pretty sure Jiwoo manages to telepathically threaten him, because he chooses the most vague answer imaginable), and instructions on how to begin the next activities, you’re off to the races. 

Painting races, that it. 

Donning a frock and eyeing the empty canvas before you, you glare at your opponent across the way. Taehyung, to his credit, refrains from winking at you. He thinks you’re adorable when you’re flustered, but now’s not the time. 

“Taehyung-ssi!”

Taehyung blinks up at Donghyun. “Yes?”

“Are you going to let your soulmate win?”

The game is simple: paint the listed object with as much detail as possible in a sixty second period. The others will have to guess what it is. 

Taehyung pouts his lips a bit, glancing over at you with a glint in his eye. “I’ll have to see, I think.”

Donghyun chuckles into the mic, turning to face you. “What about you? If Taehyung-ssi falls behind, will you help him win?”

You wiggle your eyebrows at your soulmate, heart soaring when he delivers a boxy grin. “Oh, of course not. I came to compete, not hold hands.”

The crowd bursts out laughing, and someone yells out, “I’ll hold his hand for you!”

You all dissolve into a fit of laughter at that, your cheeks blushing madly. “Yeah, thanks for the offer,” you say between giggles. Readying your paint brush, you wait for the signal. 

You’ve been given the word ‘Iceland’, which you figure shouldn’t be too hard. 

What you failed to account for was the fact that you’re perhaps the worst painter you know. What should look like a globe looks like a basketball and what should be a cube of ice instead looks like nothing more than a cardboard box. 

In the end, you’re pretty sure you laugh more than you paint. Your team members, consisting of a mix from both teams, look utterly confused at the end product. Eventually it’s Jin - who happens to be on Taehyung’s team - that accidentally calls out the answer. 

The rest of the games pass by in a blur of laughter and covert glances toward Taehyung. He always manages to find a way to make you laugh, even though he remains on the other side of the stage for the most part. You don’t miss all of the fans that look at him dreamily, and you can only hope that they’re happy with your overall performance today. 

At the end, you all squeeze onto a couple of couches. Donghyun makes a fuss over allowing the soulmates to sit together, and you can’t hide your smile as a beet-red Yeonjun sidles down to the couch to sit beside Jiwoo, placing his hands in his lap and trying not to do anything that will go viral. 

Taehyung sits on your right, crossing his arms in a way that pulls on his suit jacket enough to expose the outline of his biceps. You catch your eyes wandering, snapping your attention back to the front where Donghyun reads some questions off of a card. 

“I believe that this was the first time soulmates have met while performing at MAMA, is that correct? What were your first thoughts when you suddenly found yourselves face to face with your soulmate?”

The four of you that now have all the attention riding on your shoulders look to each other for help. Finally, with a racing heart, you answer first.

“I think the obvious answer is that I was shocked,” you smile as knowing chuckles ripple through the room. “But I was also really grateful, because Taehyung was so kind and understanding. The staff were very professional and helped us quickly. Overall, I really can’t imagine it having happened in any other way.”

There’s a few ooh’s and aww’s that greet your ears, but you look down at your lap as you blush. Taehyung slightly nudges your knee with his own, and in that simple movement you feel the comfort that he’s trying to give you. 

“I’d actually been talking to Jiminie earlier about soulmates,” Taehyung pipes up. 

“Oh, yeah! That’s right!” Jimin says, giving his friend a slap on the shoulder. “What are the odds?”

Taehyung flashes a shy smile. “I told him that I felt like I was ready. It can be strangely lonely sometimes, and there are times when I just felt like I was missing something. Now, all I have to do is pick up my phone and my missing piece is on the other side, ready to talk with me.”

Now people are really swooning, you included. You dare to peek over at your soulmate, heart nearly melting when you see that his shy smile is paired with pink cheeks. You wish that you could snuggle up to him right now, but that would definitely not end well. Instead, you lightly nudge his knee with your own, returning the little slice of comfort he provided you earlier. 

“And you two?” Dongyun asks after wiping fake tears away from his eyes. 

Yeonjun chews on his bottom lip, Jiwoo too lost in thought to notice that he has that look again. 

“I, er...” Yeonjun begins, squirming a little in his seat. “I was...really happy.”

Donghyun urges Yeonjun to continue. “Of course you were! What about finding Jiwoo made you so happy?”

Jiwoo looks up in horror, but it’s too late. Yeonjun has already opened his mouth and begun to speak. 

“I was so happy because the first thing she said to me was that she thought I was so hot.”

Radio silence. 

And then-

“Oh-ho!! Yeonjunnie you’re so dead!” Hueningkai laughs, and soon everyone follows suit. Even Donghyun has to throw his hand over his mouth to keep himself from snorting with laughter. 

Jiwoo looks at Yeonjun, who completely avoids her gaze as he stares unblinking at the floor. Then, quietly enough for nobody to hear except for you who sits beside her, she whispers, “Say goodbye to all the perishable items in your fridge.”

In the chaos that ensues, Taehyung discreetly traces circles against your arm and mumbles, “Why didn’t you say that to me when we first met?”

You smack his shoulder. “I should be asking you the same thing!”

Just before everything calms down again, Taehyung leans over to grab the abandoned canvas on the ground. Taking the still-wet paint and dipping his finger into it, he draws something out on it. Nudging you to get your attention, he flashes the canvas for you to see, hiding it from the cameras. 

It’s hard to keep a neutral expression as you see his handiwork. It’s just six words, but they’re enough to have your entire face flushed a moment later. 

I think you’re hotter than Yeonjun ;)

Stifling a laugh, you roll your eyes. “I hope you know I’m keeping that,” you mumble. Taehyung grins.

“Great. We’ll get it framed.”

A few days later, you do. It hangs in the front room of your apartment, for all to see. And for Jiwoo to loathe, as it serves as a constant reminder of her embarrassing first words to her soulmate.

Oh well. In the words of Ari, “Beggars can’t be choosers.”

masterlist

[childishfluff]

The Feeling Of Family- A MCYT Agere/CGLRE fic (Regressors!SBI+Tubbo and Ranboo, Carer!Philza)

There was a very specific feeling that came to Ranboo when he met up with his internet friends. A weirdly comforting feeling, a reassurance that he had finally found his people.

It came to him with every hug from Tubbo, every teasing ruffle of his hair from Techno, every inappropriate joke he shared with Tommy. It clouded his mind every time he regressed with them, too, he didn't quite know how to describe it. But if he had to put a name to this odd emotion, he'd call it 'the feeling of family'.

A/N: get ready for a looooong ride. This was written over the course of two days, I really hope you guys like it! I haven't dropped a fic thats over 4000 words in a bit, I think. This is inspired loosely by Cypherr's (on ao3!!) fic 'four's a family', that's where I got the idea of Phil just being overwhelmed because there's so many babies to deal w/, so I'm crediting them! Though, this fic is much different then their's, but also please go read their fics they're great- anyways, I hope you enjoy! This fic is kinda (?) in Ranboo's pov (third person but like,,,you see his thoughts), but there's so much going on that it kinda feels like it's jumping around? Sorry for that, I'm used to writing w/a 2 littles max per caregiver ratio, so this was different. I've also never written Phil as a caregiver before besides his brief appearance over in my 'Mister Nook' series. okay I'm done rambling,,,enjoy the fic please!

--

There was a very specific feeling that came to him when he met up with his friends. A weirdly comforting feeling, a reassurance that he had finally found his people.

In an internet dad, a fellow faceless streamer who used a pig as his icon, a song writer, a bee-loving teenager, and another who was known for wearing red and white. He felt just a bit out of place in this dynamic, SBI were the ones that were close. SBI plus Tubbo wasn't an odd pairing either, and it almost seemed as if Ranboo was only there because Tubbo was.

But that doubt seemed to wash away with the welcoming energy that the car ride to Phil and Kristin's home was filled to the very brim with. Tommy and Wilbur arguing like brothers while Ranboo and Tubbo joked about. The half-joking stern look that Phil gave him through the rear view mirror when he made an inappropriate joke. The soft feeling that Techno teasingly ruffling his hair left in his chest.

This group felt like family.

Of course, he had a perfectly good set of parents back home, but this was different. In a good way, though. This home wasn't his, it was Phil's, but he was surprisingly comfortable here. He was comfortable with his close friends.

"Breakfast is ready!"

He jolted awake with a slight shock when he heard knocking and shouting outside of the door of the room he was staying in, the noise startling him from his sleep. He rubbed at his eyes and stretched his arms above his head as the sleepiness started fading from his mind, clocking the voice as Tommy's as he processed his surroundings. It was his second day at the Philza Minecraft's, the first being made up of mostly content creation.

They had all been shown to their respective guest rooms late last night after quite a few movies and a half-asleep conversation full of laughing and heartfelt emotions. Today was supposed to be a chill day, and the next they'd be exploring the area just around Phil and Kristen's home. It was Ranboo's second time in the UK, and just like last time, he wanted to explore and get a feel for the place he'd be temporarily living in.

He fished some clothes out of his suitcase, pulling them on and discarding his pajamas in a white laundry hamper he had been given for that exact purpose. Then, he sat on the bed, pulling out his phone and scrolling through it. He chuckled as he saw a picture of their entire group with a fan they had run into the day prior, just after he was picked up from the airport, remembering how many similar ones had been taken during his last meet up.

He thought back to the months he spent at Tubbo's house just a while ago, it was one of the funnest parts of his life if he was honest, and now he was right back in the UK for another long meet up. This one was supposed to be a month, at least. SBI and the Bee Duo all under one roof for an entire month! Twitter had freaked out completely when they heard of this arrangement.

During his last trip to the UK, he found out something interesting after revealing something about himself to Tubbo. He admitted to his habit of age regressing to his friend during a late night conversation, only to be met with a 'me too' and then being asked if he wanted to call some friends. This response had confused him, but he said agreed, figuring that there had to be some logic to this.

And after an hour long conversation with Techno, Tommy, Wilbur, and Phil, he learned about an ongoing secret dynamic between the group. Tommy, Tubbo, Phil, and Wilbur were all also regressors. This was a lot of information to process at around 6 am during an all-nighter, but he was glad to know he wasn't alone.

Almost immediately after finding out about his headspace, Phil insisted on taking care of him, messaging him more often and helping him regress over video calls. And over the process of a few weeks, Ranboo had been officially added to the group of littles Phil cared for regularly.

The man took the time to learn his headspace range, things that upset him, how to deal with him when he did misbehave (though the occasion was rare, especially compared to someone like Little Tommy), all in the name of making sure he was cared for. It was sweet, really, and sometimes the boy felt bad for all the man did for him.

He pushed these thoughts away as he heard his name called by his father figure from the kitchen. He groaned, exiting off of Twitter and making his way out of the room and down the hallway, through the living room and into the kitchen. "I'm coming, I'm coming," he mumbled, still tired. He took his seat between Tommy and Tubbo after entering the kitchen/dining area and was quite overwhelmed with the amount of greetings and 'good morning!'s' he got all at once.

"How'd you sleep, hun?" he smiled when he heard Kristin's voice, humming a bit, settling on responding to her instead of facing the rest of the ongoing chaos in the kitchen.

"Pretty good, I think. Still waking up, though," he admitted. He watched the woman bring a plate over to him, setting a stack of pancakes in front of him. "Thank you."

Before she got the chance to respond, Tommy was shouting all to loud for how early it was in the morning. He sounded whiny, too. "Why does he get his first? I was awake before him," he complained, earning a response from Wilbur as he entered the room, his obviously messy hair temporarily contained by a beanie.

"Maybe because he's not throwing a fit over everything like you are," He made his way over to the table as Phil shot the both of them a look. Ranboo minded his own business, digging into his food, he knew that he wasn't in trouble. The brown haired man sat next to Tommy, leaning back in his seat casually.

"Will, be nicer to your brother. And Tommy, be patient, or else both of you will be put in timeout the moment we finish eating." he threatened, half joking.

"What?" Tommy said, sounding shocked as his eyes went wide.

"I second that, none of us are little!" Tubbo finally spoke up after laughing at the situation the whole time.

"Tom-tom here is sure acting like a baby, though," Wilbur teased, sitting back up to ruffle the blond's hair, continuing even when the younger whined and attempted to shove his hand away. He only retracted it when Phil gave him another stern look.

"Stop teasing him and eat your food," he told him as Kristin brought over plates for Tommy and Wilbur. "Where's Techno?" Phil seemed like he wanted to continue talking to Wilbur, but was distracted when he noticed that someone was missing. Wilbur smirked, sticking his tongue out to Tommy, as if bragging about being let off the hook.

Even Ranboo could admit, even out of headspace, everyone seemed to fill their roles in the family dynamic well. Wilbur was the cocky middle brother who somehow simultaneously gets in the most trouble and gets away with everything, Techno is the oldest who's mostly calm but will join in on the antics when it seems fun, and Tommy's the youngest who will play the 'innocent' card at any chance he could get.

Ranboo and Tubbo's exact roles were a bit undecided, but they seemed to consist of a lot of watching the scene play out and somehow getting dragged into an argument they had nothing to do with. Phil acted as their dad, who kept peace between everyone and tried to keep things calm, while Kristen played the role of a sweet mother-type figure.

When they were little, it was a bit different, but the general feeling of family remained the same.

After a few chaotic minutes of gathering everyone up and calming everyone down, they were all sitting around the table and talking in a much more civil manner. Things got loud once again only a few minutes later when Tommy knocked over his cup of orange juice.

"Sorry!" he squeaked, "I didn't mean to!" he defended, looking up at Phil apologetically. He immediately seemed much younger, a light pout on his lips as he apologized for his clumsiness.

"It's alright, Toms." the man assured, flashing a soft smile to let the regressor know that he was alright, reaching for the paper towels across the table. In just a few moments it was like there was never a spill in the first place. "Can you get him a sippy cup, please?" he asked Kristin, who immediately set off to get the requested item.

"I told you he was a baby," Wilbur spoke up next, predictably earning protests from the clearly regressing boy next to him.

"I'm not a baby!" the younger cried, looking to his other  "Techno, tell him I'm not a baby!"

"I mean, only babies need sippy cups," the other man leaned a bit closer the table, his words causing the teenager's eyes to widen.

"Can't Kristin just refill dis one?" he questioned, holding up the cup he had knocked over and looking to Phil hopefully.

"Sorry, buddy, I just don't want you to make another mess." Phil sighed, shooting a disappointed look towards Wilbur and Techno. Ranboo sunk further into his seat, trying to avoid getting pulled into the conflict. He wasn't sure how the others could handle Phil's 'disappointed look' so easily, the boy was very much scared of it.

"I'm not gonna!" Tommy whined, practically glaring at the cup that was set in front of him a moment later. He huffed and crossed his arms, refusing to drink or eat anything.

"This is what happens when you make fun of him, he gets all insecure and stubborn," Tubbo groaned, rolling his eyes as if they had been through this process a million times over.

"Tubbo's right, apologize to him," the oldest man ordered. Wilbur and Techno looked at him as if this suggestion was completely outrageous, so he added, "Now."

"Okay, okay!" Wilbur gave in, sounding defensive, "I'm sorry, Toms. You're not a baby."

"Really?" he lowered his arms, finally uncrossing them.

"No, you're just clumsy and we're sorry for making fun of you for it," Techno sounded very reluctant, but he followed Phil's orders. After these apologies, the rest of breakfast went fairly smoothly. By the end of it, Tommy was very obviously fully regressed and making a useless attempt to hide it.

It was a fairly often occurrence that Tommy slipped just for fun, acting and being treated like a kid was something he just liked. He got to be the annoying little brother and watch cartoons while he did it, it was a win-win across the board.

But Phil and Kristin knew, that whenever one of them slipped over their voice chats, anyone else in the discord call would too. And now, they were all actually together under one roof, so he was sure he'd have five littles to deal with by noon at latest.

--

As predicted, all of the boys ended up in littlespace, slipping one after another like a line of dominoes getting knocked over. After some reassurance from Phil, Tommy allowed himself to slip, and he dragged his best friend into a game of pretend. And the two toddler minded teenagers decided they wanted to play with Techno and Ranboo as well, and Wilbur soon followed when Phil babied him a bit to much.

At first, it was quite loud, and there was a lot of conflict and disagreements between the boys. Eventually, after everyone but Ranboo had managed to get in some sort of trouble, Phil sat the boys down to watch cartoons. Tommy, Tubbo, and Wilbur were out like a light one episode in. Wilbur was in babyspace, he always needed extra sleep, and Tommy tired himself out by crying when he assumed Phil was upset with him.

Tubbo, however, was just tired. No excuse, that's just how he was sometimes.

Ranboo and Techno were older then the rest of them, and far more behaved, so they didn't get quite as much attention earlier in the day. Phil was quite busy comforting Wilbur and trying to keep Tommy and Tubbo in check, and it didn't help that Kristin had to leave the house. To make up for this, Phil wanted to do something special with them while the other three took their mid-day naps.

After a while of Ranboo and Techno watching cartoons, trying to stay quiet so that their friends could sleep peacefully, Phil spoke up.

"Boys, quietly follow me," he whispered, managing to get out from under from where Wilbur was laying cuddling up to him without waking the boy up. Techno and Ranboo glanced at each other, seemingly confused but intrigued. They scrambled to get up, following their caregiver into the kitchen.

"What are we doin', dada?" Techno questioned once they entered the other room. They had left the cartoons on, so Phil was fairly sure they wouldn't be able to hear what was going on in the kitchen.

"You guys are gonna be my little helpers for snack time, okay? I got some special treats and such for everyone and we need to put everything together before everyone gets up!" the man explained in a quiet but excited tone, speaking even quieter as if his next words were a secret, "And if you guys do a good job, I'll even give you an extra cookie."

Ranboo's face immediately lit up, and he bounced on his feet as he awaited more instructions. Phil specifically chose him and Techno out of all of them, they must be special. It was like a super secret mission, just for them!

"So we're all gonna have fruit and vegetables before we get to the sweets," he continued on, going over the fridge and pulling out various fruits and vegetables, "Techno, could you wash the strawberries and blueberries for me?" he asked.

"Mhm!" he agreed, excited to be able to help. It seem weird that Phil's idea of "something special" was just putting them to work, it was more about the idea of making them feel special. They were more well behaved then everyone else, so they got extra time with Phil and a cookie.  

"What do I get to do?" Ranboo questioned. He watched as Technoblade took the containers with the fruit he was told to wash over to the sink.

"Are you big enough to pour drinks for everyone?" he questioned, pulling various new sippycups and bottles from a hidden spot in one of the cabinets. The two littles gasped, completely distracted from their tasks, "Yes, some of these are for you two." he chuckled at their excitement, coming over to Ranboo and holding out a simple but cute black and white sippy cup.

"I thought maybe you could put stickers on it," Phil explained. The boy nodded quickly, practically attacking him in a hug. "Okay, go on, get to work now." he said, motioning over to the counter where the rest of them sat.

As requested, they got to work. Techno helped wash the fruit and put then on their plates, while Ranboo filled the sippy cups and bottles with whatever drink each one of them liked best. His demise came when he tried to sneak soda into his sippy cup without asking, and he managed to spill it all over the counter.

"Uh oh! Spill on aisle Ranboo!" Phil joked, grabbing the paper towels and running over to help. Immediately, the boy panicked. He was the well behaved one, and Phil was gonna find out that he was trying to be sneaky! His guilt was obviously clear to the caregiver, because the next thing he said was, "Don't worry, accidents happen."

The gentle and reassuring tone he used only made him feel worse. It only took the man a moment to actually realize what the boy had been pouring into the cup. "Ranboooo," the caregiver held out his words, sounding disappointed, "You know that you could've asked for soda if you really wanted it, right? You've been so good all day, I would've given it to you."

"Really?" he asked, pouting when the man took the cup and dumped the liquid in the sink. He then ripped paper towels from the roll and wiped up the remainder of the drink from the counter.

"Yeah, I would've," Phil affirmed, "But trying to sneak around me isn't okay. You told me you were putting juice in here. That's lying, and I know for a fact that you're big enough to know that's not allowed. " he tsked, causing Ranboo to look down at his feet.

"M' sorry," he mumbled, ready to cry over such a small thing. He knew what he was doing was dumb, Phil rarely let them have sweets like that when they were small due to the fact that they got hyper.

"Don't cry, sweetheart, you're not in trouble," the man assured with a sigh, softening his tone immediately, rinsing the cup out as he spoke. Ranboo still felt bad, despite the gentle reassurance. He glanced up to see the man filling his cup with his favorite drink besides the over sugary soda: strawberry lemonade. "Here you go." he tightened the lid onto it and held it out for him.

"Sorry, dada," he apologized again, his eyes still glassy as he took it in his hands. Phil sighed a bit, opening his arms and pulling him close.

"You're okay, buddy, I promise you." he spoke gently, "Little boys make mistakes sometimes, it's alright." The man knew that while Ranboo might've been regressed to an older age, he was still quite sensitive, and he always felt overly bad whenever he got in trouble. Even if he had managed to get away with sneaking the soda, he would've owned up to what he did guiltily after just a few sips of the drink.

That's just how he was.

"M' all done!" Techno's voice interrupted them as he finished placing the snack-filled plates in their spot at the table, besides their respective sippy cups. Phil pulled away from the other regressor and ruffled his hair, smiling at him before addressing the other little.

"Good job, honey. You're such a good helper," he complimented, before looking back to Ranboo. "And so are you." he reminded. Ranboo giggled a bit, feeling happiness well up in his chest at the praise despite any childish guilt. The giggles only increased when his caregiver tapped the button of his nose, causing him to scrunch it up.

Once he was sure that Ranboo was alright, or at least doing a bit better, he gave them their next instructions. One good thing about Ranboo was that it was easy to sway his emotions to the more positive end if it was done before any tears came. "Take your seats and eat, I'm gonna wake up your brothers and have them pick up their toys from earlier, then they'll join you." he told them, before leaving the room.

Technoblade's eyes followed Phil as he exited the room, and he waited until he was sure he was out of earshot to say anything. "Psst, 'anboo," Techno leaned close to the table, grabbing the other boy's attention.

"Wha'?" he questioned, popping a grape in his mouth and tilting his head in curiousity.

"We should scare daddy when he comes back in! It'll be so cool," he suggested, "We can wait by the door and jump out!"

"Hmm...," Ranboo looked over to where the other pointed, considering his options, "We 'posed to be eatin'." he pointed out, shaking his head.

"We won' get in trouble, it's just playin' round," he tried to sound convincing. It seemed to work, because Ranboo reconsidered, before hesitantly nodding. He grabbed one more grape and his sippy cup before standing up, Techno leading him over to the entrance of the room. They were concealed behind the wall on either side of the doorway.

They listened Phil woke the others up and helped them put the toys away, excitement ramping up as they waited. To their shock, Tommy entered first, fully ready to greet him in his usual loud tone. Techno quickly put his finger to his lip, shaking his head to signal him to be quiet. Tommy's eyes widened as he realized what was happening, deciding to duck behind the with his older brother.

It was then that Phil entered, carrying Wilbur. The boys jumped out from their spots, exclaiming different variations of "boo!" and "AHH!", breaking out into giggles immediately after. Wilbur squeaked, the sound startling him a bit, but he didn't seem upset. "Well hello, little ones," Phil chuckled, "If I remember correctly, you boys are supposed to be at the table."

"Jus' wanted to scare you! We go eat now," Techno assured, taking Tommy's wrist in his hand and pulling him over to the table. Ranboo however, peeked behind Phil to see if Tubbo was coming.

"Where Tubs at?" he pulled on Phil's shirt before he could walk away, whining a bit.

"He had a bit of an accident," the man admitted, "He's a bit smaller now, but he'll be out soon, okay?"

"Okay..." he trailed off, looking out into the living room, completely set on standing there until his best friend was able to join him.

"How about you head over to the table, kiddo?" his caregiver questioned, earning a pout from the little. "Okay, okay, you can wait here for him!" he decided, figuring there was nothing wrong with it. With a forehead kiss, Phil left him at the doorway.

"Tubbo! We gots apple slices for you!" he rambled excitedly when his friend finally did arrive, running towards him and grabbing his hand. He started to pull him further into the kitchen, but the mentally younger of the two stumbled a bit, seemingly clumsier then he was earlier in the day.

Ranboo realized that he had a pacifier in his mouth now, and he saw Phil replacing his sippy cup with a bottle out of the corner of his eye. He had worked hard to put apple juice in that sippy cup, he thought, pouting a bit.

"M' sorry, didn' mean to make you almost fall! We can go slow," he decided, earning a thankful smile from the other regressor. "Are you gonna say anything?" he asked, walking beside him. As they approached the table, Phil replied for the boy.

"He's a bit younger, bud, he might not be up for talking," he explained, "You know what it's like to be so little that you feel like a baby. Can we all be understanding? He's only a bit older then Wilbur at the moment." "

Tubbo seemed quite embarrassed as he sunk into his seat, pulling his pacifier from his mouth to eat his food. There were sounds of agreement around the table. Ranboo was curious as to what exactly made Tubbo slip so much younger then he usually did, but he didn't voice this curiosity, settling on eating his food in favor of not embarrassing his friend anymore then he already was. .

"These are yucky!" Tommy claimed, pushing his plate with carrots and ranch away from him.

"You like carrots and ranch, what are you talking about?" Phil sounded tired and just a bit annoyed.

"Don' want em," he shook his head, whining just as he had that morning when Wilbur teased him.

"If you eat them you'll get a cookie," the caregiver bribed.

"What type of cookie?" the toddler minded boy squinted his eyes, as if considering this, as if it was a negotiation of sorts.

"Sugar cookie, chocolate chip, I think we have Oreos too...whatever you could want," this definitely caught the boys interest.

"Chocolate chip?" his eyes went wide with excitement, which was only intensified when Phil nodded. Immediately, he uncrossed his arms and pulled his plate back towards him. Phil seemed satisfied with this, ruffling his hair.

The boys were still waking up, so Phil asked them to talk about their elaborate games from earlier in the day to keep them occupied. So, as they ate their snacks, they giggled about imaginary wars and adventures and argued over who won their dramatic plastic sword duels. Eventually, the caregiver gave them their promised sweets before sending them back off to play.

"Ranboo, you left your sippy cup in the kitchen," Phil tapped the boy's shoulder and distracted him from his game of peek-a-boo with Tubbo. He quickly discovered that his friend seemed much to little to participate in any games he'd usually play, so he did what he always saw Phil do with Wilbur: play a simpler one.

It was obviously much more entertaining for the littler of the two, but Ranboo was happy to hear his friend's giggles and squeaks. "Oh! Thanks, dada!" the boy reached up to take his sippy cup from the caregiver as he was sitting on the floor and Phil was standing. Ranboo gasped when he took a drink, feeling bubbles on his tongue.

Immediately, Phil put a finger to his lips and gave him a warning look. This made the boy giggle a bit as he nodded, understanding the signal. "Thank you!" he repeated, smiling when his hair was ruffled softly. The moment didn't last long, Tommy called Phil over for something, and it was back to peek-a-boo with his best friend.

Ranboo didn't mind it, though, peek-a-boo was fun. Being with everyone was fun, even if it meant he got a bit less attention due to there being so much going on. It all evened out, he got to be a snack time helper! And he got an extra cookie! If you asked him, that was pretty awesome.

In the next few days, they'd all get back into making more collaborative content, as that was the point of this meet up, but for now, it was just time to play. To spend time together, to cuddle, and giggle, and make far to much noise in the name of fun. To just be a family.

That was the specific feeling that came to Ranboo with this meet up. The comforting feeling that bubbled in his chest whenever he got a forehead kiss or his hair ruffled by Phil, or when he played babyish games with his friends when they regressed younger then him.

This was the thing that clouded his mind whenever he regressed with this group specifically, or when they were in the car, joking about anything and everything as they got closer and closer to their destination. A feeling that consistently made his life better, the feeling that brought a smile to his face everyday...

The Feeling of Family.

--

A/N: I really hope you liked that adorable mess of 4500 words! I appreciate reblogs and likes, but no matter what, thanks for reading to the end! Did you like the chaotic feeling that five littles/so many people brought into my fic? I kinda had to switch up my normal formulas to make room for so many characters, there's a reason I literally put three character to sleep halfway through the fic hjsikajsa. Did I write Phil well? I tried to portray how a caregiver w/so many littles would act somewhat realistically? Kind of overwhelmed but managing. Also, did you like me portraying ranboo as 'the angle little' of the group? idk I felt like it fit his personality in the scenario. If you reply with/send an ask/reblog with feedback, you can answer those questions, leave a request for something (whether it be in the universe father into the month-long meetup timeline I set up or just another fic), state your general opinions on the fic, or just leave a strand of emojis if words are hard. No matter what, it means a lot! I hope you all have a great day!!!!

[katsukikitten]

WARNINGS : N!SFW 18+ AGED UP AU! SOME SCENES MAY CONTAIN GRAPHIC CONTENT, READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED. YANDERE THEMES GIF MADE BY ME

It started out with a package.  

Roses really, neatly tucked away in plastic and a glass vase that nestled into loud styrofoam.

Or at least that's when you started to notice it.

Actually it started with a phone call didn't it?

Just a few days ago the old rotary phone,  the one you bought for nostalgia, rang. This in itself was not odd, you picked up the aged yellow receiver and pressed the cool plastic to your ear.

But you did not speak, waiting patiently for the other line to come to life. After a few moments of silence you figure it to be a telemarketer, the automated type that doesn't start its spiel until it hears a tone, a voice. So you hang up.

The random call lost to both time and thought.

But you cannot forget this package that acted as a catalyst, to what you were not sure.

You just knew it was something.

The white box with the flower company's name on the side of the cardboard sat on your concrete steps, just past the waist high fence. You were returning from a run, huffing as you bent over, you figured it was most likely for your neighbor but it had your address. The recipient's name had been worn off from the poor handling of the package, you had figured the contents to be broken. Despite the state of the box the roses were perfectly intact. Crystal vase sparkling even through the opaque wrapping, a note on top that read.

I'll love you always.

Ah so this was not for you. You scoff, this was meant for your neighbor as you first originally thought. It made more sense that way. What with his boyfriend being long distance, it was obvious. He most likely remembered his address wrong and put yours in error. As you're haphazardly closing the box, keeping the note in hand, your neighbor waltz from his door.

"Ah, um Denki-kun" You call,  a bright smile beams on his face as he makes his way to meet you at your shared fence.

"Love!" He greets, strong hand giving your bicep a soft squeeze, "Ah flowers? Spill!"

"Well they aren't mine. I...I think they're yours. Here." You shove the box and note into his hands, stupid tears trying to prick your eyes.

Why? You were unsure.

Maybe you were a bit jealous. Thinking back you couldn't remember the last time you had even had a flirtatious comment or cat call sent your way. You lived a normal quiet life with your "abnormality". Quirkless. You worked from home, spoke to a select few and hardly left your house. It contributed to your wait gain thus adding to your small list of places to go.

The grocery store.

And the gym Denki invited you to or around the block for a run.

After a gurgling amount of time you finally achieved your dream body. Now all that was left was to maintain it.

"Wait!" Denki calls, "This isn't my boyfriend's handwriting."

Furrowing your brows, hand on the handle the answer comes to you.

"Probably just one of those fonts meant to look like handwriting."

"No, come look. It was made with a ballpoint pen." Nothing escapes his pro hero trained eye, his finger slides beneath the words, "He seems passionate! Lucky duck look at how deep love is."

He passes the card to you, giving you a wink as he passes the white box. Sure enough there are divots in the card stock, love is the deepest. Deep enough it almost ripped through the thick paper. You swallow thickly racking your brain, your job requires you to have answers to every question. Logical answers. So it's no surprise your mind wanders until it comes up with something. Your eyes shift to the right, you were lucky enough for your little house to be on the corner of the block.

The delicate roses must have been intended for your neighbor diagonal from you. You wait until Denki is halfway down the block before you rush across the quiet street to set the flowers up neatly on the porch. Throwing the box and wrapping into the trash before you speed walk into the safety of your sanctuary.

Your cats prance to the door to greet you and then sprint to the kitchen to be fed. As if you hadn't just fed them before your run a little less than an hour ago.

The rest of your night is uneventful. You curl on the couch, nestled deep within an old cardigan and the comfort of your leggings with a pile of work to be analyzed. To find the devil in the details and solve what seemed unsolvable.

The answers were always there, under your nose. Found easily by your trained eye but how could you not see the obvious answers when you had the luxury of a bird's eye view. The luxury of knowing the whole story from the shakey beginning to the bitter end.

A luxury you would not have for your own story.

The shrill ring cuts through the comfortable silence causing you to jump from your skin, the cats perk their heads up lazily to see what disturbed them before tucking their head back down.

You tell yourself it's a wrong number, a telemarketer but curiosity is beginning to get the better of you.

And curiosity is a deadly, loud thing. Louder than reason. Reason you had learned from the safety of your home, from other people's mistakes. The same very mistakes that sit on your lap with harsh red ink labeling them C L A S S I F I E D.

It rings a fourth time as you stand, the bell calling out for your attention, demanding you speak. You lift the receiver, again there is silence on the other end.

You wait patiently, is this another automated telemarketer? Had you entered your real number by mistake for one of those stupid store discounts?

You must have, still you resist the urge to tap the speaker of the phone to see if it would trigger the recording.

Instead you drop the receiver onto the base, rattling the hidden bell.

And that was that, you return to your work. Pouring over the details to find the pattern, to build a psychological profile to avoid a tragedy in the future.

Ironic how you cannot prevent your own.

It isn't until a few weeks later does the first letter find its way into your mailbox.

It seemed harmless enough you thought it to be an accident, just neatly looped words proclaiming their love. But it was never fully addressed to you and when you tried to pass it off to Denki, again he denied that the letter belonged to him.

Still, those looping letters twist into your memory, coming to the forefront of your mind every now and again. As if the paper that lies on your dining room table reads itself aloud, from beginning to end at the top of every hour.

As if the ink doesn't want you to forget.

"I am not sure when it started, but it did. I had fallen for you despite my efforts not to. A half of a year I've told myself to forget it, to forget you. And yet I cannot bring myself to stop, the more I try the more you come to mind. And the more I find myself near you. It's as if you're a bad drug I can't quit. I've been watching you. Everything you do is done in such cautious beauty. Please answer next time my dear."

Silence for weeks after that, at least as far as the rotary phone and the mailbox were concerned. You would occasionally get a text from an unknown number.

A transposed number, an error on the sender's end. Or so you assured yourself, especially when they would seem a bit too coincidental. When you were out for a jog or out at the gym at a different time than usual a text would come through.

For a second your mouth would go dry, your blood ice cold as you read the black letters atop the white screen. Huffing as your lack of breath came from a psychological response as opposed to your physical running.

Why aren't you home?

See you soon?

But these couldn't be intended for you. How could they? You could list the people you knew outside of your family and work place on one hand.

Denki.

And only because he spoke to you first!

So these texts, these little messages laced with concern could have been for an estranged spouse, a forgetful spouse or some partner who lacked the ability to properly communicate.

You just knew they weren't for you.

Or so your new mantra goes.

Paranoia didn't begin to sink it's sharp teeth into you until you noticed your cats' odd behavior.

In an immeasurable amount of time they went from lazy, happy go lucky animals to hostile even aggressive creatures. As if they were suddenly feral.

Oddly enough they only acted this way during certain times, mainly at night. Their moon eyes saw things you could not, their enhanced hearing heard things you could not, things you labeled, rat or mouse.

Would a mouse or rat cause a cat to hiss at shrouded corners? To claw at the wall with a howl that sounded more like a scream? Would it make them avoid the closet door in your room?

Maybe it was bigger? The floorboards above did groan more often than not lately. Maybe it was a raccoon even.

Yes, that had to be the cause of their behavior.

And yet there was still that one time, that one instance you sometimes dream about waking in a cold sweet.

The thing you cannot explain away, nor label as mouse, rat, not even a raccoon.

A cocktail of a tired mind and a trick of the eye but simply not vermin.

It was overcast, a sickly grey as the day wept deep into the night. The weather, naturally, caused you to melt into the plush material of your couch as you consumed comfort movie after comfort movie. You were given a reprieve from your worry as your cats seemed normal, sleepy just as you were that day. Even Nyx chose to laze on your chest as a temporary throne. Your couch is flush against the arch way that leads into the dining room and kitchen, giving it's back to part of the hallway towards the main bathroom and your bedroom at the back.

This angle always caused you great anxiety but there was no other way your luxury couch could fit in the small living room and so you always sunk low into the cushions.

Suddenly Nyx's ears twitch and her eyes snap open, waking only a cat knows how. On high alert to a sound totally lost to your draft ear. Her eyes widen, pupils dilating to adjust better to the shadowed room. The glow of the TV casts such a glow on the objects around you, flicker in soft and harsh lights. Slowly Nyx cranes her neck to see what exactly disturbed her sleep, just as her eyes lock on whatever is behind you, you see it for just a fraction of a second.

In the reflection of those moon eyes you see it. Distorted only from the curvature of her lens and the grain of the TV but there is no denying its shape.

A crude outline of a man, broad shouldered and faceless in the dark.

You freeze, mirroring your cat. Breath held as you watch the figure in the pitch black pupil. Wishing, hoping and praying that what you see is not really there.

After an eon of a moment, Nyx begins to shrink in on herself before silently slinking from the couch to find shelter beneath it.

You are not brave enough to move, to crane your head just as your cat did before you to confirm if what you saw was real. And in the milliseconds that the TV goes black you avoid the corner the figure should be standing in. Goose flesh breaks out over your skin, making you feel vulnerable and cold. While your feet burn begging you to get up.  

To run.

After a lot of mental reassurance and silence you begin to settle down. Easing yourself back into the rational world. Even becoming brave enough to stare into the TV, into the corner where the figure should be reflected in.

Each passing second as you wait for that small moment of blackness sends your heart into an irrational pace. Finally it happens and when you see nothing you sigh with relief.

Mentally giving yourself an "I told you it was nothing." talk.

That is until you hear a sound, a thump and a click from the back bedroom.

Your bedroom.

But the sound seems as if it came from within, as if it were your closet door.

Your heart explodes into frantic erratic beating.

The shrill ring of the old rotary phone rips through the dialogue of the movie but it can be barely heard over the hum of your blood.

RIIIIIIIIIIIIIIING

BRRRIIIIIIIIIIIIIING

Tonight you are frozen in place, whether that be from petrifying fear or sheer stubborn denial you cannot say. You just know one thing.  You do not want to deal with the automated telemarketer who never seems to speak.

It rings four more times before it stops.

You chalk it up to coincidence. To nothing.

Late evening turns into late night and sooner rather than later you find yourself in the mouth of the hallway. Staring down your bedroom door as your mind plays on repeat the sound of a door closing from earlier that night.

You cannot let the boogie man keep you from sleep. Slowly you enter, flicking on all the lights.

Everything seems to be in place, the small pile of laundry still lies abandoned by your hamper, your bed neatly made, pillows haphazardly lying about the comforter. Hell even your inherited diamond drop necklace still sits snugly in the jewelry dish on your night stand.

The townhouse makes an odd sound, you jump out of your skin. Clutching your phone so hard the lock and volume buttons imprint into your palms.

No longer can you ignore the elephant in the room as the silence from this particular space screams at deafening volumes until you dare to look. Your eyes flicker to your left and there it is.

Your closet door, seeming to yawn and stretch even in the harsh hue of the overhead light. A closet is always an ominous, odd place and the sounds it may or may not have made cause a great twisting in your stomach. The shine of the knob calls to you with deadly wonder. Begging you to turn the gleaming metal to reveal the darkness behind the bland white door.

It should be inspected shouldn't it? If you ever wanted to sleep soundly you would need to reveal what may lurk in the dark.

Creeping towards the door with baited breath until finally your hand hovers over the knob.

"Open me." It seems to whisper in delighted glee, elated to see your stressed, scared features distort in its polished brass. You retract your fingers as if burned, biting onto your lip as you scrape your large armchair against the wood. Shoving it into place against the closet door.

You sit on the edge of the bed, staring at the door until your eyes burn. You turn off the overhead light but keep the soft light of your nightstand lamp on.

You dream fever dreams of flashing lights as a storm passes overhead. Dream of the closet door laughing in the night, of cool fingers pressed into your skin.  

Jolting awake you reach for your phone as your senses slowly come to you. Your eyes fly to the armchair in the mid morning light. It rests in the same spot you left it ominously staring at your bed.

Something seems off about it or maybe you just imagine that there is a deep divot in the cushion, as if someone or something sat in the armchair most of the night.

You close your eyes and go over rational explanations. Always bringing back to yourself the same question.

Who in the world would want you?

Bringing you back full circle, that you were getting ahead of yourself. The cart before the horse in a sense and letting your mind race without restraint.

Letting the season of Fall try to creep into your bones and cause an artificial fear.

Still it's not too long after that do the cats avoid your room altogether.

While you choose to do what you've always done, push the problem aside and explain it away.

The phone rings as you're lacing up your running shoes. You pick up the receiver without bringing it to your ear and place it down gently.

It's just a wrong number anyway.

Tonight air bites at your nose, leaves crunching underfoot as wind whips around buildings and trash, carrying with it the promise of a harsh winter to come.

Your feet carry you slowly back to the direction of home as they beat down your normal, safe route.

A right from your little townhome, straight for two blocks before you would find the winding black pavement. It would snake past the backs of homes through some small trees but never a path that was fully hidden.

Always out in the open but giving you the ability to peer into people's lives as you passed. Witnessing dinners, arguments and heated moments of passion. Silently you thanked Kami you were not positioned on this route.

You keep your eyes focused ahead, the music in your ears low to listen for possible passers such as a bike or a better runner than yourself.

You pass a tree that seems thicker than normal, your phone buzzes on your arm band.

An email, it has to be an email.

Yet your mind wanders to those worried texts, lingers on the thoughts of if that tree had always been that wide, if the quickly setting sun had always cast the path in blood red. The maroon leaves flutter overhead, falling to the ground.

More crunching than what you think your feet should produce has you running faster. Forcing yourself not to glance over your shoulder. Your breathing becomes rasped as you borderline sprint home, still the crunching comes closer.

It isn't until someone brushes your shoulder as they pass do you let out a blood curdling scream. Huffing to catch your breath as you take a step back.  The jogger, your neighbor from across the street that you occasionally run into, removes his earbud.

"You okay?" He addresses you by your name and suddenly you're embarrassed that you do not know his. He takes your silence as an answer, his brow furrowing.

"I thought you'd be less skittish since your new boyfriend's been coming around." Your mouth goes dry.

"Wh...what?"

"Yea he seems so sweet. He always checks the windows to make sure they are locked at night." He takes in your response and shrugs, "It's getting late. Since I didn't see your boyfriend there yet, I'll jog you home."

The jog home is agonizing,your mind racing far faster than your feet can go.

What did he mean he saw him checking the windows? What boyfriend?

Maybe, maybe he mixed up your house with Denki's again. It's happened once before when he was returning mail. So there was a good chance he was mistaken again.

Still the closer the two of you get to home the worse you feel. A brick sits in your stomach as he jogs in place before your fence. He gives you a knowing smile and a wink as you wave him goodbye.

It isn't until you turn to face your home do you notice it, the white rectangle stark against your black door.

There is an envelope taped to the thick oak, addressed to no one but "My beloved".

You rip it from the wood with ragged breath as you bring it inside. Already you can feel the contents squirming, fidgeting as it waits to be read.

Polaroid photos fall to the hardwood floors, pictures of you running down your favorite path. Blurred images of you walking down the aisles of the grocery store, and even a photo of you taken between the cracks of the fence in your front yard.  

There are no more photos after that, at least not this time. Just that fucking letter written in long looping ink  You feel the words tighten around your throat as horror wraps its spindly fingers around your guts and yanks them towards the floor.

Your knees threaten to buckle as your eyes rapidly move along the page.

"In these moments you are the most beautiful. Blissfully unaware of prying eyes. In my time I've come to care for you I've noticed I'm not the only one watching. People gaze at you with whispered murmurs, with pitying eyes as they spin tales of your life. Speculating gossip as you prance about the neighborhood. Flaunting in those tight running shorts that hold every godly curve of your thighs and ass. Of the light jacket you leave unzipped so they can get a better view of your bouncing breasts tucked in your black sports bra. I wonder, would they bounce like that when you ride on my cock? Would your hair stick to your forehead like that as I rail you from behind. Would that angelic voice squeak out for more? For me? Ah I'm salivating thinking of it, harder than I've ever been. Please do not wear those out while running. In fact you don't have to run anymore Doll. You just need to let me take care of you God damn it. You little fucking whore. You seductive vixen with your God damned doe eyes. Just...just fucking answer please."

Rage and fear fight for control as you reread the letter for the fourth, fifth time before you finally move. Rage, for once, wins. You slam the door behind you locking the deadbolt before running to the back bedroom. Throwing the heavy chair from the closet door and ripping it open.  

Nothing lies within it, just clothes that begin to smell of neglect. Of old running shoes you didn't have the heart to throw away.

Of relief that whoever was sending these letters, these ones that weren't meant for you. Wasn't currently in the house.

The floorboards overhead groan and for a moment you have half a mind to tuck your cats away into their carrier, buy a one way train ticket to bumfuck nowhere and set your house ablaze.

Instead you move the chair back in front of the closet, grabbing things from your back bedroom to start your new life on your couch.

Time passes as the trees become more bare, their spindly fingers reaching out to tap the roof at odd hours of the night.

Tomorrow you promised yourself you would run.

And yet you find yourself dressed, lacing up your shoes before slowly opening the door. Your jacket is zipped all the way up, your hair neatly tied back and just as you step foot out the front door a heavy wind rips through the yard causing Denki's unlatched gate to slam. You jump back startled as your fear clings to you like a second skin. The letter begins to overlap in your head and the polaroid photos you had trashed a few weeks ago burn into your retinas. A faint snap and a whirl comes from close by and suddenly your stomach churns. Bile rushes up your windpipe too quickly, slamming the door shut and running to the bathroom. You barely make it as you dry heave into the porcelain bowl, huffing in the air of fresh toilet water. The smell starts a vicious cycle of nausea until finally your clammy skin begins to cool, pressing yourself to the side of the tub. In your panic your skin becomes sensitive, hyper aware of each stitch in your jacket, your sports bra and your jogging leggings. Your rip at your clothes until you peel them off of you, huffing as you scramble to get into the shower.

It does not matter that the water is not yet hot. Hell it isn't even lukewarm still you find yourself in the stream as it becomes scalding. Scrubbing at your skin with soap over and over and over. Nails pulling away already raw skin until that burning water begins to cool. A floorboard creaks overhead causing your head to snap up. The ceiling holds no secrets and yet no answers until you see it. A small hole, one you aren't sure if it's always been there, gaping from the attic over your shower and bath. It's too dark to tell if there is someone peering down at you from above or not.

Instead of freaking out your head slowly tilts away from the haunting discovery. Turning off the water, opening the curtain and wrapping yourself in a towel. As if it were every day you see something like that, as if it were nothing more than a spider lingering that you'd wish to forget.

It's fine It's always been there

But that would be the last time you would take a shower in that house.

Even though you hardly left your couch, things would still go missing in yourself. Things like the remote or one of your hundreds of phone charger cords. Even documents to cases but you didn't care, couldn't care. Otherwise you would break. Shatter.

Your days consisted of lying on the couch and consuming an ungodly amount of television. Doing so until your eyes burned although you begged them to stay open. Sadly everyone needed sleep and so you did. Giving into exhaustion as your eyes fluttered closed and your body weak, relaxing into the comfort of the couch.

Hours are lost to you so you dream and dream. Of a better time or of yourself in one of your files to dissect. Giving yourself that perfect bird's eye view and wondering how the victim never saw it coming.

In your dream you feel something along your face, smooth fingertips trace down your cheek over and over at a lulling pace.

"So perfect." A whispered serenade melding in with a snap and a whirl. A flash of lightning from a passing storm.

Except there was no storm coming in.

Your eyes snap open as you jerk to a sitting position frantically looking around the room.  When your eyes find nothing you allow your beating heart to settle back into your numbed state, more than ready to melt into the couch.

Until your stomach growls forcing you to focus on a new problem.

When was the last time you ate? Your stomach had long forgotten about food, choosing to conserve energy in case you needed to run from whatever the hell it was in your head.

Forgoing dressing you place your hand on the knob, wallet in hand. Two sets of glowing eyes watch you from beneath the couch. Twisting the metal to yank the door open you are greeted with cold fall air. The wind whips hair into your face as your mind quickly wanders. You half imagined a man to be standing in the middle of the street. Mouth stretched too far over gleaming teeth, lips parting enough as the wind brings with it the sound of your name.

Frantically you move your hair from your face, eyes searching up and down the street to find no one, nothing.

As it should be at 10am on a weekday. Suddenly the weight of going outside sits on your shoulders, despite the convenience store being a ten minute walk both ways, the thought of you going alone scared you.  Slowly you shut the door, falling to your knees before lying face down on your floor openly sobbing.

A creaking board sends you back to high alert, you remove your jacket and decide to order take out instead.

The knocking at your front door jolts you awake, the TV drones in the background with hazed over words as you quickly come to. Heart slamming into your chest before your stomach growls loudly. Right, food.

Your hand hovers over the knob as if suddenly you cannot move, as if the person on the other side of the door is an imposter lying in wait. Another knock comes at the door, he announces who he works for which eases your phobia a bit. You swallow thickly before finally opening the door, hands sweating as the anticipation of the identity of the stranger on your porch.

He seems to check out, his outfit covered in logos for your takeout restaurant of choice, car labeled as such as well. He holds the receipt towards you. His eyes wander over the face of the house, giving you sudden chills.

The question falls from your numb lips.  

"D...do you see anyone in the windows?" The delivery guy visibly jarrs, eyes darting to the windows of your room and the living room. Suddenly his face changes as a knowing smile spreads on his lips.

"This is a prank isn't it? For Halloween right?" He chuckles, but when he sees the pen shaking in your grip his face goes stone cold. Eyes darting to your left, to the bedroom windows. He taps the paper, indicating where you need to sign, you take a moment to do so.

The old rotary phone screams from the living room, making you both jump.

"Guess I better get that." You gesture, grabbing for your food. He nods affirmation before stepping off of your small porch a little too quickly.

You slam the front door, appetite washed away by each shrill of the small bell. Hesitantly you reach for it,  you have to know, need to know who could be on the other side.

The receiver is cold against your ear, the other line is quiet, although you can hear something soft in the background.

Talking, it sounds familiar, like an echo or almost as if there is a delay. It almost sounds like the same commercial that's playing on your TV right now.

Gently you set the phone down, the soft click echoes in the space around you. You sit on the couch before lying, covering yourself in your blanket as your takeout sits by the door, forgotten.

It wouldn't be too long before it begins to rot, almost as quickly as you.

The phone rings

And rings

And rings.

Nightly in fact, for the next few weeks as you cry silently trying to ignore the sound. Turning up the TV as loud as it can go, 24/7 until finally the speakers blow and you are left with nothing but that shrill shriek. The demand of the small plastic item that was meant to bring to a comforting memory from the past comes more often. Every four hours, every three hours, every hour until finally when it comes to an end it breathes again.

Screaming into the night tearing away your hearing, your sanity until finally you get up from your spot on the couch. Clothes falling away from your frame as they had grown in the time you sat. The time that you watched.

Each step is agonizing as sobs rack through your body, shaking hands making it hard to reach for the cool receiver.

You press it to your ear and for a final time your mind attempts logic. It is just an automated telemarketer, a glitch or determined program but the thought crumbles as your ears strain to hear the soft breath on the other line.

"Please…please stop." You sob into the receiver when no one speaks. The silence deafening as your mind can no longer keep with the charade.

That everything is okay and has always been okay. That the red flags you studied for a living were never there, washed away by your feigned ignorance.

"Finally got a response out of you." A velvet voice chimes, agitation lacing his syllables, "Gods, I just cannot wait to have you. It was worth it you know? Living in your walls for months."

"Why are you doing this?" Your voice barely a whisper, a soggy huff more than anything.

"I'm glad you asked." You body goes rigid, a haze blankets your mind and smothers the scream tearing up your throat.  

"Now walk out the door to me. Don't worry I'll bring your cats back to our home later."

You hang up the phone, body moving on it's own as you walk towards the front door. A door you had chosen to avoid and for good reason. But you should have known the danger lied within these four walls. Although your body feels heavy it moves normally despite you trying to fight it. Or as best you can with your worn down mind.and will. It is not as joyous as a moment for you and it is for the man in the street. His lilac hair is illuminated in the moonlight while his amethyst eyes glow iridescent. His smile is as you imagined, twisted and screwed up in such a way it makes your stomach churn. Lips stretched out almost too far over gleaming white teeth. Your face does not reflect your horror as it stays neutral, only your eyes give you way as tears fall from your cheeks.

The answer was there, under your nose, the devil in the details that you normally saw with your bird's eye view. One you didn't have the luxury of for your own story.

"Come now pet. It's time I finally teach you about what it means to be mine."

EPILOGUE

Everything is hazed over and slow, as if watching an old silent movie through the static and snow of the screen. Trying to read their lips to figure out what they are saying only for the text box to come too late.

"Perfect. Now get on your knees kitten. Open wide." You follow his orders numbly body moving on it's own as he smiles down at you. "God, you're so so perfect."

Long fingers tug at his belt before the shrill of a ring tone cuts through the silence. It is the same sound of your rotary phone at home except with an added element. The foreign sound of your whimpers and pleads for the phone to stop can just barely be heard. He looks down at the cell phone and answers.

"Denki, Baby I know I said I would come tonight. I'm just running late okay?" Amethyst eyes rove over to you and it is then that it hits you. The horror of the realization is like ice water dumped over you as you put two and two together.

The first time you saw him, visiting your neighbor over a year ago. It was such a quick exchange, eye contact and nothing more as his lips were pressed to Denki's.

Your mouth goes dry as it hangs open, slowly it becomes uncomfortable.

He changes his voice to sound like someone else's, someone with a gruff deeper tone.

"Oi quit talking to dunce face so we can finish this shit!" He removed the device from his mouth

"I'll be home after this patrol. Love you bye."

He tosses the phone before gripping your chin to spit into your mouth, his hand rests on the hem of his pants.

"Now...where was I?"  

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

pause, m | myg | 3

pairing(s): yoongi x reader

summary: Life is like a cassette tape. It seems like it’s constantly repeating, flipped from side A to side B, and the songs can’t be skipped. You can only pause, rewind, fast forward, play after you’ve already heard the song. After you’ve already lived it. All Min Yoongi knows is his own tape, until it smashes right at his feet, and then he has to learn to dance to a different beat.

warnings: rated M (18+) - please be warned this story has a physically and verbally abusive relationship; language; gender stereotyping; mentions of therapy; non-idol!AU; music producer!Yoongi x dancing fanatic!reader

rated M because I know how sensitive a topic domestic abuse is.

--

2.

-

Morning. Night.

He wasn’t on the night train.

Morning. Night.

He wasn’t on the night train.

Morning. Night.

You were the only one exiting at the last stop. Running. Running.

Morning. Night.

You hated this replay. This song sucked. This cassette tape sucked. But you kept going, ending all your bad days with dancing, dancing until you wore your own heart out, dancing to sad songs with happy beats, attending your dance party of one. Never had you wished your dance party to be of two.

Never, until now.

Morning. Night.

You were wandering around your neighborhood on your off day, idle and antsy. There was a garage sale happening. You walked over, seeing all the old things. Weird lampshades with no bottom half. Chipped coin banks. A pair of ping-pong paddles with no ping pong ball. Single teacups without the rest of the set. Old VHS tapes that no one had a player for.

Cassettes.

A bunch of cassette tapes, sitting there, spilled out. You tilted your head, picking one out. Love Songs for my Love. It was written in faded pen, a barely legible scribble. You flipped it over, but there was no indication of said songs. Just a Side A and Side B. Did someone make this? Did they use a tape player and record this by playing the songs on scratchy audio?

You suddenly remembered Yoongi’s girlfriend throwing a cassette tape on the subway concrete as she declared she hated him. The thin plastic has shattered, black ribbon flying everywhere.

Did Yoongi make her one?

And she smashed it, just like that?

“Do you want that?”

You started as an old woman indicated the tape in your hand. She was wearing a blue and white floral dress, a bright pink fanny pack at her waist. Her hand held a wad of change bills.

“Uh…” you said, not knowing if you did or not.

“I have a cassette player too.” The old woman tucked a gray hair behind her ear and rummaged around her, producing a silver and brown cassette player. It was huge, nearly the size of your forearm. “Still works. Needs batteries though.” She stated the price.

You walked out of the garage sale with the cassette and the player, wallet lighter.

You went home and played the tape after shoving some batteries into the player. It was full of old, cheesy eighties songs. You didn’t know any of these songs. They were all weird. Some were poorly recorded, cutting off strangely. The speaker was terrible, scratchy and pitching the audio due to its age, not that the audio was very good to begin with.

But you danced to it.

You danced to it.

Danced to these terrible love songs of a different time, of a different couple, not knowing if they were still together or not, not knowing if they were still in love, not knowing if they were even in Korea, but dancing to these retro beats anyway, not caring. Because someone, at one point, tried clumsily to make this for the one that loved, only for it to be sold like cheap candy decades later and you might as well enjoy it, because, hell.

What else was there to enjoy?

Morning.

Night.

You stopped at your doorstep.

Someone was sitting there, wearing a black parka and black sneakers. Black face mask. He raised his head as you stopped. Dark eyes, void of any sparkle. He stood up.

You swallowed. Bowed your head politely.

Opened your door for Min Yoongi.

-

You hadn’t changed the couch all this time. Left everything there, waiting.

Blankets. Pillow. The suitcase of his clothes.

Everything.

Yoongi didn’t say anything.

You went to your room, wordlessly.

In the morning, the blankets were folded neatly and the pillow set on top, as if he was never there.

Pause.

Fast forward.

He would be there one night and then not there several nights. He would stay several nights in a row, but not be there in the morning. Never saying anything. You didn’t say anything. You just went to your bedroom and danced to sad songs with happy beats, door closed, the pressure in your chest unbearable.

Replay. Turn the tape around. Replay. Turn the tape around. Replay.

You wanted to fast forward. You wanted to pause. You wanted to rewind.

But you had to press play.

You had to live the moments.

You had to run as you exited to night train, run and run and run, sometimes finding Yoongi sitting at your doorstep, sometimes finding nothing but air. And it didn’t matter. They were all bad days, ending with you dancing to gloomy songs with upbeat tunes, dancing and dancing until you passed out.

You were stuck.

Stuck in this odd loop of reality.

Trapped in sad lyrics with a happy melody.

-

You talked to your former therapist about it. 

Explained the situation, trying to remember all the details. He was retired already, but as usual he listened patiently and with kindness. He didn't have to. When your therapist retired, he let you know that he meant it when he told you that you could call him any time and he would set aside some of his day to talk with you. You were grateful and never tried to abuse it. Sometimes you would just call and say hello, ask him about his health. Send him cards every once in a while, wishing him well. He had been a great therapist and now he was a good friend.

Those were really, really hard to come by. 

You saw Yoongi once again, sitting in front of your apartment doorstep. Bit your lip seeing his crumpled form wrapped in his black parka. You walked up to him and smiled, but Yoongi didn't look at you. He only stood up and moved out of the way for you to unlock your door. 

Your former therapist's words echoed in your head. 

You need to consider the effect of your kindness, not only on him, but on you. 

You held up your keys and found your hand shaking, missing the keyhole. 

It is up to you how much you want to say. But remember to communicate with empathy. He is a victim and he may not respond rationally because his thought processes have been manipulated and warped.

"I'm sorry."

Yoongi's whisper was very soft, almost inaudible. You wanted to scream, cry, laugh it off, hug him, all at once. Instead, you took a deep breath and put your key in your front door. Turned around and beckoned him warmly into your home. 

"Come in."

Everyone's reality is different. Even if you're sharing moments together, one person might have a completely different way of interpreting and processing events. 

Yoongi stepped into your apartment once more, carefully taking off his shoes. Trying to keep his eyes on the floor. You didn't see any visible bruises on his face, but you could see the bruises to his soul as he timidly walked to the couch.

In life, you get to choose only how you feel about things. You only get to choose your own reaction.

You closed the front door, locked it.

You can't choose for other people. 

You turned around to see Yoongi looking at the pillow, blankets, the little bag of toiletries. The suitcase of his clothes, washed and folded. You kept them on the couch, all this time.

"Yoongi."

He didn't turn his head, but you saw him move his chin slightly to indicate he was listening. 

"This time... this time, before you leave in the morning," you said quietly, gently. "I hope you reconsider. Even if it's only for a second."

Yoongi didn't respond. 

-

The next morning, you didn't know what you would find. The same folded blankets with the pillow on top? The same empty couch?

You went out to the living room. 

Folded blankets. Pillow on top. No Yoongi on the couch. Your heart sank. Okay. It was worth a shot. 

"I told myself this would be the last time."

A familiar raspy, soft voice. You jerked your head to the door. Yoongi was standing there, fully dressed, face mask on, sneakers on his feet. He wasn't looking at you. He was staring at the couch. 

"I told myself I wouldn't take advantage of your kindness anymore."

It's okay, you wanted to blurt, but you hesitated, because was it? Was it okay to watch this all the time, to witness this toxic relationship, and not be able to help because you can't help unless they want to be helped?

"I'm weak."

Yoongi raised his head. He made eye contact with you. And it hurt so much, seeing those eyes and knowing you could do nothing, knowing he was just going to go back because that's all he knew. 

You smiled even though it hurt so, so much to smile.

"You might think you're weak," you said softly. "But you always have a choice, Yoongi. Even if it's a small step. Even if it's something dumb, like taking off your shoes."

You couldn't tell his expression, most of it hidden behind the face mask. You thought of that time, in the convivence superstore, where his fingers had accidentally gotten caught in your sweater and unfurled the yarn, tangling you two together with red string, an awkward, embarrassing moment. Your lips curved a little wider, remembering that time. If anything, at least there was that one precious memory.

Yoongi looked down. 

He placed his hand on the doorknob. 

You closed your eyes, not wanting to watch him go. 

You heard shuffling. Then a presence close to you. Your eyes snapped open. Yoongi's shoes were by the door. You looked up, right in front of you. Yoongi gazed back at you with uncertainty. Then he pulled down the face mask and stepped closer to you. Voice trembling, still so soft. 

"What... what should I do now?"

You couldn't help it. 

You began to cry. 

It all came out, the tears spilling like a broken dam. Yoongi's eyes widened, startled at your sudden reaction. You wrapped your arms around yourself and buried your face in your chest, sobbing ugly tears. You turned away quickly, wiping them away and attempting to talk, but it was impossible. They kept coming. 

Was it happiness? Relief? Stress? Anxiety? The crying racked your entire body. All those weeks, all those days, all those moments. You were just a person. You wanted to say, don't do this to me anymore, but that wasn't a fair thing to say, so you never said it, but, please, please Yoongi, don't do this to me anymore. 

Arms appeared around you, black parka covered arms, and they encircled you, first a tentative hold, then tighter and firmer, steadying your sobs, turning them into sniffles. You realized your sweatshirt sleeves were wet and gross now, covered in snot and tears.

"Thank you."

The whisper behind your head, making you freeze.

"Thank you so, so much."

You didn't want to start crying again. 

You started crying again. 

-

Pause.

Fast forward.

-

Yoongi looked back at you, face full of uncertainty. Black face mask on his chin, squishing his cheeks together. You smiled at him from the waiting room, waving. The doctor’s name was printed clearly on the door. The name of the therapist you had helped Yoongi find. They specialized in domestic violence victims.

“I… I can’t do it.”

He said it softly, but the waiting room was dead silent.

You smiled at him.

“You only have to take one step,” you replied gently. “I’ll be waiting right here.”

Yoongi looked forward again. He took one step. Then another. Then more, walking into the door and closing it behind him.

Pause. Rewind.

You remembered your similar moment. You were by myself at that time, years ago, confused and alone, about to walk into an old man’s office who you thought could do absolutely nothing, but you didn’t know what else to do. You knew there was something wrong with you and you didn’t know what and you knew you needed help. But there was no one to tell you to take a step forward. You were frightened, scared of being alone. Equally scared of being with someone else, which was why you were so boring in every relationship, never putting in any effort, because you were afraid.

The therapist had noticed your hesitance. He stood up and said your name kindly. You snapped to attention, nodding slowly. The old man had smiled, hands crossed in front of his waist.

“You only have to take one step,” he had said. “Just one.”

You looked at the ground.

Took one step.

That seemed too small. Maybe one more.

One more.

One.

More.

You were now in the office, standing in front of the sofa.

The old man had beamed at you proudly.

“You did it.”

Pause. Fast forward.

“You did it.”

Yoongi stepped out of the office. His eyes found yours. “I did.”

You smiled proudly.

“Wanna go buy some bread?” you asked, pointing in the direction of the market plaza next to the clinic. “There’s a bakery nearby. It would be nice to have bread for breakfast, don’t you think?”

Yoongi gave you his little half-smirk. “Yeah, it would.”

-

Reset.

Pause.

Play.

-

“Why do you have that?”

You looked up from your bed to your desk. Yoongi was pointing to the cassette tape player. His face was white, almost tense. His other hand was holding yours. He held it tighter, biting his lip.

“I bought it at a garage sale,” you answered truthfully. Yoongi lowered his hand, not quite looking at you. You continued. “I was walking around the neighborhood and someone was selling their old stuff and I saw some cassettes, so I bought one. The lady upsold me the player too. It was after the first time you…”

You left me.

You felt a painful pluck of your heartstrings, like a guitar strand pulled too tight and producing the wrong sound. Yoongi turned to face you, but you shifted your eyes, taking a deep breath. It’s not his fault. But it had hurt. You couldn’t pretend it didn’t.

You laughed apprehensively. “It was full of eighties love songs anyway. The audio is scratchy and old. The couple probably aren’t even together anymore.”

“That wasn’t that long ago.”

“The eighties were forty years ago, Yoongi.”

Silence. Yoongi was still holding your hand.

“How many times do you think it’s been replayed?” Yoongi murmured.

Your eyes shifted back to the silver and brown tape player. “I don’t know. But I kept playing it.” Your voice was a little choked up now. “I kept playing it until you… until you came back.” And sometimes I think… sometimes I think there might be a chance you’ll leave again. And maybe that was impossible, but you knew better, because impossible things happen all the time and it would be easy to think a person could fully heal, but things like that don’t heal so easily.

You know, because you witnessed it firsthand.

“They’re all terrible,” you said quietly.

Yoongi squeezed your hand. “But you kept replaying them.”

“Yeah.”

He took a deep breath. And then another. You waited. He seemed like he wanted to say something. You rubbed his thumb gently with yours. He kept staring at the cassette player.

“That… was the first gift I gave her.” His dark brown eyes were misty, gazing into the past. “Our hundred-day anniversary. I gave her a cassette of my favorite songs. I thought it was more original than a mix CD or a link to a Spotify playlist.” He looked down, not quite at the floor. “She was so excited and happy. She told me she was going to play it as soon as she got home.”

Silence.

When Yoongi spoke again, there was a quiver of hopelessness.

“I never saw a tape player at her place.”

You saw the pain in his eyes.

“Did she play it even once?”

He shut his eyes, hiding them with his hair. His voice was getting smaller and smaller, almost disappearing.

“And then she smashed it.”

He was clutching your hand so tightly that your fingers felt numb, but you didn’t move away, listening carefully.

“She smashed it so that not even people like you could pick it up years later and listen to it. Smashed it so that not even one person in the whole world could appreciate it.”

“The Yoongi at the time appreciated it,” you said softly.

Yoongi hid his face with his hair.

“The Yoongi back then was a fucking fool,” he sighed.

“It’s not so easy to have a pure feeling.” You placed your other hand on top of his. “Not everyone can feel that way. It’s not fair when someone takes advantage of that.”

He hung his head. “I could have gotten out. I could have been a man and left. But I kept going back. I enabled her. I was just as bad.”

You sighed softly. “You know things like that are easy to say and impossible to do in the moment.”

“Aren’t you mad at me?”

Yoongi lifted his head, looking at you through his bangs. Not wanting to fully show you the pain in those dark brown orbs.

“For going back?”

You shook your head. “No.” Your lips curved into a sad smile. “I watched my dad crawl back over and over. I watched it happen right in front of my eyes.” You exhaled the tenseness from your chest. “He kept thinking that because they had kids he had to come back.” The next breath was rougher, pushing out all your anger. “I think it would have easier if she was my stepmother. But she wasn’t.”

And the fear stabbed through you.

“I keep thinking, what if I’m like her? What if I’m just like her and I don’t know?”

You shut your eyes.

“All of my previous relationships ended because I didn’t invest into them.”

You suddenly let go of Yoongi’s hand, pulling away, but Yoongi held on, held on desperately, interlocking his fingers with yours. You dropped your hand, all strength gone, measuring your breathing, trying to calm yourself down.

“What if…?”

Silence.

“We’ll never know unless we try.”

Pause.

“I can’t ask you to try after what you’ve been through, Yoongi.”

“You don’t have to ask me.”

You opened your eyes and slowly, slowly raised your head. Your eyes connected with his.

“You know you won’t be that way,” Yoongi murmured quietly. “Because you know and can recognize it. You recognized it when… when I saw nothing.”

You held his hand.

Fell back on the bed and the two of you stared at the ceiling, holding hands.

-

You laughed as you exited the train car with Yoongi. At the last stop, stepping out to the harsh streetlights and concrete.

“What do you mean, is that where I got my dance skills? It’s just a music video! They’re supposed to be weird!” you were saying, shouldering your backpack.

“That was bizarre and that’s putting it lightly,” Yoongi chuckled.

He didn’t look at the edge of the train station anymore. He was only looking at you, with his dark brown, cat-like eyes full of sparkle, smirking at you fully now. There was still space between you two at this particular place, this last train stop, but somehow it had gotten smaller. Shrunk. Not because he was shrinking either. He was a smoothed-out piece of paper now, still winkled; the old marks erased but still etched on the page. Not forgotten, but finally able to be written over.

“Get the fuck over here, Yoongi.”

Both of you froze.

Yoongi frowned and looked up. The pressure on your chest returned.

The woman. Yoongi’s girlfriend.

No.

He cocked an eyebrow at her.

“I told you it was over. It’s still over.”

Ex-girlfriend.

She furrowed her brows, bristling. “You can’t do this to me, Yoongi! I’m the only one who loves you! Me! Or did you forget, you stupid bastard?”

Yoongi paused. He took a deep breath and stared up at the streetlights, up to the sky. For a second, you despaired, thinking he was going to consider it, thinking he was going to walk away from you. Then he let out a puff of air and ticked his head.

“I don’t have anything more to say to you,” he said evenly, not looking at his ex-girlfriend.

Yoongi turned away.

He caught your eye. He wasn’t smiling, but you could tell there was something different this time. Resolve. He nudged your arm with his.

“Wanna race?”

The pressure on your chest lifted suddenly, leaving you breathless.

“What?” you gasped.

Yoongi chuckled. “You’re gonna lose.”

And then he tore off. You started, running after him, the young woman shouting after you two, but neither of you heard, neither of you listening, because you were running, running, chasing after that black parka with indignation, calling his name and him mockingly bellowing yours back, causing you to run faster, faster, smile on your face, tackling him into your front door laughing. Yoongi snickered, stating he won and you chastised him, telling him he cheated as you unlocked the door.

“Your fault for getting distracted.”

“I wasn’t ready!” you flailed, dumping your backpack onto the ground. You took out your phone and accidentally pressed the play button on your music. Your Bluetooth house speakers started blasting quirky guitar, snazzy drums, and twanging bass, ridiculous lyrics singing along. In frustration, you tossed your phone on the couch and began to wiggle your arms, pointing accusingly at Yoongi, as if to say, this isn’t over, but kicking off your shoes and prancing about your apartment, bouncing your shoulders to the beat.

Yoongi shook his head, but you didn’t care, singing on the top of your lungs.

“Don’t know a night without dancing, don’t like the night without dancing…”

“Is that dancing?” Yoongi interrupted, but you just wiggled up and down like a fish out of water, and Yoongi shook his head once more, looking exasperated. You spun, you frolicked, you whipped your hair around until you were lightheaded, not caring about anything, not caring about what Min Yoongi was seeing, because this was your time, your time to shine, your nighttime dance party.

You tripped on the couch and Yoongi darted forward to snatch you from the air. You laughed at your own clumsiness, dizzy from spinning so much, not realizing how close you were to Min Yoongi, not realizing until the song ended and you were staring up at him and he was staring down at you, still in his black parka and face mask squishing his cheeks.

The next song began.

But for some reason you couldn’t brush it off. You couldn’t get up and begin dancing again. You were only looking up into Yoongi’s eyes and he was looking down at you. You were reminded of his face that day in the grocery store, when the red yarn from your sweater unraveled due to the Velcro on his sleeve, reminded of that split second where you were happy and sad at the same time, happy and sad at the idea of red yarn attaching you and Yoongi together.

Happy because it was funny.

Sad because you knew you had to pull away.

Yoongi’s dark eyes looked down at you and he leaned down a little. Stopped.

You raised yourself a little. Stopped.

Pause.

Heart beating fast, so fast. Was it from running? From dancing like an idiot? From staring into Yoongi’s eyes? From being so close to him? From knowing you shouldn’t kiss him, because maybe he wasn’t ready yet, but really, really wanting to?

Yoongi leaned down the same time you rose upward.

Your foreheads knocked together.

“Ow!”

“Motherfuc–”

You swore and he jerked up, rubbing his forehead as you winced, massaging yours. It was a hard hit and you felt woozy from all the emotions and the physical exertion. You grabbed his arm for balance as you stood, and he grabbed yours, grimacing as he rubbed his head.

“Damn, that fucking hurt,” he mumbled.

“Ugh, am I bruised?” you asked, removing your hand.

He squinted. “No?” He leaned forward a little.

You leaned forward too. Stopping just a centimeter away. Yoongi’s eyes widened. You looked into his wide eyes with your wide eyes, waiting. You shouldn’t kiss him, because you didn’t know if he was okay with it, you didn’t know if he was even thinking about it. It was way too early, it was too soon, and you should just back off–

He pressed his lips to yours.

You both stared at each other with unblinking, huge eyes, lips on lips.

You jerked back, sputtering. “Y-You’re making this weird!”

Yoongi pointed to you and all around him. “And this bizarre indie rock isn’t making this weird?”

“D-Don’t blame the music,” you stuttered, fingers on your lips. “You shouldn’t stare like that!”

“You were s-staring back!” he accused.

“F-Fine!”

And then you grabbed his face and kissed him, deeply, fully. You kissed Min Yoongi, kissed his soft lips with your eyes squeezed shut, breathing in his scent and his presence, a presence you never wanted to go away. You didn’t know if it was right or wrong. You didn’t know if this was the start of a wonderful story or the end of a rollercoaster one, but it was yours, your cassette tape with your love songs, and you wanted Yoongi on the playlist, you wanted his song to play on repeat, and he grabbed your arms and pulled you close, kissing you back, murmuring your name, wrapping his arms around you, and you knew you had his song, his song on your cassette to dance to.

Don’t let this beginning end.

-

4. smut.

--

masterpost

[kimnjss]

plot twist!namjoon | a-z

⤑  series: plot twist

⤑ pairing: rapper!namjoon x rich girl!reader

⤑ genre: just smut talk.

⤑ rating: explicit. // unedited.

⤑ warnings: smut talk... (mentions of) shower sex, cum shots, brat taming, doggy style, reverse cowgirl... sex positions, hair pulling, masturbation, semi-public sex, roleplaying, oral sex (f/m. receiving), rough sex, use of toys, teasing...

⤑ A/N: literally not even a full day and i already miss them :( they were such a mess but sooo much fun ., ugh. 

A = Aftercare (what's he like after sex):

While he enjoyed cuddling with you before going to bed, after sex was a whole different story. The act would have both of you all sticky and hot and Joon wouldn't be a fan in laying in that, he'd be suggesting sharing a bath before snuggling under the covers... which would most likely result in another round.

B = Body Part (his favorite body part of his and also yours):

It was no secret that Joon had an interest fascination with your back, especially when he was fucking you. But, what he liked most were the dimples at the end of the back, he'd often times find himself pressing his thumbs into them as he held you steady.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum basically...):

The two of you were not really a big fan of condoms and while you were great about taking your birth control, the pull out method had worked itself into your routine. Joon was either spilling out on your back or thighs and on special occasions, you'd let him finish on your face.

D = Dirty Secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of his):

Despite the excessive amount of eye rolls he gives you, Joon is secretly very into the spoiled brat act you put on. There was just something about the annoyed pout and scrunch of your nose that he found cute, more so when he was denying you.

E = Experience (how experienced is he? does he know what he's doing?):

You both were pretty equally matched when it came to the bedroom, although, you were a lot more adventurous than him. Always coming up with new things for the two of you to try, but it never took much convincing to get him to experiment.

F = Favorite Position (this goes without saying...):

Doggy style. Reverse cowgirl. Anything back to chest. Even if you were starting off facing each other, you'd soon be shifting into the spooning position, his face nuzzled in the crook of your neck and his arms wrapped around your waist.

G = Goofy (is he more serious in the moment, or is he humorous, etc.):

Joon was pretty serious, but not so much that it made sleeping with him boring. He'd just get real concentrated on making you feel good and his entire focus would be on getting you to cum. Like in any other aspect of your relationship, you balanced each other out. You were playful and goofy enough for the both of you.

H = Hair (how well-groomed is he, does the carpet match the drapes? how does he like you?):

He didn't really care how you kept yourself, however you were deciding to look down there was however he preferred you to look. It didn't make that much of a difference to him in the slightest bit. The same went for himself, he'd trim up from time to time but it never really was at the forefront of his mind.

I = Intimacy (how is he in the moment, romantic aspect...):

Very, very, extremely romantic. Joon was very into the emotional part of sex even if he didn't really vocalize it. Loved holding onto your hand and looking into your eyes while he was inside of you. And if it's been a while since the two of you have been together, he'd be putting together a special night complete with candles, bubble baths and flowers to make up for it.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon):

Not really his thing. Even before the two of you were getting together, he wasn't really into masturbation. Found it boring, actually. He'd much rather be with someone and experience that connection, rather than just getting himself off.

K = Kink (one or more of his kinks):

He's got an extremely subtle brat tamer kink. Unrealized, but definitely present whenever you were pulling your tantrums and he had something to say about it. Sometimes, without thinking he'd do things that he knew would get a reaction out of you, just so he could do something about it.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do):

Anywhere the two of you could be alone without interruptions. He had given you shit about it before, but Namjoon wasn't opposed to fooling around in his studio with the door locked or even in your office when you weren't busy. Surprise blowjobs were his absolute favorite, especially if they were taking place underneath his desk while he was working.

M = Motivation (what turns him on, gets him going):

You're always very direct and vocal about what you want. Whether it being what you wanted him to do with you or what you wanted to do with him, there would always be a stiffness in his pants following your words. Paired with the need to be alone with you. He liked knowing that you wanted him the most.

N = NO (something he wouldn't do, turn offs):

There aren't many things that are off limits for Namjoon, but something he couldn't really seem to wrap his mind around would be roleplaying. Not like the two of you have ever tried it, but he knew that if you had it would end up being more awkward than anything. He'd have trouble staying in character and most likely would ditch the entire story-line and fuck you without the mention of it.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.):

Receiving. While he was not selfish when it came to oral, he liked it a lot when you were below him. You knew what you were doing and you did it so well, never failed to have his toes curling. He'd always return the favor, but was always perking up when you were offering to go down on him.

P = Pace (is he fast and rough? slow and sensual? Etc.):

Rough and sensual. It was no secret that he enjoyed all the romantic parts of having sex with you, but he was often mixing that with a bit of roughness. Hair pulling, tossing you around, hard thrusts, and sometimes biting were to be expected when he was losing himself in the moment.

Q = Quickie (his opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often... etc.):

Nope. Not a fan. They just annoyed him. Didn't see the point of speeding through things when you could very much take your time with each other. If you were suggesting a quickie, he'd be eliminating whatever reason it was you couldn't go and have proper sex. Then going to do that.

R = Risk (is he game to experiment, does he take risks):

Joon never really came up with new things for the two of you to try in bed, that was more something that you were into. He'd always be down to give anything that you were bringing to him a chance, at least once. While extremely different, the two of you happened to be into the same type of things... so there wasn't much to worry about there.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can he go for, how long does he last...):

He's pretty good at keeping it together, insuring that he lasts a bit longer than you so you're getting everything out of it. Pretty spent after two rounds, but after one quick nap or something to eat, he'd be ready to go again.

T = Toy (does he own toys? does he use them? on a partner or himself?):

No toys. Not that he was against them, he's just never really thought about adding them in to your sex lives. Just like everything else, though, if you were curious about it, or wanted him to use something on you, he wouldn't hesitate.

U = Unfair (how much does he like to tease?):

He likes to tease just enough so he's bringing out your bratty attitude. Simple things like denying you kisses or acting as if he wasn't interested, so he can see that pout take over your features. Sometimes, he'd keep you from cumming... but that never lasted long because he liked watching you cum a lot more than not.

V = Volume (how loud is he, what sounds does he make?):

Not that loud or vocal. He'd talk dirty to you from time to time or ask if something felt good, but other than that low grunts were the extent of his vocalization. He's usually a bit too focused to keep up with dirty talk, but you didn't mind either way.

W = Wild Card

He found it attractive when you were working hard. Especially if you were doing something that he knew you enjoyed, he liked the look of accomplishment on your face whenever you've completed something. And was never hesitating to reward you for your hard work.

X = X-Ray (let's see what's going on in those pants, pictures or words):

The guy wasn't tall just for show, that's a fact. Joon was an all around big guy and that translated down south as well. Not only that, he was thick too. And he knew it, took pride in the little gasp you'd let out whenever he was bottoming out for the first time that night.

Y = Yearning (how high is his sex drive?):

He was very good at matching your energy, so he wanted you just as much and as often as you wanted him. But, if you were dressed a certain way or paying a bit more attention to him, it would make him want you in some type of way. He'd be thinking of ways to shift things to the bedroom.

Z = Zzz... (how quickly does he fall asleep afterwards?):

Joon was hardly falling asleep right after sex, he'd want to get up and shower with you before getting comfortable underneath the covers again. There have been times he's fallen right asleep, but each times he's woken up in the middle of the night to clean off before going to bed.

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[spider-boy1989]

Tiktok revenge

George had just finished his work out at the gym when he accidentally bumped into some kid recording something on his phone. His post-workout shaker spilled everywhere, including on him and the boy. “What the hell, you fucking dumbass!” George screamed. The kid put up his hands defensively

“Woah dude. My bad!! I was making a tiktok...can I get your dry cleaning or something, bro?” He gave a sheepish grin. George was fuming.

“No! You fucking idiot influencer!!” The kids face got a bit more serious at this point.

“Look, sir. Let me actually introduce myself...Name’s mason. I’m doing my best to be respectful and helpful. I just like making stupid internet videos, I’m not some vapid narcissist...everyone on social media isn’t the same person.” He extended his hand to shake George’s.

George rolled his eyes and snickered. “Yeah right, I’ve seen your type. The cringe lip syncing, the dumb dances. You’re what’s wrong with the world.” The kid was a bit more taken aback this time. He was trying to be fucking nice to this loser. Well, no matter. He knew how to deal with this guy. He smiled a rather devious smile and said. “I have access to the hot tub and steam room. Would you be interested in either? I just wanna make this up to you, bro.” He held out a key card that would allow him into those areas.George heaved a dramatic, exasperated sigh.

“Fine. Whatever. This and pay for my dry cleaning if you fucking insist on this fake “be kind” persona...” he snatched the key card from Mason. He chose the steam room first; he was alone in the room which seemed odd. Was it really that exclusive? He heard an oddly relaxing music, and he couldn’t help but sit down, clothes and all. He swore he could hear words faintly. But he liked whatever they were.

“Sleep. Sleep. Sleep. Listen to my words and obey”

Weird lyrics, but he found himself listening more intently. As he began to feel the steam relax his body more and more.

“You are a dumb tiktoker. You are a dumb tiktoker. You love doing tiktok dances and you don’t care if people think what you’re doing is cringey. You love lip syncing to songs and trying to be cute to girls.”

George muttered to himself, repeating the words he heard. Almost like he was singing along. But then he started to notice just what the words were. He shook himself a bit and got up from the seat, going to open the door. It was locked.

“Nice try, asshole. I’m not quite done with you yet. Sleep.” He heard mason’s voice. But it was wrong. Distorted. He felt himself drifting off. He then felt himself trapped in his mind, listening passively to the lyrics of the song...was it a song? He didn’t know. He just wanted to obey now.

“Good job, kiddo. Knew you had it in you to listen to your big bro.” He heard mason chuckled. He found himself chuckling too.

“You can speak now. Tell me how that made you feel.”

“Proud.” George said, beginning to drool a bit.

“I see. You like making your older brother proud then?”

“Yeah, mase!” He nodded.

“I’m glad. Llsten to this song again.”

“Ok bro. “

The song began to play again.

“You love tiktok. You love tiktok and impressing girls. You’re dumb. You’re love how cute you are and you wanna be famous. You love tiktok. You wanna get famous on tiktok.” He found himself “singing along” despite the song not even rhyming. Stupid. But it was catchy, so whatever, right? He lost track of time when the door opened, and there was his big brother, mason. He had a change of clothes in his hands.

“Dude! I was getting worried about you, Gavin. I was texting mom and dad I lost you in the gym!” He yanked his brothers hand.

“Uh. Sorry. Stuff got kinda fuzzy in here and then I fell asleep.

He grinned sheepishly, showing off the braces that mason, who had already slipped in to give him iuniore drug, and make his hair a bit more more presentable for his new life along with those braces.

“It’s okay, Gav, you dummy.” He patted his back, handing him a black zip up hoodie and his backpack...Or he assumed it must be at least. Why would his brother bring him anyone else’s hoodie or backpack? He was such an airhead.

He took them, putting them on in a little privacy stall where his brother couldn’t see and followed him out after finishing. He drove them back home, and he felt like he couldn’t recognize the way there at all.

‘Had he driven in this car here? How had he got to the gym?’ He found himself answering his own question eternally

‘Duh, dumbass. Your bro takes you to the gym all the time.’ He grinned to himself, feeling an intense dopamine rush at his affirmation on his stupidity. They got home, and he was met at the door by a boy with curly blonde hair who sort of looked like him. His fraternal twin, Grayson...Or at least that’s what he told himself, and again, felt the rush of happy, dumb feeling chemicals in his brain. Grayson guided his brother to their shared room,

“Dude! I got an idea for a tiktok you gotta do it with me!” Gavin grinned. He loved tiktok. He loved cute girls. More brain chemicals rushing in. The two brothers smirked and made a tiktok, lip syncing to a song and mugging for the camera.

A bit later, after the two boys had got ready for bed and were playing PS5, mason was dying laughing in the living room watching back the stupid tiktok his new brothers had made. Gavin was the perfect fit for his new twin. Grayson was, at one point, Mason’s college professor who hadn’t been understanding of Mason’s needs since he had started acting in a new show. Certainly took care of the problem, since he got him to sign his report card with an A before he’d slipped the Iuniore to him. He loved the sweet irony of Gavin and Grayson becoming everything they hated.

[themadlostgirl]

Abandoned (11)

*That took longer than expected. Had to rewrite the beginning like five times cause I hated how it kept turning out. Bleh! But we got it now! Should have the next and final chapter of this mini-fic out soon! Love ya and enjoy!*

~~~

As the years passed I found myself growing even more attached to Neverland. I had called it home for years already but after Peter told me he loved me it felt more permanent. I guess a part of me was always sort of waiting for my father to show up one day and take me away. Worried that he would return and ruin the peace and happiness I had found on Neverland.

He was the last person I had ever loved before he abandoned me. As much as I hated him there would be nights when I’d sit in my hut and his face would come to mind. The sound of his voice singing a lullaby to me that I only half remember. I would sit there simmering in my hatred and feelings of betrayal but down deep in my soul there was a twinge of sadness. Memories that feel more like dreams reminding me that for as angry as I was at him there was a time that I loved him. He was my family. My papa…

But that’s all gone. He left me. Traded me. I have a new family now. I know real love. Unconditional love.

Peter loved me exactly as I was. He never asked me change. He never forced me to do things I didn’t want to do. We had fun together. We told each other everything. He knew my deepest darkest secrets and in turn I was entrusted with his. He held me close and kissed me softly. HIs arms were the safest place I had ever known.

He was patient with me and despite how badly he may have wanted to escalate our intimate relationship he never pressured me. If anything he may have been too cautious but given what he knew of my history I didn’t blame him. I’d rather he be courteous than to just assume he’s okay to take what he wants from me. So when the day came that I knew I was ready I asked him to make love to me. He had been so nervous and I couldn’t help but tease him a bit despite my own nerves. It felt nothing like the first time I had sex. It was so much softer, slower, and all of my partner’s attention was solely on me. It felt like love.

After that first time things got a little intense. We may have made it our mission to christen every inch of the island. Soft and sweet love making in the meadows to hard and rough in caves, there was nothing more we cared about. Peter didn’t even return to camp for an entire week once because we were too wrapped up in one another. His body became as familiar to me as my own.

That isn’t to say that we didn’t drive each other mad either. There were days where I wanted to throw him off a cliff and he wished that I had never set foot in Neverland. For as stubborn as the both of us could be the fights never drove us apart for long. We would come back together and everything would be right with the world until we got annoyed and started another fight.

Through all of it I worried though. From what Peter told me all that time ago, he’s dying. He creeps closer and closer to death and there’s nothing I can do to help him. I ask for details, I ask if there is anyway I can help, and Peter tells me it is not for me to worry about. He assures me he has it all under control. That sentiment loses some of its reassurance when he comes to me shaking and pale as a ghost. It’s always after he visits Skull Rock and looks at the hourglass ticking away his life.

One of these such nights he found me at my camp and held me close for a long while not saying anything. Not that he had to. I just wish there was something I could do to help. I hate seeing him like this.

“My love?” I whispered. Peter sat between my legs with his head resting on my chest and his arms wrapped around me. “You need to tell me if there is some way I can help you.”

Peter sighed. “I told you, my pearl, there is nothing about my situation that you need to worry yourself over. Now be sweet and keep playing with my hair. That is helping immensely.”

“I feel like I should be doing more though,” I carded my fingers through his hair, “I don’t want to just stand idly by while you…” I couldn’t finish the thought. “I want to help you.”

“You already are.” He gazed up at me with those clear green eyes I loved so much, “I don’t need you to fight or search or anything like that. I want you exactly where you are now. I want to know that you are safe here, waiting for me. That is all I need.”

“But--”

“Hush now,” he kissed my palm, “You worry yourself so easily. Things are already in motion. I will be safe and far from death by the end of the week if things go according to plan.”

“What? Why haven’t you said anything before?”

“Because I fear it may stir up painful memories for you. The Truest Believer will be here soon and I have a plan for when he arrives. You are not a part of it and that is how it is going to remain. Do you understand?”

“But I can help!”

“My love, my precious pearl,” Peter smoothed a finger across my bottom lip, “You already are. I want you right here where I know you are safe. Stay here. That is how you will help me.”

“But I could do so much more.”

“I don’t need you to do anything more.” He kissed me gently, “Now please, can you obey me in this one thing? I need you to trust me on this. You do trust me, don’t you, my love?”

“Of course I trust you.” I sighed, defeated, “But you will let me know if you need me to do more, right?”

“Of course,” He laid his head back down.

The night the Truest Believer arrived I didn’t see Peter at all. He told me he would be gone from my side for the majority of the time the Believer was on Neverland. It wasn’t unexpected but the sting of loneliness crept in still.

After the first night without Peter I became restless. Despite Peter’s warning to remain at my camp I decided to take a short stroll through the jungle. There were adults running about somewhere trying to rescue the boy Peter had. It is such a big island though and I know every inch of it. What were the odds that I would run into one of these adults? Still, I strapped my sword to my hip just in case. Adults or not Neverland was still plenty dangerous, especially at night.

I meandered through the jungle with no real destination in mind. Maybe I would go to Peter’s Thinking Tree. It had to be more fun than sitting all alone in my hut back on the beach.

“My young love said to me, ‘My mother won't mind and my father won't slight you for your lack of kind.’ Then she stepped away from me and this she did say, ‘It will not be long love till our wedding day.’” I sang quietly.

“She stepped away from me and she moved through the fair.” A voice from the deepest recesses of my mind answered with a melody as soft as it had been in my dreams. It was not a sound in my head though. It was much too real.

“And fondly I watched her move here and move there.” The foliage parted and in the moonlight appeared a troupe of adults but I only saw the one at the forefront. “Then she made her way homeward with one star awake. As the swan in the evening moves over the lake.”

He took a knee and gazed up at me, “Hello starfish,”

I opened my mouth to say something but nothing came out.

My father...my father was standing right in front of me after gods know how many years and I couldn’t think of a single thing to say. I just stared at him as my mind went through a million emotions at once.

“Hook?” One of his party asked, a blonde woman, “Who are we looking at here?”

“My daughter,” he answered simply, “I told you I had informants in Neverland.”

“You have a kid?” The other adults looked at him in shock. “You never mentioned that you had a daughter before.”

“Yes, well--”

“What are you doing here?” I said, my voice shaky and choked. All eyes swiveled to me once again. I gazed down at my father as all the sorrow and anger I had been harboring for decades started to boil over.

“Darling,” He reached out for me but I jumped back so he couldn’t touch me. He sighed, “Starfish, I know that what happened in the past must have been a shock but I’m here now. I’m back and I desperately need your help. Then all of this can be undone. Things can go back to what they were before.”

How dare he. How dare he come back. How dare he kneel in front of me and ask for my help. Did he not know? Did he not realize what he had done? How could he come back here after decades and pretend like nothing had happened?

He took advantage of my silence to reach for me again. I was still trying to think of what to say or do when he grabbed hold of my hand. “Starfish,” He whispered the nickname like a plea, “I am so happy to see you again. Please, can you help us? We can get you out of here.”

“No...” I pulled my hand from him. Tears sprung to my eyes and there was nothing to do to stop them. “NO!” I screamed, “No! No! No! No! No!”

“Darling, please--”

“You abandoned me!” I wailed, years of pent up anguish spilling out at once, “You left me here! That is not just a shock! That is not something you get to brush aside like it wasn’t a big deal. You traded me away for your freedom and now you have the gall to come back here and ask for my help?”

“It was a lot more complicated than that--”

“No it wasn’t! You had a choice and you chose your freedom over me! Your daughter! You didn’t even try coming back for me!”

“You don’t know that. You don’t know what I endured after I was forced to leave you.”

“Forced? You were not forced. You could have told Peter no when he asked you to trade me. You could have kept me and we could have stayed together. We’d be marooned here but at least we would have been together.” I kicked him in the center of his chest so he went falling backwards. The other adults tensed, weapons aimed but no one made a move to stop me as I towered over him.

“And do not tell me that you endured anything like it was a struggle. I spent months alone on the beaches praying that you would return. I cried myself to sleep and pleaded with the universe to send you back to me. When I was finally given a chance to be reunited with you do you know what I found? I found you in a tavern drinking and having a merry time without me. I wasn’t even a thought in your head!”

“Starfish--”

“I am not your starfish! I am not your daughter! You do not get to call me that after what you did. After what you put me through. You betrayed me! You traded me to our enemy and you didn’t even care!”

“I’m here now though.”

“But not for me.” I swallowed back the lump in my throat. “You knelt before me but it wasn’t with apologies or words of reassurance that you had come to rescue me. No. You returned and asked for my help like you have any right to it. Do not look for me again. Do not talk to me again. I want nothing to do with you.”

“Starfish, please,” He grabbed my arm, “Let me explain.”

“Let go of me!” I tried to pull my arm free.

“Hook, I think you should--” One of the other adults tried to intercede.

“No!” He pulled me closer, “Please, darling, I need you to listen to me. If you just give me the chance to explain then everything will be alright. We’ll get Henry and we’ll leave. You can leave this place and we can be a family again. I know I hurt you but we can still fix this.”

“You are not my family! I want nothing to do with you!” I kicked at him but he held me tighter.

“You don’t mean that.”

“Let go of me!”

“Starfish--”

“PETER!” I screamed. A hand was quickly clamped over my mouth but it was too late. Ominous clouds started to roll in casting the jungle into darkness. One of the adults conjured a ball of fire in her hands, the only source of light as the others strained to see in the dark. I felt a tingle go up my spine and relaxed.

“Get your hands off her.” Peter’s voice growled from the shadows. Father’s grip on me slackened for just a moment and I took the hesitation to rip myself away from him. I could make out Peter’s eyes glinting almost like a cat’s in the darkness and ran for him. He caught me in his arms and smoothed my hair, “Hush now, precious, it’s alright.”

“Pan,” Father barked, “Give me back my daughter!”

“And my son!” One of the women yelled.

“Neither of them are going anywhere. Especially not my Lost Girl.” Peter grinned. His thumb traced over my cheek wiping the tears that had fallen away, “Did the awful man make you cry, my love?”

I nodded. Peter pressed a soft kiss to my forehead.

“Love?” The other man in the group spoke his eyes wide in disbelief. He turned to father, “Your daughter is dating Peter Pan?”

“No…” Father looked horrified as he took in our body language. "My daughter would never--"

"Well she's not your daughter anymore. She ceased to be yours the moment you sent her to me.” Peter held me closer, “And I swear if you try taking her I will gut every last one of you.”

“Remove whatever spell you placed over her!”

“There is no spell. Did you really think that you could leave her here for decades and that she would still be the loyal pirate you had set adrift in a rowboat? I welcomed her to my island as an equal, I made sure she was provided for and looked after. Then in time she welcomed me as her friend and eventually as her lover.” Peter’s smile grew wide with that sadistic edge I loved. “She makes just the cutest noises.”

“You vile bastard!” Father charged at us with his blade drawn and murder in his eyes. The next moment Peter and I were standing on the beach by my hut.

“Was that last comment so necessary?” I asked.

“You can’t blame me wanting to torture him a little after what he did.” Peter chuckled lightly. “But how are you, my love? I told you to stay here. Why did you go wandering?”

“I was bored and lonely so…” I shrugged. My body was still shaking.

Peter sighed and kissed my forehead. “Hush, my love, I can’t imagine what you must have been thinking seeing him again.”

“I said what I wanted to. It doesn’t feel like it’s enough though. I don’t think I can accurately put into words what he made me feel. He could never understand what I endured because of him.” More tears started to slip from my eyes. Peter brushed them away.

“Come back to camp,” He said, “I want to be able to watch over you.”

I nodded, too emotionally exhausted to fight him on this. We drew curious glances when we entered camp. One of the boys I did not recognize and I realized I now had a face to pair with the heart Peter needed. Peter ignored everyone’s whispering and led me to his tent.

“Will you be okay in here?” Peter asked. “If you need me I’ll be right outside.”

“I’m fine.”

“One second,” he left and came back with a canteen and a bowl of food. “In case you get hungry. I also grabbed a couple books from your hut in case you wanted something to do. Do you need anything else?”

“Can you sit here with me for a minute? I just don’t want to be alone right now.”

“Of course, precious,” He sat down next to me and pulled me into his lap. “You’d tell me if you really aren’t doing well, wouldn’t you?”

“I would.” I buried my face in his neck. “Peter, I don’t know what game you are playing with these adults but if I can I want to be a part of it.”

“You already know why I won’t allow that.”

“Peter,” I fisted a hand in his tunic, “If you have the chance, leave Hook alive.”

“Why should I let that worm breathe after what he put you through?” Peter spat, “I should have killed him the second I saw him trying to take you.”

“No. Leave him alive and leave him to me.” Venom started to drip into my voice, “I want to be the one to kill him.”

---

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