#she knows the effort that was put in The Look

[pankiepoo]

idfk what im doing. thank u @fansblogs for helping with some dialogue editing

Transcript v

Suitcase: Fan?

Fan: Oh- H-Hey Suitcase!

Fan: So- how's it feel to be the season 2 winner, huh?

Suitcase: Heh, it feels… strange- yet… nice. But- are you alright?

Fan: Oh, I'm fine… all fine… except the fact that I'm- y'know, not real! Hah… I just… can't help thinking- was I just made to like the show? How am I even supposed to process that! I'm not sure how I didn't even notice- and I was… well- made to pay attention to the show… or so I thought.

Fan: Just- just look! Ha-ha, oh- an actual fan is ALSO a fan of the show! I mean- my- my first appearance was…. just a little gag. From how they(the viewers) viewed us- to what everyone else was made for- I had been right- we all were just some characters! Just… scripted, and, well- fake. But- but with this whole… "what's real" question, uh… you… did put on a very good speech.

Fan: I dunno. I just- well. I tried to keep the show from being practically- uh… everything? But, I still…

Suitcase: It's... still very important to you. I get that.

Fan: I- ...yeah.

Fan: Even if I know there's more... I'm still kind of- well... I'm still the biggest fan, right? Like- go ask Marshmallow and she's completely cutting ties with it! But- I can't give up the show like that. Would that be fake? To keep that purpose...?

Suitcase: Well... you've put a lot of time and effort into the show, and you still do.

Fan: O-Of course I do! I just- I don't know if that's just... some reflection of MePhone- a-and, y'know, as the #1 fan, that should be a dream come true, right? But- it's kind of... taking away any individuality to the point where I'm- I'm apparently just-

Fan: ...Something to be projected onto- like the egg... gosh, that's really making it hurt.

Suitcase: Even then- you've still built around that. You're more than that.

Fan: I- I know! But- MePhone left to- who knows where! Inanimate Insanity finally ended- and how am I supposed to deal with that?! If- If I was initially made to love the show- and- and there's no chance of continuation- then what do I do now?! I- I can't just- well, just... just...

Suitcase: I'm... sorry, Fan, but- you have to accept that the show... is over, and... that really isn't all you are... you know that.

Fan: I... I guess.

Test Tube: Fan! I need your help!

Fan: Oh- c-coming, Test Tube! See you, Suitcase!

Suitcase: Bye... Fan.

[rex3o]

Doting wife

Royal au! Sukuna x Reader

Being the emperors wife was something that you would have not expected to be in the position of. Many would think being the emperors wife, would bring in love, happiness and luxury. Yet your husband would be nothing of the sorts, yes you heard of his reputation. A cold and ruthless emperor with a thriving empire, you entered his palace with big hopes and determination of changing him to be a loving husband.

oh how wrong you was.

After 4 years of marriage and a heir to his throne, he was as cold and ruthless the day you met him. Every interaction was short or met with silence. You put effort in your duties as his wife and empress to the empire to impress him. Yet nothing. You wore his favourite colour. Nothing. You did your make up differently. Nothing. You tried talking to him about things he was interested... and nothing. He was not phased. During the birth of your son, he was nowhere to be seen only to come in the following morning and smile at the sight of his son. yet when his red eyes met yours his smile dropped.

So here you sat in the royal gardens watching your three year old son chase a butterfly with his toy sword. Letting your mind wander, you had tried everything.. what was you not doing that he hasn't even dropped a single thought on you. Your lady in waiting looked at you a bit confused as you continued to stare hardly at nothing.

"Your majesty" she says softly yet anxiously, as she looks at you while drifting her eyes to whatever thing you was staring at.

"hmm" you say.

"are you uh.. quite alright you seem to be staring at.." as she is lost for words.

You snap out of your thoughts and look at her, your eyes widening a little.

"oh apologises, I seemed to have lost myself in thought."

She exhales as she smiles at you.

"oh that is fine.. may I ask about what?"

"oh nothing.. you know.. thoughts." you say not really wanting to indulge on the countless attempts of getting your husband to even give a glance at you.

Your eyes land back on your son as you find him aggressively hitting the dead bug on the ground. Definitely his father's son. You thought. You got up from your seat as you approached your son to stop his insane antics and bring him back inside. The boy huffs and drops his toy sword and runs back inside as you followed after him, walking back inside the palace you spot Sukuna walking with several of his advisors, as they head somewhere. You do not let your eyes linger for long as you follow after where your son had ran off.

After several hours of chasing your son around the palace, you managed to catch him and get him ready for dinner. As you both head inside the dining hall, he runs and takes his space next to his father. Sukuna sat on his seat already busying himself with the food. You sit down and remain silent. How odd. You're never quiet at dinner. You ate your food only glancing at your son to see if he is eating like a proper boy and not gobbling his food like a damn animal.

Dinner goes swiftly, without a word as Sukuna finishes, you take your leave. He gives a quick glance at your figure.

The days went on, this new personality of yours. Quiet, not chatty as before. The little interactions of yours, well one sided conversations, with Sukuna went from infrequent to zero. He noticed this. As you slowly put your effort and interest into other things besides him. Sukuna would find himself at least hoping for a glance of you around the palace. Hell he would be even be satisfied by you uttering a single word at the dinner table. But no.

There you three was again at the table, silence except for your son's occasional ramble of what he did today to his father.

Sukuna bore his eyes onto you, as his son's yapping went from one ear to another. Gripping onto his utensils as he waits for your eyes to meet his, for you to utter something. Yet you sat on the opposite end eating your food finding the chandelier to be the most interesting thing you came across the whole day.

"Have we lost our manners suddenly." he blurts out annoyed.

You stop chewing as you slowly look at your husband, as if he grew a pair of wings and started to fly.

"pardon..." was the only thing you could conjure up.

"I am your husband, you are supposed to greet me, ask me how my day is.. have you forgotten your role wife?" he demands. Yet your clueless face irked him more.

".. uh- how was your day?" you ask, not knowing if you should or not. Sukuna grunts in response.

"that's more like it." Is all he says, as you remain confused for the remainder of the dinner.

Your interaction with Sukuna stuck out like sore thumb to you for the next couple of days. You did not know what to make of it. You stood silent, as the advisor chattered along on what to do for the next royal event. The advisor realising that your mind was on something else he quietened down waiting for you to speak. As you came back to reality, you looked at him confused.

"w-we can do this on another day empress if your feeling under the weather." he says anxiously. You just barked out a laugh.

"I am good, something had caught my attention, please continue." You say, as he goes continues. The door to the private meeting room swings open as Sukuna enters and makes his way next to you. The advisor taken aback looks at you if he should continue.

"Continue" Sukuna commands as the man starts his nervous ramble now more directed to Sukuna for the royal event. The meeting ends, the advisor leaves defeated as he didn't get much answers from the both of you.

This new behaviour of his continued, every day at least at one point of your day, he makes himself known and sit with you till he seems fit. He doesn't say anything some days but others he would demand you to say something, whatever it was you was doing on that day he will involve himself. Even if it was watching your son fight an imaginary dragon. But you did not back down. Yes this was entertaining watching your husband finally put some sort of an effort. So you kept this behaviour of yours up. Almost like a silent contest on who is going to break first.

As the day of the royal event dawned, you spoke to your guests, in your beautiful gown. Your presence captured everyone's attention.. even your husband. As a duke kindly asked for your hand for a dance. You took his request, as you both waltzed on the ballroom floor. As he lets you go for you to spin, you are met back with a familiar set of arms. Your eyes met your husbands crimson eyes.

You hold back your smile, as he lead you to dance. Everyone's lingering eyes drifted away, the music blending away in the back of your mind, as you both danced.

"You did not wear red.." Sukuna comments. You look back up at him.

"I have worn red too many times." You retort.

"Too many times.. even for your husband?"

All you did was shrug your shoulders, as his hand your waist tightens.

"You used to gab my ears off woman.. now your as silent as a mouse." He comments.

"And..?"

"Has my efforts not been enough.." He quietly says in your ear.

"You think, a couple weeks of you spending some time with me, making me question you is effort" you say back in disbelief.

"It is something woman" he says slightly annoyed.

You look at him, as your smile slowly fades.

"I spent the last four years, catering to your needs, acting as a good wife to you.. yet the moment I stop you suddenly remember you have a wife and start acting like somewhat of a companion-"

"companion" he says offended. "I have treated you like a husband should, I spent time with you, I spoke to you, I provided you with a palace and riches."

"oh thank you for doing the bare minimum." as you push yourself away from him and composing yourself as you walked away from the ballroom floor. Sukuna stands there as he walks off the opposite direction not wanting to make a scene in front of his guests clearly annoyed.

While the event progresses, as all he could think about was you, what you said. He watched your every move, every word you uttered to your guests, every sip you took from your glass, every hand movement. He took note of it. He did not care if people realised he was staring you down. He couldn't wrap his head around how you could even think of speaking to him like that.

Was what he did not enough? Before you would swoon if he even said a word to you. Now you did not care. You would chatter his ear off about things you assumed he would be interested in. Now silence. All your efforts now gone.

What was he not doing to get you back to being his doting little wife.

-

big FAT authors note : I cannot lie guys I am not fit for long fics but yk what I can do... make one shots so please enjoy what my mind could conjure up for 15 minutes after having 3 cups of chai. Also I may have a thing for historical au I dunno. my head is NOT working. so pls if there is any mistakes do LMK!

- R

[sleepingdiaryzzz]

Hear me out

Batsis baking something for them just because shes bored but shes horrible at baking (or she would just sabotage it idk put some peppers on the cake)would they just eat it?

Yandere Batfamily x reader

The kitchen smelled like war. Not the type fought with fists and weapons but the kind fought with flour, sugar, and an oven’s unrelenting heat. You stood in the middle of the chaos, apron smeared with batter and the counter coated in the powdered remnants of your efforts. You weren’t a baker—hell, you barely knew how to fry an egg—but boredom had a cruel way of twisting your decisions.

So here you were, baking for the people who had stolen you away under the guise of "family."

Not that you called them that.

Still, the silence of the manor grated on your nerves, and after hours of sulking and dodging their hovering presence, you thought, Why not? Maybe the mess would annoy them. Maybe the smell would be enough to break through their obsession-induced fog and remind them you weren’t playing along with their delusions.

The cupcakes you pulled from the oven looked… edible. Kind of. Half were lopsided, and a few were slightly charred. You dumped a ridiculous amount of frosting on top in an attempt to salvage them, but the end result was a tray of pastel blobs with vaguely cake-like shapes.

“Perfect,” you muttered sarcastically, swiping frosting from the counter with a finger.

Before you could second-guess your plan, the sound of footsteps approached. Slow, calculated. Bruce. You didn’t need to see him to know it was him—the weight of his presence filled the room like a stormcloud.

“Baking?” His voice was calm, laced with a hint of curiosity that made your skin crawl.

“Yeah,” you replied shortly, not looking at him. You started stacking the cupcakes onto a plate, pretending you didn’t care that he was watching. “Got bored.”

Bruce stepped closer, the faint rustle of his coat as deliberate as everything else he did. You hated how easily he could unsettle you. “It’s nice to see you trying something new,” he said, his tone gentle—fatherly, even.

You rolled your eyes, grabbing the plate and shoving it toward him. “Here. You can have them.”

Bruce took the plate without hesitation, his gloved hands looking out of place against the childish swirls of frosting. “Thank you,” he said, as though you’d gifted him something precious. “The others will appreciate this.”

As if summoned, the rest of the Batfamily began to trickle in.

Dick was the first to arrive, his easy smile faltering only slightly when he saw the cupcakes. “Did you make these, [Name]?” he asked, grabbing one before you could answer.

“Yep,” you said flatly, crossing your arms. “Don’t expect much.”

He took a bite. For a moment, his face betrayed nothing, but then his expression twisted into something that could only be described as polite horror. “Wow,” he managed, forcing a swallow. “These are… unique.”

Jason snorted as he sauntered in, the smell having lured him from whatever dark corner he’d been brooding in. “What’s this?” he asked, swiping a cupcake from the plate Bruce held. “Looks like someone murdered a unicorn.”

“Eat it and find out,” you snapped.

Jason raised an eyebrow but took a bite anyway. His reaction was less subtle than Dick’s—he gagged dramatically, spitting the mouthful into a napkin. “What the hell, kid? Did you put salt instead of sugar?”

“I don’t know, maybe!” you shot back, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

Tim appeared next, looking bleary-eyed and clutching a mug of coffee. He grabbed a cupcake without a word and took a bite. His eyes widened slightly, and he coughed. “Is this… is this cinnamon?”

“Possibly.”

“Cinnamon and… garlic?”

You frowned. “I didn’t put garlic in there.”

Damian was the last to enter, his nose wrinkling at the plate as though it offended him on a personal level. “What is this monstrosity?” he asked, glaring at the cupcakes.

“Dessert,” you said dryly. “Take it or leave it.”

To your surprise, he picked one up, inspecting it like it was a puzzle he intended to solve. He took a cautious bite, chewed, and swallowed. “Tolerable,” he declared, setting the half-eaten cupcake down with a disdainful sniff.

“See? Tolerable,” you said, pointing at Damian as though his judgment absolved you.

Jason groaned. “Tolerable isn’t exactly a ringing endorsement.”

Bruce, who hadn’t taken a bite yet, finally broke his silence. “It’s the effort that matters,” he said, his gaze settling on you with unnerving intensity.

You glared back at him, hating the way he spoke as though you’d done this out of love rather than sheer boredom. “Don’t read into it,” you said sharply. “It’s not like I had anything better to do.”

Bruce didn’t respond, but the faint smile tugging at his lips told you he didn’t believe you.

Despite the disaster your cupcakes turned out to be, they ate them—or tried to. Even Jason, after some grumbling, finished his. Maybe they thought it would please you. Maybe it was another way to force their twisted idea of “family” on you.

Or maybe, you realized with a pang of unease, they just couldn’t say no to you.

The thought was more unsettling than anything else.

[loycos]

this season we got to see a whole new side to caitlyn's fighting: close counters. something that she used to be so, SO terrible at.

This season, not only did we see her physically fighting twice, but she also went against the 2 most badass fucking terrifying butches on the show: Sevika and Ambessa. and in both times, she WON.

how does that make any sense? is she now an amazing crazy brawler who can kick anyone's ass??? hardly. of course there are factors at play that helped her achieve this other than raw strength (the hextech malfunction and mel's magic, respectively). but just how the hell did she even hold on her own in physical fights with these beasts of women without them literally flattening her in less that 5 seconds?

that's where a whole side of Caitlyn that i don't see discussed often comes in: respect. or at least, lack thereof. Caitlyn is one of the least respected characters in the show, by other characters. i've addressed it in a post before with Jinx, who doesn't want to acknowledge Caitlyn as a human, for many reasons, but it can definitely come across as disrespect. we saw it with Salo on 2 different occasions. Singed did not give a fuck about Caitlyn's threats and basically called her an impatient baby. she is referred to as a "child" or a "girl" more than fucking Isha. if we go back to season 1, seems like her own parents struggled seeing her as an adult that can make her own choices. her coworkers make fun of her dedication. Marcus thought she was an entitled brat. when they first met, VI didn't respect Caitlyn at ALL.

the 3 characters who know Caitlyn and respect her are: Vi, Jayce, and Mel. that's so fucking sad. Caitlyn wants to be acknowledged for who she is and her capabilities, yet she has to fight harder for it than anyone else around, despite her privilege. or maybe because of it. notice how it's something Maddie preys on: "Piltover looks up to you. i look up to you". she knows Caitlyn desperately wants be taken seriously.

back to fighting: if you notice, Sevika and Ambessa are doing the exact same thing here.

during their fight, Sevika looked like she was mostly just pushing Caitlyn around, trying to hold her off, while Cailtyn was fighting for her life.

we know how ruthless Sevika can be when she actually puts effort into fighting, but in this case it looks like she was playing with her food for just a little too long, and then the hextech weapons started freaking out. and that cost her the fight.

with Ambessa it's even clearer. yes, in a way she sees Caitlyn almost like a surrogate daughter, but does she? notice how she calls Mel by her name. she addresses Caitlyn as "child", and she's not even HER child. it's belittling. Ambessa mostly tries to mold her, and she clearly did not expect Caitlyn to be intelligent enough to pick up on it.

the whole fight in episode 9. Ambessa letting the mole she planted in Caitlyn's bed to execute her? not even doing it herself? disrespect. mocking her for being desperate? disrespect.

when they actually fight, Ambessa shows the exact same symptoms Sevika did. maybe its a Noxian ritual or something, to torture your victim before u publicly execute them, but in certain points in the fight she couldve had Caitlyn killed and just chose not to. it's especially noticeable after she gauges Caitlyn's eye, and Caitlyn rests defenseless on the floor, bleeding on 2 fronts. what does Ambessa say? "you fought well, child." if that's not the disrespect of the century i don't know what is. and AGAIN, this cost Ambessa the fight. and her life, in this case.

the saddest part of it all is that Caitlyn is the character that shows respect the most, to almost everyone she meets. regardless of how they treat her.

[rootspiral]

Agatha All Along deep dive: episode 6 part 3

(Wandavision entries: [1][2][3])

(AAA entries: ep1 [1][2][3][4] ep2 [1][2][3][4] ep3 [1][2][3] ep4 [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][+1] ep5 [1][2][3][4][5] ep6 [1][2][3] ep7 [1][2])

I think this might actually be my favorite Agatha, for real? Like, the ring binder. The pOUTING. She's SO serious. I want to talk to her in a baby voice, just like, to be supportive of her little things.

And the Bohner family reunion shirt, of course. the gray socks, the garden hose sprayer as a gun. To use tumblr lingo, that's the saddest meow meow of a woman I've ever seen, and I'm obsessed with her.

GAY ON GAY VIOLENCE

joe was holding for dear life, but he didn't laugh. because he's a professional.

billy putting all the hours he spent on tvtropes dot com to good use

he's always a little smug, like he thinks he's in control, that he knows better. when he actually doesn't know shit! that's the whole attitude he brought to the Road.

and that's detective agnes o'connor to you, you little punk.

the click pen gag destroys me. this is 5 minutes of kathryn and joe being silly and, look, does it further the plot? no. am I having fun? sure am! so who's to say it's wasted time?

and the way she looks so small and lost when reality slips in for a moment, she is so precious to me.

look at the hand going in witchy position, the real agatha fighting to regain control. what a great acting choice.

for context he spent all of five minutes in the closet before bursting out in a a cloud of nail polish fumes. and it still was five minutes too many

the draMATIC zoOM IN

you thought quicksand would be enough to kill thee agatha harkness?? you're gonna need to put some more effort to it, some flair! and what's more, she's gonna complain about it the whooooole time

fare thee well swooshy coat

I just realized all the little innocent questions billy keeps peppering agatha with are exactly because he can't read her mind, so he's trying to get information for the Road on the down low

you guys keep accidentally shaping reality. it's a fairly big tell.

she tries to joke as usual, but when billy doesn't respond she sighs and tries to be soft and thoughtful. she's not AT ALL comfortable opening up so it's laced with manipulation, but hey, she tries

goddamnit she's crying again. I told you she loves billy for being billy, and not just as a nicky stand-in. this is the brilliant little boy who could always see right through her, and agatha has loved him since the day he was born.

hey there kiddo. so you've killed a few witches, happens to the best of us. look at me, killing witches never opened a gaping black chasm in my soul or anything. you're going to be fine.

billy is so not amused

just like with wanda, there's so much there. sympathy, thirst for power, genuine interest in cool witchcraft, self preservation, fear, desire. she wants to connect, she wants to squash him like a bug, she wants to steal his powers and run, she wants to MOTHER him

and in all this whirlwind of emotions, mothering wins out. and it's projecting and it's selfish, she's telling him what she wishes her own mother would have told her.

she is uplifting billy and giving him a pep talk, but she's also giving herself a pep talk. she's proudly claiming her status as a survivor, while also trying to justify - to herself and to billy - all she atrocities she's committed. like I said, there's always so much there. at least 90% of her is purely selfish, and then there's a luminous little corner of her soul that is capable of so much love.

and at the end of a speech that started calculated and became all passion, she reclaims her identity as a witch, despite all the difficult history there. her mother passed on overwhelming internalized hatred and fear of witchfolk and - inevitably, some serious self-hatred. Her sense of identity and belonging is all fucked up, she must have been trying to negotiate and come to terms with it since she was a child.

and of course, being agatha, she hates herself while still believing she's the greatest witch that ever lived.

oooh, who's an edgy boy! I've been thinking about billy's defense mechanisms too, he usually goes for the innocent teen persona (a bit like agatha chooses to play cheesy characters) but he gets so very edgy and dramatic when upset. I think deep down he's more proud and self-involved that he'd be comfortable admitting, and why wouldn't he? he's so powerful. he can read everyone around him like an open book, a part of him genuinely thinks he's figured it all out. he doesn't like being told that he's wrong because ultimately he's TERRIFIED of being wrong and making a mess of things like agatha or wanda.

and he's carrying so much destructive potential that his growing pains, the mistakes that every young person ought to make, could have catastrophic consequences. that's why he so badly needs agatha's guidance, she's the only one who could possibly understand all that. if, you know, she could only work through her own shit first.

lmao that was such an elaborate (and cruel) way to land a joke. and she KNOWS tommy's name, she's just being a bitch

mustache!

billy getting in her face to yell at her reminds me of when she's confronted by jen in the finale, she tries to joke and deflect until jen no longer allows it. she is so afraid of facing her own responsibilities.

and she gets serious just for a moment, just long enough to betray how much billy's rejection actually hurts her. and she didn't expect anything else, so she keeps rejecting people first only to be heartbroken again when they do too. such a vicious cycle.

and the walls are up again.

and she swaggers off, the wretched muddy little creature. she looks almost cool.

next up:

yeah, it's lilia's episode.

goddammit.

[rheheartssquirrels]

Can’t do it yourself?

Warnings: Sex with strap!! 😲

Summary: Ellie making you fuck yourself :)

A/N: Randomly thought of this while walking to school?!

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

There was no way to get out of this mess. No way.

“Ellie— fuck, please!” You pled like your life depended on it. Mind dazed and clouded with pleasure, barely able to comprehend a thought, you give out and rest your head back against the pillows. Your arms were tied behind you, and there was no way in hell you would actually survive.

Why were you so damn fucked? because you were getting fucked. By who?— Ellie Williams. Your god-damn girlfriend.

Well, not at the moment.

“I wanna see you move..” She rasped out, a tinge of excitement in her voice as she stared down at you. The tip of her strap had made it’s way into your entrance, stopping there and teasing your cunt. Ellie was fucking crazy for this, having you on your back, legs spread, and making you to fuck yourself.

“I can’t, you know that!” You huffed out, tilting your head to get a better look at the way she barely had her cock in you. It was placed perfectly for your hips to squirm around and feel something, though it was far from being properly taken care of. Fingering was one thing, but having her pound in you was another. Everytime she drove into you you swore you could go stupid. Go entirely crazy at how good she was at rolling her strap into you.

Just thinking about it made your pussy wet. So, with a whine, you slid down to push more of her into you.

Then again, Ellie wasn’t one to like being ignored. Right when you could feel her going deeper, Ellie’s slender fingers gripped your hips and thrusted one hard pound and then pulled out to where she was before. Back to teasing you. There was no way in hell your girlfriend would allow you to go against her, have it your way. For, she was the one dominating you, nothing more nothing less. And, undoubtedly, feeling your insides squeezed against her strap, you gasp out with satisfaction. You hoped she’d keep going, but you were quickly disappointed with the fact that she really would make you do it yourself. It was cruel and twisted.

“Whoa, not so fast..” Ellie whispered, a playful smile on her face, “Who said you’re getting it deep?..” You practically groan at her insistence. You needed to have her ruin your walls, fuck you like there was no tomorrow. Possibly even loosen you out with those hips of hers. Your lidded eyes met her green ones and you were sure she was enjoying this, torturing you. “Ellie, please..” Her name rolled off your tongue as a whine and it sure made her cheeks red; you could tell she was trying to be a good top for you.

“I said move.” Pussy throbbing for friction, you let slip a soft.. noise at her demanding tone. You’d rarely hear it but, damn, you loved it too much. You move your hips at, both, your and her liking. Circular motion on the tip of her cock. It made your body shudder with need. Occasionally, you’d move up and down to rub her against your clit, and, my-my, did it make you moan.

Ellie loved watching you grew desperate, even more than before, staring at your face and your hips. Her own cunt was throbbing, even wet from being aroused. The sight of you was one she’d worship, and it was getting harder to keep teasing you. Keep herself from giving you the release you seemed to, clearly, need.

So, she didnt. With a grip on your thighs, she hooked your legs around her neck before pushing deep into you. Ellie knew exactly how to fuck your tight pussy. Before you could react, she dug into you like some excavator. Drilling deep into your walls and hitting ever spot that made you stupid. Completely and utterly stupid. Moans and pants filled the room as she steadied her pace, fast and hard pounding until she knew for sure you were finished.

“Ugh!— Ellie— Ellie, oh my.. fuck!” There you were, unable to speak without putting effort into it. Your body recoiled with the force Ellie had, causing your tities to fly up and down. And, of course, your girlfriend liked the sight. So much so that she had to feel it.

Gripping your breasts, she fastened her pace, though it was hard to imagine going faster than she already was. Lewd praises left Ellie’s lips, “You like that?” She’d whisper out, smiling as if she’d never seen you like this. “Yeah, you definitely like this, Baby..” You did like— love it.

Praise was what made you cum, what made you all flustered. And your girlfriend knew the exact words that could get you going, get you cumming faster. It got your mind all hazy, leaving you to beg for mercy.

Your walls closing, you couldn’t get enough of the sweet, delicious, thrusting your girlfriend had provided for you. It was like you could die here, all dazed and happy. The squelching noise from your cunt was making you, both, embarrassed and surprised, you hadn’t realised just how soaked you were. At least your girlfriend knew. She’d have one hell of a meal afer this.

With one final thrust, she stopped deep in you. Her cock filling you up like you’d needed it to. The shock came, and you felt yourself loosing control over your body. Shuddering and writhing like a fuckin’ bitch— you were Ellie’s bitch. So you didn’t mind.

And, anyways, your girlfriend was enjoying the view. Admiring the way you looked. Disheveled by the overwhelming pleasure that had taken over your body and had left you feeling amazing. Then again, Ellie never missed. The way her hips rolled to thrust into you, it was so damn attractive that you could cum to it alone.

“Great job, Baby.. you’re so.. gorgeous.” Ellie murmured, keeping inside you while leaning down to kiss your forehead. Both of you were gasping for air, it was all worth it. “Mind owing your girl a favour?”

Sixty-nine it was.

[sometimesanalice]

Oh you absolutely sent me into a full swoon and tizzy with this!! The sheer about of mutual pining nearly did me in!

There were so many lovely soft moments folded in this that made me all kinds of delicate!

I loved the banter and the way they were comfortable around each other! And that ending!! I was ALL CAPSED over it!

I adoreddddd this cozy fic!!

More for you!

The smile on his face grew as he took you in - sweatpants, a baggy sweatshirt dotted with flour, fuzzy socks, and not a stitch of makeup. The difference from your normally put-together appearance was stark. “Morning, Duch.”—- I love that he is clearly so charmed getting to see her in her most casual state of being. Those little domestic moments that most people don't get to experience with each other unless they're roommates or living together! it's probably the most undone he's ever seen her, and it's the best kind of new for them!

“I will throat punch you if you touch me with that.” -- the way I snorted, but also she's so real for this because those innards are foul (or fowl if we go the pun route, lol)

“You’re right. Bob probably has a pretty one.”//Bradley didn’t want to hear that you were thinking about Bob’s dick.-- HUFFY MAN IS MY FAVORITE KIND OF MAN

Bradley leaned against the counter beside you and sipped his coffee while glancing around the kitchen. Seeing him relaxing there, one leg crossed over the other and looking like he’d just rolled out of bed, made something flutter in your chest. — i loved how seamlessly they moved about in that domestic duet in the kitchen (minus a buttery hiccup with that injector) getting the turkey prepped! the way they were moving in sync with one another. I enjoyed that who sequence and how easy it is between them! a little glimpse into how it could be between them! but this bit here, them getting to have a moment of downtime together and the way the yearning comes rushing back in. the want!

“You know, you could have saved a lot of time if you’d just agreed to let Hangman fry the turkey.”//That made you snort. “I just finished my renovations - the last thing I want is for my house to burn down.” — Jake seresin in the kitchen is serving CHAOS. I just know he'd be a whole menace and a half if he was the one in charge of the turkey.

“It looks good, Duch,” he said softly, gaze holding yours for a long moment. You felt those inconvenient butterflies again and shoved them aside, dropping your eyes to the cutting board.— INCONVENIENT BUTTERFLIES!! He's so precious for this. I bet he was the ear who listened whenever she needed to complain or offload about the reno, so he knows all about the effort that went into her creating her space. also, if I had a bradley bradshaw gazing the way he's looking at her, i'd probably melt to the ground.

Bradley wasn’t for you.— ok but this line hurts so much 😭😭😭

You rolled your lips together to keep from smiling when he pulled his phone from his pocket and watched videos of turkey injections before declaring he would be in charge of it.— sweet boy!! he's like trying to win her over with his turkey skills now and it's cute to see. the if he wanted to, he would of it all

“I never got to do this before. My mom and I would always go to my cousin’s for Thanksgiving before she died, and it always seemed kinda fun.” //“Yeah?” he asked, excitement flashing in his eyes. — awh this is so sweet! he’s so precious here! Also my guilty pleasure is Bradley Bradshaw in the kitchen so this is everything to me. And I love that she’s the one who gets to guide him through his first Thanksgiving as a sous chef!

“Did you make these?” he asked, setting the containers beside you as you heated a skillet on the stove.//“I did - family tradition is grilled muffins on Thanksgiving morning. You okay with blueberry?” At his nod, you started slicing muffins in half. Rather than giving you space, Bradley stayed at your elbow.— oh I’m all soft over her sharing some of her family traditions with him!! I just know he was absolutely absorbing every moment of it, and getting to have these special little pieces of her that not everyone gets to have. Like the grilled muffins for breakfast on Thanksgiving!

He sprawled on one end of the couch, plate balanced on a thigh as he sipped his coffee. — what does a girl have to do to get this life

“Mine’s more of a ‘hopeless’ chest,’ though. I guess they finally gave up on me getting married because they gave it to me when they sold their house and moved closer to the grandkids. I figured I’d get it out and use it instead of having it sit in the cardboard boxes it’s been in for over two decades.”— I’m too delicate for this 😭😭 this is such a tender spot for her and I’m aching on her behalf!

He nodded even though he didn’t. Bradley never asked for the time off unless he was dating someone who insisted on it. With no family to visit, he was happy to volunteer when there was reduced manning and allow others to take leave.— catch me crying on the couch

“Turn around, Duch.” After a beat, you stepped back to allow him inside and did as he said.— 🫡🫡🫡🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨

“You look fine, too,” he said softly. — oh I’m swooning though, THEIR MUTAL PINING IS GOING TO BE THE END FOR ME

“He’s been here all morning,” you blurted out, flushing when both sets of eyes landed on you. “He’s taking care of the turkey.” —plsss 😂😂😂 her just blurting that out is so amusing to me. also we all know another he could be taking care of if you’d let him 💁🏼‍♀️💁🏼‍♀️

“He’s being supervised,” you assured, glancing over your shoulder to see him rolling his eyes. — 🤭🤭

Digging through a drawer, you pulled out an apron and put it on, crossing the strings behind your back before tying them in a bow across your stomach. You thought you heard a murmured ‘Jesus Christ’ when you turned around to see him holding the pot holders. — that man is officially fighting for his lifeeeee lolololol

“Who would have thought the guy who made the barracks evacuate after he burned ramen would make a good turkey,” Nat smirked. Bradley flipped her off, unable to keep the proud grin off his face. — C A C K L I N G, but he had a lady to impress! He wasn’t going to fuck it up!

“You okay, honey?” //The term of endearment caught you off-guard and had clearly slipped out by the flush on Bradley’s cheeks. “Honey?” you echoed, quirking a brow.//“Duchess,” he corrected. — the way I SQUEALED

“Just waiting for something to interrupt.” At your questioning look, he chuckled. “Been trying to kiss you all day, and something always gets in the way.” — AND NOW I AM SCREAMINGGGGG ‼️‼️‼️

“Been thinkin’ about kissing you since that night at the Hard Deck, actually.” — AND HE HAS BEEN YEARNING AND PINING AND LONGING FOR MONTHS?!?!?! I am Certified Unwell™️ and losing my minddd

“When you told me you liked me.” Mortified, you felt a sudden flush of heat and tried to pull away, but he held firm. “But that you didn’t think I was a relationship guy.” — SEND HELP THIS IS AN SOS IM IN A TIZZY THIS IS TOO MUCH FOR ME

“Honey, I’m not interested in her. And she’s not… ask Nat. She’s been on my case about my” - he lifted a hand to make air quotes - “‘hoe phase’ since I got out here.” - L M A O

“As much as this is doin’ things for me,” he said softly, pulling at the apron strings tied at your stomach, “I think we’re done in the kitchen tonight.” — and she had the little apron on all night?!?! Move over Mr Darcy Hand Clench! Bradley Bradshaw undoing some apron strings has swooped in for the most swoon worthy moment of all time.

“Yeah,” you whispered, allowing yourself to reach out and run a hand through his curls. Bradley's eyes closed when you lightly scratched his scalp, and he swayed closer. — this would also be my first order of business 🫡 those curls are EVERYTHING. She’s got her priorities in order

Blushing, you wondered how it would feel on your inner thighs. He chuckled, kissing your cheek, “What’re you thinking that’s got you red?” — AHHHHHH

“Gonna take you on a couple of dates before we get to that.”/“No more ‘hoe phase.’” // “Maybe just one more night?” That made him laugh again as he shook his head.— an officer and a gentleman and a hoe! The holy trinity! I love her for being like “ok but hear me out…” lmao. I wouldn’t want to wait if I had a Bradley Bradshaw under me on the couch too 😂

Author's Note: Do I think that Bradley has a raging domesticity kink? Possibly. — 1000% a certifiable fact lololol

this was everything I needed and more!

Rooster wasn't for you. You were opposites in so many ways - he was an extrovert to your introvert. The center of attention to your wallflower. You weren't interested in a one night stand, and he couldn't offer more. So his volunteering to help with Friendsgiving was just a friendly gesture after you returned from a deployment...right?

Word count: 7.8K

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“Just a minute!” you called, swiping a strand of hair from your face. The knocking stopped, and you quickly washed the flour from your hands, drying them on the towel thrown over your shoulder while heading to the door.

And there, standing on your front step as the sun started to rise, was Bradley. His normally styled curls were sleep-mussed, his grey t-shirt clinging to his arms and untucked from his Navy PT sweatpants. The smile on his face grew as he took you in - sweatpants, a baggy sweatshirt dotted with flour, fuzzy socks, and not a stitch of makeup. The difference from your normally put-together appearance was stark. “Morning, Duch.”

“You’re late.” Laughing, he held up a bag of microwavable frozen corn.

“Had to turn around when I forgot my contribution.” Rolling your eyes, you stepped back to let him in, watching to ensure he removed his shoes before following you into the kitchen.

“The turkey’s already thawed and in the sink. I just need you to clean it out, and I can take it from there.” Bradley nodded, tossing you the corn before going to the kitchen. You put it in the freezer and walked to the downstairs bathroom to wash your hands before resuming your spot at the counter, picking up your bread lame and staring at the unbaked loaf. A part of you wanted to do a simple score, knowing that it would just be eaten, but the hostess in you demanded a more intricate design. The indecision tore at you. To buy time, you sprinkled the top with more rice flour. 

“Can you get me the trashcan?” Bradley asked, and you nodded, quickly abandoning your project. After you set it beside him and pulled off the cover, he tossed the netting and plastic. You couldn’t help but notice his biceps flex as he shifted the turkey. But you shrunk back when he reached into the cavity and pulled out the giblets and gravy package, shaking your head at his raised eyebrow. He discarded them as you braced yourself, nose scrunching when he removed the neck. “You alright there, Duch?” he teased. 

“Gross.” 

“It’s just a turkey neck,” he said, holding it closer to you. You jumped back.

“I will throat punch you if you touch me with that.” He laughed, edging it closer, and you raised a fist. There was a reason a condition of you hosting everyone for Friendsgiving was someone else cleaning the turkey.

“Didn’t take you for being squeamish.” 

“You would be, too, if your grandpa chased you around the house with it when you were a kid, and you had to lock yourself in a bathroom to escape.” At his barked laugh, you shook your head. “I told that to my ex, and he thought it was funny to put it in his zipper and chase me around the house with it. If floppy dick isn’t attractive, a turkey neck sure as shit isn’t.” 

Bradley choked on a laugh. For as prim and proper as you were at times - hence the callsign Duchess - you sometimes reminded everyone that you also had a military sense of humor. “Maybe you just haven’t seen the right ‘floppy dick,’” he smirked, dropping the neck into the trash. 

Shrugging, you glanced away from him when the oven beeped, alerting that it was preheated. “You’re right. Bob probably has a pretty one.” A rosy flush crept up his cheeks as he turned back to the turkey and forced a laugh. Bradley didn’t want to hear that you were thinking about Bob’s dick. “Put it in this afterward, and I’ll dry it.” After dropping the roasting pan beside him, you rewashed your hands.

Standing in front of your bread, you bit your lip to keep from giggling as you contemplated scoring a dick into the dough but decided to go with a traditional wheat stalk. To your surprise, he grabbed the roll of paper towels by the sink and patted the turkey dry, even the cavity. As you removed the Dutch oven from the preheated oven, he tied up the trash bag and took it out. After putting the bread into the oven, you set the timer and moved to the sink, glancing at Bradley when he came back in. Standing beside you, he reached for the soap and lowered the water temperature before scrubbing his hands. Removing the hand towel from your shoulder, you draped it over his after drying your hands. “Thanks,” he murmured. 

“Thanks for taking care of the turkey.” Standing by the island, you crouched to retrieve a cutting board. The sound of other cabinets closing made you peek over the countertop to see him rooting through the overhead storage. “Are you looking for something?” 

“Coffee mugs.” Biting back a retort about making himself comfortable, you pointed to the right of the stove. You bit your tongue when he grabbed two mugs - including your favorite - and went to the wet bar where the full pot was finished brewing. Placing the cutting board on the counter, you grabbed a knife from the block and were surprised to see a mug of coffee beside your workstation. Murmuring your thanks, you grabbed the creamer from the fridge along with packages of herbs and butter. “What are you making?” Bradley asked.

“A marinade since I didn’t brine the turkey.” 

“You want a hand?” 

“I’ve got it,” you said automatically. “I’ve got a schedule.” He didn’t need to know that you were already behind after falling asleep on the couch early last night and forgetting to set your alarm. And he definitely didn’t need to know that you’d only been awake for 20 minutes before he arrived. If you put your head down and focused, everything would still be ready to eat at the agreed-upon 3:00 PM. Some of your time to get yourself ready would just have to be sacrificed. For some reason, you’d insisted that everyone dress nicely for Friendsgiving. Wearing a uniform almost every day didn’t give you any opportunities to dress up, and sometimes it felt nice to wear something other than jeans and a t-shirt. 

Setting your tablet up, you navigated through the bookmarked recipes and rinsed the herbs before pulling them from the stems. Bradley leaned against the counter beside you and sipped his coffee while glancing around the kitchen. Seeing him relaxing there, one leg crossed over the other and looking like he’d just rolled out of bed, made something flutter in your chest. 

“You know, you could have saved a lot of time if you’d just agreed to let Hangman fry the turkey.”

That made you snort. “I just finished my renovations - the last thing I want is for my house to burn down.” It had taken months to get your home exactly how you wanted it. After twelve years in the Navy, you were ready to put down some roots, and buying a home had seemed like the smart thing to do. Living in a construction zone for the last year hadn’t been fun, but a well-timed deployment meant you weren’t there for the worst of it. The results were worth the pain, and you’d jumped at the chance to host when you got back and realized most of the squad had no plans for Thanksgiving. You couldn’t wait for them to see the changes in the Craftsman that had been a definite fixer-upper when you purchased it. The kitchen had been completely gutted and replaced with double ovens and quartz countertops, and the smaller kitchen island had been moved and changed to a wet bar with a wine fridge, replaced with an oversized one. The popcorn texture was scraped from the ceiling throughout the house, the floors redone, and the walls painted. The primary bath had been updated with a large soaker tub and walk-in shower, and you loved the giant closet. The guest bathrooms still needed work, as did the yard, but those were projects for later. 

“It looks good, Duch,” he said softly, gaze holding yours for a long moment. You felt those inconvenient butterflies again and shoved them aside, dropping your eyes to the cutting board. Bradley wasn’t for you. You were too different - he enjoyed nights out at the bar, while you liked to spend time at home. He liked being the center of attention while you preferred to blend into the background. Besides, he didn’t seem much like a relationship guy, given the number of flings he had at the Hard Deck, while the idea of casual dating gave you hives. Pushing away from the counter, Bradley reached under the sink for a trashbag, putting it into the can before washing his hands. He moved closer, nose twitching slightly at the scent of rosemary, and braced his big hands on the countertop beside you. “Alright, what can I do?” 

“You don’t - ”

“Lemme help.” His eyes met yours, smiling when you sighed. 

“Fine. The meat injector is in here,” you said, bumping one of the drawer handles with your hip. “And I’ll need the chicken stock from the pantry.” Pouring the stock, herbs, and a couple of sticks of butter into a stockpan, you handed Bradley a silicone spatula and told him to stir. You rolled your lips together to keep from smiling when he pulled his phone from his pocket and watched videos of turkey injections before declaring he would be in charge of it. Reluctantly, you agreed. Once the marinade had cooled, the bird was given a second drying, you had finished the coffee, and Bradley had rewatched the video three times, it was time. He studied the turkey through narrowed eyes as you tried not to laugh. “You want to - ”

“Ah!”

“The breast and thighs - ”

“I’m doing it, Duch,” he cut you off. 

“Well, remember that if it turns out dry.” The unimpressed look Bradley shot you made you grin as you put your chin in your hand and motioned for him to proceed. The tip of his tongue poked through his lips as he filled the injector and hovered the needle over the turkey. His eyes darted to you, and you raised an eyebrow. “You can tap out at any time, Rooster.” Instead of replying, he pierced the meat and pushed down on the plunger. You couldn’t help but laugh when he yelped, marinade spraying in his face after pushing too hard. But when he reached to wipe it away, you caught his hands. “Don’t put turkey germs all over your face,” you scoffed, towing him toward the sink. You held his chin while cleaning his face with wet paper towels. 

“Now you’re just messing with me,” he chuckled when you scrubbed his mustache, but he didn’t pull away. His breath was hot on your hand, and his smile soft when you reached up to dab away a speck of garlic in his eyebrow. Balling up the paper towel, you shook your head. 

“Wash your face with soap to make sure you don’t get salmonella. Cyclone’ll kill me if you’re out with food poisoning.” Turning on the water, you ensured it was warm before getting a clean washcloth. The oven timer beeped as you dug through the linen closet, and you hurried back into the kitchen, throwing the towel on the sink beside him and grabbing the pot holders to take out your bread. Once it was on the wire rack to cool, you moved to the turkey. 

“What’re you doing?” Bradley demanded, turning while drying his face. 

“Taking over.” You gasped when he closed the space between you in a few strides, wrapped his arm around your waist, and lifted you away from the counter. “Bradshaw! What the hell?”

“Told you I’m doing it,” he chuckled in your ear. Once back on your feet, you spun in his hold and stared at him. Butterflies erupted in your stomach at his cocky smirk. 

“Fine, but if you waste more of my marinade, you’re out of my kitchen.”

“Deal.” 

Thankfully, there were no further incidents, but you kept a close eye on him while slicing up a loaf of bread you’d baked two days before and let go stale for stuffing. After covering the roasting tray with tin foil, the bird went back into the fridge to rest for a few hours. “Thanks, Rooster. I guess I’ll see you later?”

“What else can I do?” 

“You don’t - ” 

“I want to help. I haven’t…” his eyes dropped to the floor as he shrugged. “I never got to do this before. My mom and I would always go to my cousin’s for Thanksgiving before she died, and it always seemed kinda fun.” 

Everyone on the squad knew that Bradley’s parents had passed when he was young. He didn’t mention them often, but you noticed he’d get quiet sometimes when people talked about their families. So his volunteering the information felt important, and glancing at the clock showed that you were still behind schedule. “Fine.”

“Yeah?” he asked, excitement flashing in his eyes. 

“Don’t look so happy - you’re doing prep work. You can peel potatoes, assemble the veggie tray, and roast the garlic. I need to work on sides and desserts.” 

And he did. Bradley followed your instructions, grimacing while peeling potatoes over the trash can until you took out a plastic bag and put it in the sink for him to do it there. You kept an eye on him as he cut the spuds into uniform pieces after explaining that they wouldn’t cook evenly for the mashed potatoes, somewhat worried that he would cut himself. Rather than deal with the onions, you delegated the task and tried not to laugh at his near-constant sniffles and swipes at his watery eyes as you diced peppers. Once you dug out the hand-me-down crystal platters, he arranged the veggies you’d prepped the night before while making pies. Dips were mixed, and cans of olives and bottles of pickles were opened and drained before being plated.

Other than bumping into one another when going for the fridge at the same time, it wasn’t too bad sharing the kitchen. The coffee pot was quickly emptied, and Bradley brewed another between shredding blocks of cheese. You sang along with your playlists, his deep voice joining on a few songs while teasing you about others. When you sang about karma being a kink, he watched your hips sway at the sink, clenching his jaw when you sang a breathy ‘oh god.’ 

He slid the roasting tray into the oven when the turkey was rested and ready to cook. “Now what?” he asked, turning to look at you. 

“Now we keep an eye on it for about four hours. Baste and re-inject it every hour or so,” you shrugged. A glance at his watch showed it would be almost 2:00 PM by the time it was ready. As though realizing it would still be hours before eating, his stomach grumbled its discontent. He blushed when you smirked. “I guess the least I can do is make my sous chef breakfast. Get the muffins and butter from the fridge for me.”  

“Did you make these?” he asked, setting the containers beside you as you heated a skillet on the stove.

“I did - family tradition is grilled muffins on Thanksgiving morning. You okay with blueberry?” At his nod, you started slicing muffins in half. Rather than giving you space, Bradley stayed at your elbow. A comfortable silence fell, broken only by sizzling butter. His gaze met yours when you glanced up at him, and a smile tugged at his mouth. 

An image of reaching up to bury your fingers in his messy curls and tugging his mouth down to meet yours flashed through your mind. Your fingers twitched with the urge to do it, eyes drifting to his mouth and lingering there for a moment too long. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, and you forced yourself to look away, heat creeping into your face. 

You nearly jumped out of your skin when he reached up to shift a strand of hair that had fallen from your messy bun. “I’m glad you're back, Duch,” he said, voice slightly raspy. 

Forcing a laugh, you plated two muffins and handed them to him. “Everyone misses the mom friend of the group when she’s deployed.” Your eyes darted to his stomach when it growled again, just in time to see the front of his sweats twitch. Pretending you didn’t see it, you nodded to the living room. “The parade is recording if you want to watch it.” 

Bradley opened his mouth as though he would say something before taking the apparent dismissal. Alone in the kitchen, you touched your cheek and felt warm skin. With a deep breath, you grilled yourself a muffin as the sound of the broadcasters came from the living room. After topping up your coffee, you joined him. He sprawled on one end of the couch, plate balanced on a thigh as he sipped his coffee. Sitting on the opposite side, you crossed your legs and let out a soft groan. Only a couple of hours standing in the kitchen and your back was already starting to protest. “What else do you have to do this morning?” he asked after a moment.

Mentally running through your list, you sighed. “I need to do some cleaning and get into the attic. I’ll start cooking a bit closer to noon, so things just have to be warmed up.”

“What do you need from the attic?” 

“My nice china. My parents bought my sister and I sets for our hope chests when we were kids.”

“What’s a hope chest?”

“You know, stuff you’d need once you get married?” When his eyebrows shot up, you shrugged. “They weren’t really serious about it - it was more of a joke. But, every once in a while, they’d buy something for us and put it away for when we were older and say it was for our hope chest.” Taking a bite of muffin, you gave him a sad smile, “Mine’s more of a ‘hopeless’ chest,’ though. I guess they finally gave up on me getting married because they gave it to me when they sold their house and moved closer to the grandkids. I figured I’d get it out and use it instead of having it sit in the cardboard boxes it’s been in for over two decades.” Something passed over Bradley’s face but disappeared in an instant. Wanting to change the subject, you asked, “What do you usually do for Thanksgiving?”

“Nothing. It’s just another Thursday.” When you frowned, he lifted a shoulder. “A couple of times, I went to the Officer’s Club, or someone would invite me over. But most of the time, I just make myself a turkey sandwich and catch up on sleep. What about you?”

“If I’m not with my family, then this. When I first commissioned, I went to the O-Club with some friends but missed cooking and hanging out. And you know how hard it is to go home for the holidays.” He nodded even though he didn’t. Bradley never asked for the time off unless he was dating someone who insisted on it. With no family to visit, he was happy to volunteer when there was reduced manning and allow others to take leave. “So I invited a couple of people from my squad over, and that was that.” 

“It’s a lot of work.”

“It is,” you agreed. “But it’s worth it.” Bradley’s fingers curled around his plate and in his sweatpants, his chest expanding as he took a deep breath. When he shifted forward, you quickly stood and reached out your hand for his empty plate. “Do you want another one?” Shaking his head, he stood and took your plate. 

“Do you?” Swallowing hard, you shook your head and watched him walk back into the kitchen. Biting back a groan, you gave yourself a moment to collect yourself. Things had been…different… since you’d gotten home. And as much as you enjoyed these quiet moments alone with Bradley, it also stung. You’d thought the time away would help, but as soon as you were back, it was like no time had passed. He was still there, partnering for foosball in the Ready Room and coaxing you to go to the Hard Deck. Making sure that you sat next to him in briefings. Offering to look at your car when it made a noise.

Friends. That’s what friends do for each other. After all, he did the same for Nat. 

Collecting the empty coffee mugs, you followed him to the kitchen and watched as Bradley cleaned up the mess and set it in the sink. “Don’t feel like you have to stick around, Rooster. I can handle getting everything ready.” 

“I’m happy to help if you want me here. I’d just sit at my house watching TV and wait to come back if I went home.” 

Chewing the inside of your lip, you bit back a wave of want. “Don’t think this gets you out of the dress code,” you replied, forcing your voice to be cool while allowing your eyes to run the length of him. “I’m serious - slacks and button-downs, not sweats.” 

Laughing, he snapped a salute. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll make sure I run home and change to pass your inspection.” 

The rest of the morning was a blur, punctuated by moments of stark clarity. 

Bradley’s hands on your waist as you climbed down the attic stairs. 

Biceps flexing as he carried your Christmas tree to a spare bedroom to set up tomorrow.

His elbow bumping yours as he dried the china and set it aside.  

The look of concentration on his face when he basted and injected the turkey again.

His body passing close to yours as he emptied the dishwasher and you assembled dishes.

Just after noon, he went home to get ready while you showered. People were due to arrive around 1:30 PM, and you were back on schedule with your unexpected assistant. 

Sooner than you expected, there was a knock at the door. Groaning, you capped your mascara, shimmied into your black sheath cocktail dress, and went to answer it. Bradley stood on the porch, having changed into a pair of slacks and one of his nicer Hawaiian shirts, hands in his pockets. Folded over his arm was a coat, and he grinned at you when he caught you looking at it. “Wasn’t sure if I would pass inspection without a sports coat,” he chuckled, allowing his gaze to rake over you. A flush rose on your cheeks as you reached behind yourself to pull up the dress zipper. It caught just above the top of your thong.  “You look… you’re fine.” Chuckling, he shook his head. 

“Turn around, Duch.” After a beat, you stepped back to allow him inside and did as he said.

“There’s a hook and eye at the top,” you said and inhaled sharply when you felt his fingers brush the back of your neck. The smell of his cologne enveloped you, and you bit back a moan when his hand moved to your lower back and tugged the zipper up. After a beat, you turned to face him and were surprised by how close he was. His mouth curved into a smile as he looked down at you, hand resting on your waist. 

“You look fine, too,” he said softly. Your hands itched to move to his chest. Bradley’s eyes drifted to your lips, and your breath caught as his fingers flexed around you. If asked, you would have sworn you felt the lightest pressure pulling you closer - but then someone knocked on the door. Stepping out of his hold, you smoothed your hair down and ignored the brief moment his hands hung in suspension before being shoved back into his pockets. 

“I came early to see if you needed a hand,” Phoenix said when you opened the door. In her hands was a tray, and she’d also chosen a cocktail dress for the occasion. Her normally tied-back hair was loose around her shoulders. 

“Hey,” you smiled, hoping that you weren’t blushing. Nat’s eyes shifted over your shoulders and narrowed slightly. 

“What are you doing here?” 

“Same as you - seeing of Duch needed help.”

“He’s been here all morning,” you blurted out, flushing when both sets of eyes landed on you. “He’s taking care of the turkey.” 

“The guy who hates cooking is in charge of the main dish?” Nat smirked. “Probably would have been better letting Hangman fry it.”

“He’s being supervised,” you assured, glancing over your shoulder to see him rolling his eyes. Stepping back to let Nat into the house, you accidentally bumped into Bradley, who held your hips to steady you. Quickly moving away from his touch, you took the tray from her and motioned for them to follow you into the kitchen. “I haven’t had a chance to put any drinks out, but there’s some coffee left and wine chilling. I still need to make the cocktails, but there’s also soda and flavored water.” The two followed you, exchanging a look that you missed.

As soon as he entered the kitchen, Bradley tossed his coat onto the wet bar and moved to the oven, flipping on the light to check the turkey before glancing at his watch. “I need to do the last basting, right?” 

“It’s about that time,” you agreed, glancing at the clock. Digging through a drawer, you pulled out an apron and put it on, crossing the strings behind your back before tying them in a bow across your stomach. You thought you heard a murmured ‘Jesus Christ’ when you turned around to see him holding the pot holders. 

You could feel Nat watching as you worked together to remove the turkey and then return it to the oven, popping olives into her mouth and smirking. “Looks like you guys have it down,” she said. “Don’t need my help at all.”

“Nope,” Bradley said, drowning out your, “You can feel free to relax.” 

“Might as well do something since I’m here,” she shrugged, pushing off her elbows. “What can I do?” 

And so, with a third set of hands, you set them to making large batches of seasonal cocktails while you cut the bread you’d made that morning, covering it with slices of brie and dried cranberries before drizzling it with honey. A quick scroll through your schedule gave you the times to start cooking, and you preheated the second oven.

The house slowly filled as more of the squad arrived. Countertops were quickly covered with their contributions - thankfully, more than beer and wine, and only a few sides repeated -  and you mentally shifted your schedule to accommodate the additional dishes.

Mav, Penny, and Amelia were the last to arrive, with her new bartender, Georgia, in tow. Penny had asked you if she could invite her, given that the woman was new to the area and didn’t have anywhere else to spend the holiday. You’d replied with, “The more, the merrier,” just like you had for everyone else’s requests to bring a guest. 

But you regretted that sentiment when you saw how she zeroed in on Bradley, staying close to him while you worked in the kitchen. The few times you broke away to mingle - showing off your renovated home, making sure that everyone’s glasses were topped off and that they didn’t need anything - you saw her hanging off his arm, giving him a simpering smile that set your teeth on edge. And, while she’d adhered to the dress code, you weren’t exactly thrilled to see that her breasts were nearly spilling out of her low-cut dress. 

“You need anything, Duchess?” Payback asked, setting down the pitcher of spiced ginger pear and bourbon. 

“I’m good,” you replied, wiping your hands on the dish rag thrown over your shoulder and blowing a loose strand of hair from your face. “Turkey should be done in a few minutes; once it rests, we can eat.” 

“Thanks for doing this,” he said, glancing over at your full house. Aviators were sprawled across your living room and spilled out into the backyard. It was exactly what you’d hoped for when redesigning the house - plenty of space to comfortably entertain. 

“I’m happy to, Payback,” you smiled, allowing him to pull you in for a hug. “Beats having a quiet house for the holidays.” 

“Want me to get the turkey out for you?” 

“I’ve got it covered,” a voice said behind you, and you couldn’t help but wonder about Bradley's slightly sharp tone as you pulled away from the hug. 

“Got it,” Payback replied, raising an eyebrow and lifting his hands. “Let me know if you need anything, Duch.” Squaring your shoulders, you turned to face the man behind you and forced a smile. 

“I’ll clear off a spot on the stove for you to put the pan, and then we’ll let it sit for half an hour.” 

“Then it’ll be done?”

“Then you’ll have officially made your first turkey,” you nodded. When the timer went off, Bradley quickly pulled the bird from the oven and set it on the stove, closely inspecting his work. 

“Does it look right?”

“Yes, relax.”

“Did you make it?” a smokey voice asked, and you felt your shoulders rise. Glancing at Georgia, you saw Bradley’s eyes dart between you.

“He did,” you answered, smiling at the woman. 

“I just followed her directions,” he replied. 

“It looks great!” Georgia giggled. Forcing a smile, you undid the apron strings and pulled it off before excusing yourself. You could feel eyes on you as you walked down the hallway to your bedroom and shut the door, retreating to your en suite.

After washing your hands for the millionth time, you quickly applied lotion while examining your appearance in the mirror. Compared to Georgia, you looked matronly with your hair pulled back and a higher neckline. Sure, your dress was classy - somewhat tight and falling just above your knees - but not attention-grabbing. 

Not that you were trying to grab anyone’s attention.

A knock on your bedroom door startled you, and you peeked out to call, “Who is it?”

“Rooster.” Glancing back in the mirror, you saw your cheeks were slightly pink and scowled at your reflection.

“Get it together,” you hissed before turning off the light and going to open the door. And there he was, smiling down at you.

“Your phone was going off,” he said, holding up your cell. When your eyes flitted toward it, the device unlocked to show your family group chat was going off. Taking it from him, you swiped up to see videos and pictures. A smile crept onto your mouth as you clicked the first and heard your older sister’s voice.

“Guess what?” she said before tossing a card down and throwing her hands up. Cheers and laughs broke out, and you could hear your nephew complaining as your grandmother said, “Looks like Mom won!”

The camera panned to show your other nephew licking whipped cream off his pie, utterly unfazed by the family now pounding on the table in a drumroll. Catching Bradley’s interested expression, you moved so he could see the screen. Scrolling through the other videos, you watched your mom roll down a hill with the boys and your dad holding a glass of wine with your brother-in-law. The sight made your heart clench, and you sighed. Being away from family on the holidays was the worst. Thankfully, they all understood that your job didn’t always give you the flexibility to be with them.

“Looks like a fun group.”

“They are. I’m glad I get to spend Christmas with them.” He nodded, a flicker of sadness and something else in his eyes. “What are you doing for Christmas?”

“Mav’s already told me I’m spending it with him and Penny.”

“Sounds like fun.” You knew a complicated dynamic existed there but didn’t want to pry. His shoulder lifted, eyes drifting to your now dark phone. And that’s when you recognized the look on his face - longing. “Hey, you okay?” 

“Yeah, I’m fine.” When he saw your unconvinced expression, he sighed. “Holidays kind of suck when you don’t have family.” 

“I’m sorry, Bradley.” Something in his expression changed when you said his name and reached out to touch his arm. His eyes darted from your hand to your face, and you quickly pulled away. But he was faster, catching your fingers and holding tightly. Your breath caught with the intensity of his gaze, and he stepped into your room. His breath was warm on your face when you refused to retreat. Lifting your chin, you saw his throat bob when he swallowed.  

“Hey, there’s a timer going off,” Bob called down the hall. 

“Be right there,” you yelled back, pushing lightly against Bradley’s chest and forcing space between you. But when you tried to shake off his hand, he held fast. “I need to go, or something will burn,” you breathed. Reluctantly, he nodded and released you. 

You’d already removed the green bean casserole and macaroni and cheese from the oven when Bradley reappeared. Unsurprisingly, Georgia glued herself to his side as he sipped his drink. Though you could feel him looking at you, you refused to meet his gaze. 

When everything was ready, you looked over your kitchen and nodded approvingly. When the guys offered to carve the turkey, you turned them all down and delegated that task to Bradley.  “He earned it,” you said, glancing at him before busying yourself with opening another bottle of wine. With Coyote and Fanboy at his elbows critiquing his cuts, you steered clear of that part of the kitchen and chatted with Penny while pulling out silverware. 

Hangman refused to let you go around the room and tell people that food was ready, instead pulling out a chair and helping you stand on it before whistling loudly to get everyone’s attention. “Dinner’s served!” you said, placing a hand on his shoulder, his arm around your hips to keep you steady. “Thank you for bringing something, and please help yourself. Happy Thanksgiving, everyone - I’m glad I get to spend it with you.” Lifting your wine glass, you took a quick sip and laughed when Hangman lifted you off the chair to set you back on the floor. 

Choosing to wait until your guests had a plate, you leaned against the wet bar and smiled tiredly, watching your hard work be devoured. There weren’t enough chairs for everyone at the table, so the group spread into the living room. You took a few pictures and sent them to your family. 

Someone stepped in front of you, pulling your attention from your phone. “You’re not gonna eat?” Bradley asked. 

“Just waiting for the line to clear,” you replied, forcing a nonchalant tone. The corner of his mouth twitched as he shook his head. 

“Come on, Duch.” His fingers curled around yours, drawing you from the counter and into the line. Grabbing one of the smaller salad plates, you let him push you in front of him, taking small amounts of almost every dish while he served himself larger portions. After topping up your wine, you walked to the living room and felt him behind you, ignoring Georgia's attempt to get his attention. He motioned for you to take the last spot on the couch and sat on the floor. “Jesus,” he moaned after taking the first bite of turkey.

“Mmmm,” you agreed. “You did a good job.”

“Who would have thought the guy who made the barracks evacuate after he burned ramen would make a good turkey,” Nat smirked. Bradley flipped her off, unable to keep the proud grin off his face. 

Dessert was eaten, and the last bottle of wine finished before 7:00 PM. The house felt quiet as it slowly emptied, and you hugged everyone goodbye. Already, tentative plans for a Christmas party formed even as you fought off a yawn. After assuring Penny that you were fine cleaning up, she left with Mav and Amelia in tow. 

Which left only Bradley. 

The sound of running water drew you back into the kitchen, and you paused in the doorway at the sight of him rinsing silverware and loading the dishwasher, a hand towel thrown over his shoulder. “I can take care of that,” you said quickly. Bradley glanced at you and shook his head.

“Relax, I’ve got it. Can the plates go in here, or do they need to be hand-washed?”

“They can go in there.” Ignoring the order, you walked around the house, picked up empty glasses and forgotten dishes, and set them by the sink. Donning your apron, you surveyed the leftovers, “Did you want any of this?”

“Yeah, I’ll take a plate.” Nodding, you started to put the food away. Thankfully, there wasn’t a lot left. Everyone had been happy to take leftovers, and you were glad you’d had the forethought to buy containers for them to keep. 

The silence was comfortable, and you were stifling yawns with the back of your hand. Between the turkey, wine, and lack of sleep the night before, you were ready to change back into comfy clothes and pass out. Without prompting, Bradley started to cut up what was left of the turkey, placing some in the containers you’d portioned for him before putting the rest in the fridge. You started the dishwasher when it was full and wiped down counters. After tossing the rest of the turkey, he took the trash out.

When the door swung shut, you took the opportunity to stretch, moaning when your back popped before bending at the waist and letting your arms dangle. As much as you enjoyed hosting, your body took a beating, being on your feet all day. You would definitely need to invest in some mats to make the kitchen floor more comfortable before your next full day of cooking. 

Even when the door opened, you felt too good stretching to stand up straight. You heard Bradley chuckle and then the sound of water running, followed by the snap of a trashbag being shaken out. Finally, you stood and threw out a hand to steady yourself when the world spun. Hands wrapped around your hips and drew you closer. “You okay, honey?” 

The term of endearment caught you off-guard and had clearly slipped out by the flush on Bradley’s cheeks. “Honey?” you echoed, quirking a brow.

“Duchess,” he corrected. 

“Rooster.” Your hands rested on his forearms, feeling the muscles flex as his fingers clenched around your hips. Taking a deep breath, you felt your chest brush his. His lips quirked into a wry smile. “What?” 

“Just waiting for something to interrupt.” At your questioning look, he chuckled. “Been trying to kiss you all day, and something always gets in the way.” 

“What?” you breathed, shock written across your face. 

“Been thinkin’ about kissing you since that night at the Hard Deck, actually.” 

“T-the Hard Deck?”

“Yup. Before you deployed.” Heat rushed to your face at the memory - or lack thereof - of your going away party. There had been one too many shots, and you had a vague recollection of Bradley driving the Bronco. Of him telling you not to throw up while he helped Nat into her apartment before taking you home. Half carrying you to bed and making sure you had water and medicine - warm hands on your face and a raspy laugh.  

“When I was drunk?”

“When you told me you liked me.” Mortified, you felt a sudden flush of heat and tried to pull away, but he held firm. “But that you didn’t think I was a relationship guy.” 

“Roo - ”

“I am. A relationship guy,” he clarified, tongue darting out to wet his lips. “For the right woman.” Your mouth was dry, unable to force out a single word. “I was gonna say something before you left, but you avoided me. And then you were gone for three months.”

“I… you messaged me.” 

“Wasn’t exactly something I wanted to say over email,” Bradley chuckled. “I like you too.” 

“What about Georgia?”

That drew him up short, and a confused look crossed his face. “The bartender?” 

“Yeah. She… I mean, she’s clearly interested. And more your type.” Groaning, he leaned down to rest his forehead on yours.

“Honey, I’m not interested in her. And she’s not… ask Nat. She’s been on my case about my” - he lifted a hand to make air quotes - “‘hoe phase’ since I got out here.” That drew a snort from you, and Bradley pulled away to smile at you bashfully. “Gimme a chance, Duch.” 

Hesitating a moment, you took another deep breath and gave the butterflies in your stomach free rein. Hands shaking, you wrapped your arms around his neck and nodded, unable to keep from matching his smile. 

Moving slowly, as though afraid to spook you, Bradley leaned down and brushed his nose to yours. “As much as this is doin’ things for me,” he said softly, pulling at the apron strings tied at your stomach, “I think we’re done in the kitchen tonight.” Biting your lip, you could only nod, leaning away as he tugged it over your head, balled the apron up, and tossed it behind you. With his hands back on your hips, he walked you backward and lifted you onto the counter, stepping between your knees. “This alright?” 

“Yeah,” you whispered, allowing yourself to reach out and run a hand through his curls. Bradley's eyes closed when you lightly scratched his scalp, and he swayed closer. His breath ghosted over your lips and - 

“Fucking Christ,” he groaned when his phone started to buzz. You jumped, feeling the vibration against your shin, and laughed as he dropped his head into the crook of your neck. Your breath caught, feeling his lips on your throat. When he reached into his pocket and scowled down at the screen, you saw Nat’s name before he sent the call to voicemail. 

Leaving the phone on the counter, he smirked and guided your legs around his waist as your arms went around his neck. His hands cupped your ass as he lifted you. In the doorway to the kitchen, he paused long enough for you to slap the walls until the lights turned off before walking toward the couch and lowering himself onto it. Your knees dug into the cushion on either side of him, forcing the hem of your dress higher. 

From this angle, he had to look up at you. Hands migrated from your ass to thighs, callouses lightly scraping and fingertips darting under the fabric to trace shapes on your skin and drag the hem higher. Lightly, you ran your thumb along the scars on his chin before ghosting over the ones on his cheek that had always intrigued you. A moan rumbled from his throat as he followed your touch, mustache tickling the delicate skin of your wrist. Blushing, you wondered how it would feel on your inner thighs. He chuckled, kissing your cheek, “What’re you thinking that’s got you red?” 

Rather than answer, you turned and kissed him - just a light brush of your lips against his that seemed to catch him off-guard. You stared at one another for a long moment until he guided you closer. His mustache prickled, not unpleasantly but different, when he kissed you again. It was sweet and unhurried, a direct contradiction to the hardness you felt straining against his zipper. 

Pulling away, you smiled tentatively down at him, seeing the remnants of your lipstick on his mouth. The corners of his eyes crinkled when he smiled, and you leaned forward to press your lips to them. “Hi,” you said softly.

“Hey.” 

“You like me?” 

“Yeah. You like me?” 

Rather than reply, you captured his lips again. “Drunk words,” you said between kisses, “are sober thoughts.” He barked a laugh before tugging you closer and licking into your mouth. 

“Shoulda said something earlier,” he chided, gripping your ass tightly. “Coulda been doing this for a long time.” 

“Blame the tequila.” The word came out as a moan when he trailed kisses down your neck, and you felt him smile. 

“Thank god for tequila,” he mumbled, nuzzling your breasts and making you grind down on him. Bradley caught your hands when your fingers trailed down his chest to tug at his shirt. “Nuh-uh, honey. Gonna take you on a couple of dates before we get to that.”

“What?” 

“No more ‘hoe phase.’” 

“Maybe just one more night?” That made him laugh again as he shook his head.

“No, Duch. Wanna do this right with you.” 

“I’ve heard the stories. I know you would.” When you rocked against him, he pinned your hand at your lower back and stilled you with a hand on your hip. He growled your name and smirked when your thighs clenched.

“Liked that, huh?” he teased. “Ms. Prim and Proper Duchess likes to be bossed around?” Heat flooded your face, and he chuckled again. Without warning, he stood, and you squeaked, trying to keep from falling. But he held you steady and set you on your feet, towering over you. “Can I stay over?” You didn’t hesitate in nodding, and his kiss was rough before he pulled away and swatted your ass. “Go get ready for bed while I lock up.” 

When you emerged from the bathroom, face cleaned and in your panties and a tank top, Bradley was lying in the middle of your bed in just his boxers. Groaning, he looked at you and shook his head. “Where are those sweats from this morning?” 

“You want me to wear sweats to bed?” you asked, leaning against the doorframe and raising an eyebrow. His hand drifted down to his hard cock, squeezing lightly. “You’ve seen me in less at the beach.”

“Trying to do this right, honey.” Rolling your eyes, you walked to your dresser and pulled on sweatpants before digging out a pair of fuzzy socks. He laughed when you tossed them at his head, setting them aside as you circled the bed to lie beside him. Quickly, he pinned you beneath him, settling in the cradle of your thighs. As he licked into your mouth, you felt his hips rolling against yours. “Still too damn sexy,” he murmured against your lips. 

“Housewife lingerie does it for you?” you teased, running your hands through his hair. Rather than answer, he looped an arm under your knee and drew it up, allowing you to feel him better. “Fuck.”

“Not tonight.” 

And, unfortunately, he was true to his word. Anytime your hands strayed to his boxers, he pinned them over your head, seemingly content to tease and kiss all night. 

Eventually, though, you could no longer keep from yawning. After setting his alarm - Bradley was on duty in the morning while you’d taken the day off - he tucked you against him, your back to his chest. His cock pressed against your ass as he kissed your shoulder, hand slipping under your shirt to brush the underside of your breast. Sighing, he murmered, “Best Thanksgiving I’ve had in a long time.” 

You couldn’t help but agree.

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

Author's Note: Do I think that Bradley has a raging domesticity kink? Possibly.

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[hoe4hotchner]

Part 2 to letter opener please! Where the team notices it and he tells them its made by jack.

Letter opener - Part 2 | [AH]

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner | WC: 0.6k | CW: Fluff

A/N: Y'all if you're intrested in seeing the letter opener that inspired part 1 - let me know ;)

Part 1 here

Hotch sat in his office, the door slightly ajar as he sifted through a stack of mail. In his hand, he held Jack’s wooden letter opener, carefully slicing open envelopes with a precision that matched his usual meticulousness, making sure not to rip the envelopes more than necessary.

Every time he used it, he couldn’t help but smile, remembering the pride in Jack’s eyes when he’d handed it over the night before.

The sound of Penelope Garcia’s heels clicking against the floor pulled him out of his thoughts. She peeked her head through the door, a bright smile already plastered on her face.

“Knock, knock! Do you have a minute, sir?” she asked, waving a folder.

Hotch gestured for her to come in. “Of course, Garcia. What do you need?”

As she approached his desk, her eyes zeroed in on the letter opener in his hand. She tilted her head, curiosity lighting up her face.

“Well, hello there, little slice of craftsmanship!” she exclaimed. “Where did that beauty come from? It doesn’t look like standard-issue FBI gear.”

Hotch couldn’t suppress the small smile tugging at his lips. He set the letter opener down gently, making sure it was perfectly aligned with the edge of his desk.

“Jack made it,” he said, his voice filled with pride.

Penelope gasped dramatically, clutching her chest as if the news had physically floored her. “Jack Hotchner made this? Our little future carpenter-slash-genius? Oh, sir, that is adorable.”

Hotch chuckled softly, shaking his head. “He worked on it in his school’s woodshop class. Brought it home yesterday and insisted it would be useful for my ‘work stuff.’”

Penelope leaned closer to examine the letter opener, her eyes sparkling. “Useful and sentimental? That kid’s got taste. And a great teacher,” she added, winking at him.

Just then, Morgan appeared in the doorway, followed closely by Emily.

“Hotch, Garcia’s been holding us hostage with her—” Morgan began, but stopped mid-sentence when he noticed Penelope holding the letter opener like a prized artifact. “What’s that?”

“Jack made it,” Penelope said before Hotch could respond, her voice brimming with excitement.

“Jack?” Emily repeated, stepping closer to get a better look. “As in your Jack? He made this?”

Hotch nodded, his expression softening as he glanced at the small but cherished object. “He wanted me to have something for my work. Thought it might come in handy.”

Morgan grinned, leaning over the desk to inspect it. “The kid’s got skills. Maybe he should teach me a thing or two.”

“Careful, Derek,” Emily teased. “You might end up accidentally carving your name into a chair.”

Penelope giggled, holding the letter opener up like a trophy. “This is officially the cutest thing ever. A dad getting a handmade gift from his son? Someone grab the tissues!”

Hotch smirked, a rare moment of amusement breaking through his usual stoic demeanor. “It’s more than cute. It’s thoughtful. He put a lot of effort into it.”

The team exchanged smiles. It wasn’t often they got to see this side of their boss.

“Well, don’t let Rossi see it,” Morgan said with a grin. “He’ll want one for himself.”

Hotch picked up the letter opener and placed it back on the desk, giving it a fond look. “Jack’s creations are one of a kind. Rossi will have to settle for whatever’s at the gift shop.”

With that, the team shared a laugh before heading back to their desks. Penelope lingered for a moment, her hand resting on the doorframe.

“You’re a good dad, Hotch,” she said softly.

He looked up, his expression grateful yet still a little reserved. “I try,” he replied.

As she left, he glanced at the letter opener once more, turning it over in his hands. It wasn’t just a tool—it was a reminder of the little boy who loved him enough to create something special. And for Hotch, that meant everything.

[eldritch-spouse]

Hello 😭 i saw miara's cat form n i accidentally thought to myself this is the ugliest f ing cat ive ever seen, then i read the tag its miara im very sorry

Unfortunately, I did not have a Warrior Cats phase and generally hold below zero interest in drawing animals, so you get what you get. Cave paintings.

[demaparbat-hp]

Don't worry about reblog ramblings!!! I'm absolutely in love with all of this, and Agni knows I'm always up for a brainstorming session or two—this has made my day.

Now, regarding Jet and Katara, their relationship is both messy and has a very clear set of rules. They grew up together in the slums, so they were once very close. Katara and Jet shared a dream—a Nation of Zaun, free from oppression and pain. They fought off Enforcers, founded the Freedom Fighters, and shared their vision with the people.

Their ways to approach freedom, however, soon became the problem.

They're foils, you see. While Katara progressively realizes that violence isn't the answer (even though sometimes it's necessary), Jet becomes more ruthless and bloodthirsty than ever.

And then it reaches a boiling point, and their fallout happens.

I think they'd keep out of each other's business most of the time. Katara wants to have nothing to do with Jet or his Freedom Fighters, so she makes the effort to steer people away from them, too. But sometimes she has to intervene. When he makes a big move that puts their own people in danger, or when one of his plans actively collide with hers.

This would be a problem later on, when Katara's insistence on staying away from Jet becomes one of the main reasons he gathered as much power as he did within the Undercity.

Another option is that they're actively working against each other's plans and facing the other's group in battle more often than not. This could also work later on in the story, once it all comes down and war begins.

As for Azula and Ozai—I love that!

If we go with the attempted assassination arc, then Zuko's death could be the reason Ozai calls for war against Zaun.

Ozai uses his Heir's death as an excuse to start the offensive, but the rest of the Council isn't sure if it would be wise to begin an open war with Zaun. The oppression reaches its maximum level, but it's still not enough for Ozai's plans.

(Would Katara, important leader of the Undercity as she is, be blamed for Zuko's death? Would she need to go into hiding? What would Zuko's arc be like going forward?)

And then Azula goes to the Undercity.

Maybe she has reason to suspect that Zuko is alive, and she wants to find him. It would be a different sort of tragedy if, while still a ruthless and sharp prodigy, Azula has a better relationship with Zuko in this AU. They fight a lot and there's some resentment there, but they still love each other fiercely.

When Zuko dies, Azula becomes Heiress and is given everything she could ever wish for...but her brother's not there.

Azula would be suspicious of Zuko's death and its circumstances. Perhaps Ozai plays into that—he's been slowly introducing her into the family's shady business, but he doesn't trust her fully. All it takes is one loose piece for his empire to crumble, and he needs to make sure that all weaknesses are ripped from Azula.

Meanwhile, Azula begins looking into Zuko's initial banishment and sudden death. She suspects that Ozai was behind it, and that there was a deeper reason for casting him out beyond Zuko's softness and his stupidly honorable nature. This reason being, of course, Aang's existence. But I digress.

Azula is close to figuring things out when Ozai makes his move. He plants some evidence to make it seem as if Zuko is still alive, and Azula bites the bait—she goes to the Undercity to find her brother, and Ozai gets rid of her.

It's ironic, really, that his son actually is alive, and Azula finally becomes the weapon Ozai has molded her to be.

(The Azula/Jinx and Zuko/Vi parallels are going to be insane once the shimmer hits.)

In the public eye, Ozai's beloved daughter went to the Undercity in hopes of reaching a peaceful resolution, but was killed in answer. That's the final push the Council needs to begin an open offensive.

War strikes the sister cities, and the third act begins.

As for Iroh—maybe he lead the Enforcers in his young age, and is the reason a tentative peace between the cities has been maintained ever since (via White Lotus contacts). He could be Head of either the Academy or the Council in his old age.

I love that idea for Teo and his father!!! Those plans and blueprints eventually making their way to Sokka could be what helps them make the move that ends the war.

Would Hextech be involved in this AU? Would Sokka figure out how to work with the gemstones? Or it just wouldn't be important enough for the story to include it? Questions, questions...

YOOOO DEMA YOU LIKE ARCANE???!! omg who's your favorite character??? and favorite moment(s) from s1??? (and fav ship too 👀 👀) will you draw for Arcane in the future???? (peak show with peak art =perfection, just saying)

Anon, you have the. Best. Timing. Ever. I literally just finished an Arcane artstyle study with Katara of the Undercity as a subject!

My favorite Arcane character is and forever shall be Ekko (best boy). Other faves are Viktor (chronic illness baby) and Jinx (trauma gremlin).

As for the S1 scene... Besides the finale and that breathtaking Guns for Hire sequence? The Ekko/Jinx fight from ep 7. It broke me. (And turned me into a Timebomb shipper. Which was arguably worse.)

[writingicing]

Been reading a lot of posts about how much the ML in When the Phone Rings is too toxic and unromantic and how can he possibly not have learnt sign language if he loved her all this time and all of that... and here is what I think.

I haven't read the book, and although I did see some spoilers, the show might change things up a bit (and as far as we have seen, the changes made in the show has been for the better.) But, I think before judging him for being too toxic, a couple of things need to be considered.

I mean, what's the genre, guys, come on -

Everyone is entitled to their opinion but the whole point of such a story and such a show is to write weird, dark, toxic characters who are fucked up. People aren't finding his not knowing sign language as romantic because to some extent, people are just letting themselves get lost in the story and experience it first.

If that is like a genuine trigger for someone, that is completely understandable. But on the other hand, can't imagine having a stance of only watching perfectly good non-toxic politically correct characters on screen - is that not boring?

And that is the point - he is fucked up.

The way I see it, it makes sense that he has not learned sign language to communicate with. Like others have been posting, I don't think he intended to ever have a proper relationship with her.

We have only seen hong hee joo's backstory and we've only seen some of it, but because of this we have an understanding of her behavior and where it comes from.

Don't we at least owe that to baek sa eon as well?

People who are fucked in the head don't always know how to love someone best. And that's okay. I don't think that the drama is saying, "hey look we are going to romanticize another husband who won't get his shit together until his wife threatens to leave him." I think the drama is trying to say, "hey, look at both of these fucked up people who have spent so many years together refusing to communicate with each other and refusing to open up."

I find that to be one of the most interesting parts of the show actually - that BOTH of them have refused to open up to each other. She hasn't opened to him in the way she hasn't opened up to ANYONE because her mother forced her to go mute and took her agency away... her mother took her right to being herself away from her, and so she is as much fucked up as he is.

And for him, it seems like his own right to be himself has been taken away as well.

While it is absurd that he hasn't attempted to learn sign language until now, I think this dialogue gives a lot of insight into how he views her in her life: "She is a brand new language."

When you don't know who you are, when you don't know how to love, when you don't know how to receive love, when you are only a fraction of your own self, would you really learn a new language? You might have that book on your shelf... it might give you comfort... it might even give you hope that you will pick it up one day to learn it... but there might still be fear within you to commit, to put effort, to approach something as scary as learning a new language (and I don't just mean sign language, but hong hee joo herself.)

Is he objectifying her in a way? Yes, he is. But he is living an objectified life as well. This is his normal, this is the worldview that he has been taught, and nothing ever has given him the hope that taking a step, a risk, will lead him to something good.

And that is exactly what is finally happening right now. I don't think he's even seen her emote, let alone resist - I mean, he seems surprised to see her angry, to see her cry, to see her make noises, to see her be so confident in her skillset, to see her challenge him. I don't think either of them have ever had stupid playful annoying moments like switching the light on and off, her stealing back her pillow from under his head, them having a tug of war with the trash bag. They have never experienced each other this way and he has especially never experienced her in this way. I don't think he has experienced anyone in this way.

So yeah, he didn't learn it before. But the best way to bridge a communication gap is to reach across it yourself. I don't even know if he's realizing it, but to pay for her dad's new care home is taking power away from her mother....to tell her she needs to stop thinking about what their family will say and go get a job next to him, publicly showing herself right by his side as his EQUAL (not just his trophy wife, mind you) when their family has been asking her to quit her job... to bring her favorite food and telling her comforting words to the best of his abilities... to defend her worth to a random kidnapper bitch... all of this is his way of reaching across that gap himself. And now she is reciprocating, she has accepted that job and she is going to teach him how to communicate with her... she is going to teach him how to learn and understand HER, who is a brand new language for him.

And yeah, alright, maybe he didn't reach across that gap until her safety was actually threatened. But sometimes, when you're so numb to yourself and to the world around you, you need cold water splashed on your face, you need an explosion by your ears to wake you up. Maybe he needed this rude awakening as not only a warning, but a sign that he can indeed go ahead and make a connection with her. That she is real and she won't hurt him, and that he can maybe even trust himself not to hurt her.

Not everyone is perfect, not everyone is created with only green flag qualities. And hong hee joo never has to forgive him, she doesn't have to do anything - but no one can deny that she can forgive if he has earned her forgiveness.

[solarhysm]

DUST OF US - 03

> synopsis: 7 years ago Y/N broke Jungkook’s heart when she decided to end their relationship without an explanation. When they meet again at a friend's wedding, after almost a decade, Jungkook needs answers to move on.

> pairing: Jungkook x reader

> genre: romance, ex to lovers au

> warnings: explicit languages, violence, smut, cheating, nsfw, angst, +18 minors dni !!

> word count: 3.6k

*french writer, i apologize in advance for my awful english!

You spend twenty minutes deciding what to wear, standing in your underwear in front of your closet. Nothing too elegant or too sexy—it’s just dinner. Not a dress, it’s October and freezing cold outside. Neither an outfit too revealing. You don’t want to give the wrong impression. If you dress too casually, he'll think you didn't make an effort. Sighing, you grab a pair of jeans and a black bodysuit. You’ll wear that with a black leather jacket.

Should you wear makeup? Groaning, you walk to the bathroom and scan the sink, where all your makeup is strewn around. Maybe just something light. Your brows, a little mascara, and some gloss. No, not gloss. Frustrated, you settle for a lip balm. Why are you overthinking this? Even for your previous dates, you didn’t do this much.

Are you trying to impress him? Why? He’s Jungkook. He’s seen you in all your embarrassing states: drunk, ugly crying, on your period, and when you just woke up. What are you trying to prove to him? He probably won’t even notice. Shaking your head, you grab your handbag and put on your shoes.

Since he told you you’d be drinking, you didn’t take your car. Ordering a taxi seemed safer. When you arrive at the place he sent you, you let out a sigh. It’s a Korean BBQ restaurant next to a lake, a little out of the way from the center of Seoul.

Taking a deep breath, you sit on the bench in front of the parking lot. He’s late. Or maybe you are mistaken about the day? You pull out your phone and check the date. No… It’s Saturday. Should you send him a text?

“Y/N,” you hear, and when Jungkook approaches, stepping out of the restaurant, you stand up. “You’re here.” He grins as you nod softly. You mentally thank yourself for choosing a casual outfit, which matches his. He’s wearing a pair of blue jeans, a white tee, and a denim jacket, with the top of his hair tied into a ponytail, the rest falls onto his neck. He looks… handsome. Nothing surprising—it’s Jeon Jungkook. “I like your jacket,” he says with a soft smile.

“Hi. Thanks,” you reply.

“Come on, I reserved a table for us.” Jungkook steps aside so you can join him.

“In a BBQ?” You arch a brow, walking beside with him before he opens the door for you.

“Yeah, I’ve been on the waiting list for two years,” he jokes, making you smile slightly as you both sit down, facing each other. “Make your choice.” He hands you the electronic menu.

Seven years have passed and he’s still the same. Always thinking of the others first. You scroll through the menu. He loves pork belly, not you. But since he treating you to dinner, you don’t want to overstep, so you select the pork belly portion to share for two and turn the tablet to him. His brows furrow slightly as he makes his choice while you look around. The place is cozy and private, with a few people around.

“Are you drinking with me?” He asks and you hum softly. Once the order is made, he pushes the tablet aside and focuses on you. “Did you start my tattoos?” He questions, stretching himself as the waiter arrives with beers and two bottles of soju.

“Yeah,” You reply quietly, staring at the waiter opening the beers.

“Can I see?”

“No.”

Jungkook’s lips turn into a smirk and nods, sliding a beer to you before taking the other for himsel f.

“You’re nervous.” He observes, making you frown and shake your head. “You are.” He retorts, chuckling. “You’re avoiding my eyes, and your foot keeps tapping under the table.”

And you hate him for knowing you so well. Your foot stops its nervous tapping, as your eyes meet his in a silent challenge, just to prove him wrong.

“How was Japan?” You ask, changing the topic. He leans back in his chair and stares off, as if searching for the right words.

“Different and the same at once.” He replies, rubbing his chin. “People don’t really look at you, they don’t care. The food is good. It’s beautiful too. I visited Kyoto and touched a deer,” he adds, making you smile.

You’ve always wanted to go there, to visit the bamboo forest and feed the deer. You two used to talk about it.

“Their faces are soft, but,” he scrunches his nose and shakes his head, “their body fur is… coarse. Like street dogs, you know?”

“I see.” You chuckle, biting your bottom lip.

“Jimin told me you have a cat,” he says, and you two clink your bottles before taking a sip.

“Yeah, Trash,” You smile softly. “He’s a fat little demon.”

“You always wanted a cat.” He remembers, smiling. “But your dad is allergic.”

“Right.” You laugh softly. “The moment I had my apartment, I adopted one.”

“He bit Jimin.” He chuckles, taking another sip of his beer. “He showed me the scars.”

“Jimin overwhelmed him.” You defend your cat, making Jungkook laugh.

“Of course.” He replies, shaking his head. When the waiter came back to start the BBQ and brings the meat and sides dishes, you frown a little. Jungkook thanks the waiter and begins grilling the meat in front of you.

“Beef?” You ask as he nods, pushing the plates between you both before waiting for the grill to be hot enough.

“You still like beef, right?” He questions, cutting the meat on the grill.

“I do. But… I ordered pork belly.” You nod.

“I know.” Is all he says. You look at the grilled food. He ordered beef on purpose. He knows you’re not a fan of pork belly. You shake your head, smiling. You both thought of each other. “Here, have a taste” He offers, placing a slice in your small plate as you thank him and grab your chopsticks. “Where is your brother now? High school?”

“Yeah,” You hum while chewing your food, your hand on your mouth to hide the pout you make when you eat. “It’s his first year.”

“He’s what, fifteen?” Jungkook asks, concentrating on grilling the meat but still making conversation.

“He can’t wait to finish high school and move to Seoul.” you chuckle, filling both of your glasses with soju. “He said that Busan was boring.”

“What? Busan is so cool.” Jungkook shakes his head ,amused and you nod.

“That’s what I told him.” You retort, taking another piece of meat. “And he replied: ‘If you like Busan so much, why did you leave then?’ from his sassy fifteen-year- old.” You muse, and Jungkook bursts out laughing.

“What a brat.” He says playfully as you nod.

“Right?” You smile, feeling more comfortable. That’s one of Jungkook's superpowers.

You two clink your drinks and take a shot of soju before he leans back in his chair.

“What about your brother?” You ask, pushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

“He’s married, two kids. I’m an uncle now.”

“Nice.”

He leans over the table to grab the bottle of soju and pours it into both glasses.

“Yeah, I ran as soon as Soyoon was about to give birth to the first monster. I held her in my arms,” He explains, and you smile softly, picturing Jungkook with a newborn in his arms.

“Did you cry?”

“No, I’m a man.” He shakes his head as you raise an eyebrow. “Maybe a little. Can you blame me? She was so tiny, and she is my first niece ever.”

Jungkook didn’t let you pay when you headed out two hours later. You rolled your eyes and suggested having dessert somewhere else. It was the least you could do. That's what you're trying to convince yourself of. The truth is, you didn’t want the night to end. You had a great time catching up with him.

You learned a lot about the twenty-seven-year- old Jungkook. Despite many changes, nothing has really changed. He was still the same nice boy you met eleven years ago, just more mature. You feel like you haven't changed or improved the way he has. He’s traveled and had many stories to share. The only significant change in your life is your move from Busan to Seoul.

“I’m not surprised that you’re a tattoo artist now,” he says as you both sit next to the lake, holding stuffed waffles. He offers you to help you settle with him in the grass. “You always loved to draw.”

“I told you that I’d become a tattoo artist one day,” You reply, pulling your legs against your chest as you eat the strawberry in the whipped cream of your waffle.

“Yeah, you did,” he smirks, leaning back on the ground, propped up on his elbow, and bites into his waffle. “I always knew you would. It’s hard to get something out of your head when you set your mind on it.”

Both of you continue to stare at the lake in front of you, as you sigh.

“Were you mad at me?” you ask a bit too boldly, but you blame your courage on the bottles of soju you drank earlier. You're both tipsy, clear-minded enough to think freely but not drunk enough to keep your thoughts to yourself. Jungkook seems to understand right away and sits up, taking a deep breath.

“Mad? Yeah.” He says honestly and you nod. “I didn’t understand why you broke up with me.” He adds taking another bite of his waffle, his eyes on the few ducks on the water. “And then I thought that maybe… maybe it was my fault. Maybe I said something that you didn’t like. Maybe I did something wrong. I’m sorry if that’s the case.”

You turn to look at him, but his eyes are still on the lake. He shrugs softly and smiles.

“But I wasn’t mad at you, Y/N.” He licks his lips and finally look at you. “I could never.”

Of course, he couldn’t. Whenever you two got into an argument, he was always the one coming back to you, making excuses—even when you were wrong. He cried and begged you not to leave him, even bringing flowers. Back then, leaving him, even for a short time, was never an option. He was yours and you were his. Did the eighteen-year-old Y/N ever imagine that one day you’d be closer to strangers than lovers?

“I just….” He sighs, clenching his jaw. “I just need to understand why.”

“Why?” You ask immediately.

“To heal the twenty-year- old guy who was left in that fast-food restaurant alone two days before Christmas.” He replies softly and your heart clenches.

“I thought you wanted to be friends?” You frown a little, feeling betrayed as his eyes widen, thinking that he probably did all that just to have his answers.

“Of course I want to be your friend, Nabi.” He retorts, frowning too. “I told you. You can reject me if you want, but I want you in my life.”

His words make you look at the ground and sigh. He said that when you two were seventeen. When he thought that his feelings weren’t reciprocated.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to tell me today. I waited seven years,” He jokes, and you shake your head with a slight smile. “I’m patient.”

“Are you?” You arch a brow, and he smiles, his eyes drifting to the ducks passing by on your left.

“Oh look, ducks!” He says, straightening up like a kid on Christmas day. Your eyes follow his gaze to the ducks a few meters away from you. “Do you think I can catch one?” He smirks, a competitive glint In his eyes.

“What are you going to do with a duck?” You chuckle, frowning at his absurd question. “And you can’t catch ducks. They’re faster than you and can fly.” You inform him as he arches a brow and gets up.

“Alright. If I get one, you’re going on a second friendly date with me.”

“You can’t catch ducks.” You repeat, shaking your head as he hands you his waffle and starts running after them.

You roll your eyes and watch him disappear behind the small hill that leads to the lake. A few seconds of silence pass as your gaze stays on the track he took. As you prepare to get up and join him, he returns with a duck in his hands. The animal seems as lost as you are, while Jungkook is grinning triumphantly. Holding the duck securely, he walks back to you.

“You owe me a date.” He says proudly, kneeling in front of you. You shake your head, amused and get closer to him.

“Do you think he’ll bite if I touch him?”

“He doesn’t have teeth, Y/N.” He chuckles and placing the duck closer before showing you how to strokes feathers.

“I can’t believe you caught a duck.” You giggle, amused, your fingers brushing the soft feathers. You're too focused on the animal to notice Jungkook's eyes on you.

“It’s late. We should call a taxi.” He suggests, and your eyes lift to meet his.

You didn’t want to leave. You were having fun, but he’s right. He releases the duck aside to let it rejoin its friends as you nod.

“I'll see you to the door.” He smiles softly, offering you his hand to get up.

“So, when are you gonna claim your prize?” You joke once you're both at the door. Jungkook leans his shoulder on your doorframe, thinking as he folds his arms across his chest.

“I haven’t even left yet, and you’re already eager to see me again, Nabi?” he smirks, and you roll your eyes, turning to close the door.

“Goodnight, Jungkook,” you pretend to step inside your apartment, but he giggles and stops you, placing his hand on the door.

“Alright, alright,” He laughs before you turn to face him again. He scratches his chin, leaning back on your doorframe. “I have to go to Busan before my mom kills me,” He adds. “It’s been months since I’ve been back, and I still haven’t visited my parents yet. But after that, we can plan another dinner.”

“Oh, yeah, you should plan that trip quickly. She’ll choke you to death if you don’t.” You chuckle, remembering that his mother is a mama bear. “Who’s driving you?”

“The train.” He laughs. “Jimin is too busy with his job, and I don’t have a car.”

And maybe it’s because it’s late, or because you had a great night, or maybe you can blame it again on the soju you had earlier, even if the effects long gone, but you open your mouth before thinking.

“I can drive you.” You suggest and immediately regret your words. A trip? Spending a few hours in the same car as your ex?

“Oh, no, it’s okay. Don’t change your plans for me.” He shakes his head, but you can't help it.

“I don’t mind. I need to visit my dad anyway, so at least we’ll kill two birds with one stone.”

Damn it, Y/N.

Jungkook stares at you for a moment, waiting for you to change your mind but you don’t say a single word.

“I mean… If you’re sure it’s no trouble,.” He nods, looking thankful.

“It’s not. I just need to clear one of my weekends. But if you're not comfortable with it—”

“No, no. Let’s do that.” He rushes to say, and you chuckle softly.

You smile and nod, and he does the same, taking a step back.

“Alright,” He repeats, “You’ll text me. Thank you for tonight.”

You offer him a sincere smile and take a step back too, ready to close your door.

“Get home safe.” You wave at him as he hums and bows politely before you close your own door and lean your back against it. Did you just offer your ex-boyfriend to spend more time with you? That’s not really … friendly.

You didn’t tell your friends about that night, or about the second date you’re going to have—if you can even call it a "date"—and certainly not about the trip you're going to take with Jungkook. They would keep harassing you about it. No, you kept it to yourself. Jungkook and you hadn't spoken since that night. It had already been more than a week.

You were too busy with your shop, and he was probably busy too. You needed a little time to calm down. Spending time with him again felt like the thrill of having a new friend, discovering someone new. You felt the same way when you and Hwan first became friends.

“Boss?” Baekhyun calls out as you smile, drawing on your tablet. “Y/N?”

“Hm?” You blink a few times, snapping back to reality. “Yeah?”

“Where do I put this?” he asks, holding up a box you just received.

“Oh, it’s our Halloween decorations,” you say, getting up to take a look. Baekhyun pulls the box onto the counter as you grab a pair of scissors to open it.

For the counters, you’ve got a bunch of little pumpkins. Spider webs adorn the walls and doors, and the star of the show: a human-sized skeleton that proves a challenge to get out of the box.

“We’ll have fun drawing on this one,” you chuckle, setting the skeleton on the bench next to the counter.

“Drawing?” Baekhyun frowns as he pulls out the ghost decorations from the box.

“Hm. I want to draw on his bones. He’s our mascot; he needs tattoos to look cool,” you say, stepping back with your hands on your hips. “Look how handsome he looks.”

Baekhyun stares at you, amused, before shaking his head.

“You’re really something else, boss,” he purrs, stepping closer. You feel his breath on your shoulder before he presses his lips to your skin. You shiver slightly and step away from him.

“Not at work,” you mumble, glancing at the skeleton.

“I know, I know,” he whispers, placing his hand on your stomach as he closes the distance between you again. His nose brushes against the crook of your neck. “But it’s the end of the day, and the shop is closed,” he murmurs as his mouth trails kisses along your skin, making you bite your bottom lip. "Can I invite you to dinner on Halloween?"

"Hm?" You breathe softly as his hand inches toward the waistband of your jeans. You close your eyes and tilt your head, giving him more space. “Halloween?” you repeat.

“Yeah. Since we’re closed the next day, I want to celebrate Halloween with you,” he says, kissing your jaw as he explains. You take a few seconds to think before shaking your head.

“I can’t. I’m leaving for Busan for Halloween,” you reply, making him stop. He pulls back slightly to meet your eyes.

“You’re going to Busan?” he asks as you frown, pulling away to face him completely. His hand drops to his side. “That wasn’t planned?”

“I didn’t know I had to explain myself to you,” you chuckle, occupying your hands by putting the decorations back in the box. “I’m visiting my family. Is that a problem?”

“Oh…” he mumbles, looking at the floor. “No, I understand. So… when can I invite you to dinner?”

“Why?” you ask, amused.

“Y/N… Come on,” Baekhyun sighs, closing the distance between you as he takes your hands in his. “You know why. We’ve been circling each other for almost a year now.” His words make you laugh, and you shake your head, raising an eyebrow. Why does he talk like you owe him something? You pull your hands away from his and shake your head.

“I don’t remember the part where I said our arrangement would lead to something else?” You retort, arching a brow. Baekhyun rolls his eyes, pushing himself against the counter.

“I know what you said. It’s just—” He takes a deep breath. “We work well together. Here at the shop, we have a good chemistry, even in bed. You could at least give me a chance to prove it?”

“Oh my god,” you shake your head, covering your face. “Baek, why are you suddenly so desperate to prove something?” You both exchange a look as he clenches his jaw, looking away.

“You’re making it sound like I’m being stupid right now.” He groans silently as your eyes soften.

“I’m sorry. It’s not what I meant.” You add, looking at him. “I don’t want a relationship. Not now, or ever. I told you.”

“What?” Baekhyun frowns. “That’s not what you said. You said you weren’t ready to start something with someone yet.”

“And I still am not.” You raise your shoulders as he chews the inside of his cheek. “I don’t have to explain myself to you anyway. I’m happy alone.”

“Okay.” The young man replies, his tone almost cold. “You don’t have to repeat it. It’s only sex, I get it.”

“Are you upset because I don’t want a relationship?” You frown, your voice rising slightly.

And your words seem to hit him harder because his features relax slowly as he takes a deep breath.

“No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that, Y/N. You’re not ready, and I respect that.” His tone softens as he steps closer, gently rubbing your arms. “Let me buy you dinner, hm?” Baekhyun says with a smile as he pulls you into a hug. “I’ll let you choose whatever you want to eat. I’m sorry. Please forgive me, yeah?” he whispers against your shoulder, and you simply nod. “Alright, let’s close the shop and grab something to eat.”

DUST OF US MASTERLIST.

WATTPAD.

buy me a coffee<3 (every chapters/drabbles are posted as soon as i'm done writing them.)

[pandapetals]

Meet The Parents

Logan suggests trying to have a relationship with your mom despite past meetings not going well.

professor logan howlett x professor fem!reader - established relationship (y'all married), some fluff, teasing, no y/n used, no reader description, your an english professor, logan is a history professor - imagine days of future past logan with the white streaks in his hair, mentions of death/abuse, angst, trauma, parents being ugh

read on ao3 or find more parts for the series: here

After saying “I do,” life hadn’t shifted dramatically for you and Logan. You were still very much the same—you still bickered over whose turn it was to do the dishes, still made each other laugh with inside jokes, and still shared quiet moments in the early morning before the world stirred awake. But there was a deeper sense of security between you now, a quiet understanding that you were each other’s, through thick and thin.

Logan still worked on tearing down his walls, letting you into parts of himself he’d once kept hidden from everyone. And you, in turn, were learning to open up more about the pieces of your past that still haunted you. Together, you were strong—even if there were moments of vulnerability and the occasional bump along the road.

One afternoon, Logan found you grading papers in your office, and he slipped into the room with a faint smirk as he leaned against the doorframe.

“Hey, darlin’,” he drawled in a tone suspiciously close to your own impression of him, earning a laugh as you looked up.

“Oh, trying to steal my act now, are we?” you teased, setting down your pen and giving him a playful smirk. “I was wondering when you’d drop by, Mr. Howlett. ”

Logan rolled his eyes but crossed the room to wrap his arms around you, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head. “I was talkin’ to Scott,” he said, his voice low and thoughtful.

You looked up at him, arching a brow. “Oh? Hopefully, it was a good talk and not some… Scott talk .” Your tone was playful, but you could tell by the look on Logan’s face that this wasn’t just idle chit-chat.

“It was good, actually,” he replied, a faint, almost uncertain smile tugging at his lips. “He mentioned Jean’s parents… how they just adore him.” He paused, his thumb absentmindedly rubbing circles on your shoulder as if steadying himself. “It kinda made me think… maybe I should try to get to know your mom better. Really get to know her.”

You pulled back slightly, blinking up at him, surprised. “Logan, I don’t know if that’s the best idea.”

He raised an eyebrow, his gaze searching yours. “Why not?”

You sighed, running a hand through your hair as you tried to choose your words carefully. “First, she brushed you off when you met her at the hospital while my dad was dying. Then there was Christmas—she showed up unannounced, gave you the cold shoulder, and barely even looked at you. I just… I don’t want you to put yourself through that. I know how she can be.”

Logan’s gaze softened as he placed his hands on either side of your face, gently lifting your chin so your eyes met his. “Sweetheart, I’m not doin’ this just for her. I’m doin’ it for you, for us. You’re my wife, and if there’s a chance I can make peace with your family, even a small one, then I want to try. And maybe…” His voice trailed off, a vulnerable flicker in his eyes. “Maybe it’ll help you, too.”

You swallowed, feeling a familiar ache in your chest—the ache of loving someone who saw through your defenses even when you didn’t want them to. “Logan…”

He pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Just think about it, yeah?”

Despite your reservations, you found yourself nodding. If Logan, of all people, was willing to make an effort with your mother, maybe it was worth a shot.

A few days later, you and Logan found yourselves driving down familiar streets toward your childhood home. The sight of the weathered brick house brought back a swirl of memories, some warm, others tinged with bitterness. You glanced over at Logan, who gave you a reassuring nod, his hand warm around yours.

Your mom opened the door almost immediately after you knocked, and for a moment, her face softened with something almost like surprise—or maybe it was relief. She offered a tentative smile, ushering you both inside with a bit more warmth than you’d expected.

"Well, look who decided to come see her mother," she remarked, her tone light but with an underlying edge. Her gaze shifted to Logan, and to your surprise, she extended her hand. "Logan, wasn’t it?"

Logan shook her hand, giving her his best attempt at a polite smile. “Yes, ma’am.”

For the first half-hour, things were surprisingly cordial. Your mom asked Logan polite questions—what he did, how he ended up at Xavier’s, what he thought about teaching. Logan answered each question with surprising patience, even throwing in the occasional charming remark that made her laugh despite herself.

You started to relax, thinking maybe this visit wouldn’t be as tense as you feared. Maybe Logan was breaking through her walls, the same way he’d done with you.

But then, while talking about life at the mansion, Logan let it slip.

“Yeah, it’s been a nice few months, gettin’ settled in as a married couple. Kinda feels like the place has turned into a real home,” he said casually, reaching over to give your hand a gentle squeeze.

Your mom’s face froze, her eyes flicking from Logan to you. “Married?” she repeated, her voice sharp and disbelieving.

Your heart dropped. “Mom…”

She shook her head, her eyes widening with incredulity. “You’re telling me you got married —you actually had a wedding—and you didn’t think to invite your own mother?”

Logan’s hand tightened around yours protectively, but you felt the heat of embarrassment and hurt rising in your chest. “It wasn’t… it wasn’t a ceremony, Mom. We just went to the courthouse. We wanted to keep it simple.”

Her gaze turned icy, lips pressed into a thin line as she looked between the two of you. “Simple or not, a wedding is a wedding. Do you know how humiliating it is to be the last to know about something like this? My own daughter, marrying some…” She stopped short, clearly struggling for words as she looked at Logan, her disappointment morphing into something colder.

Logan took a deep breath, trying to keep his voice calm. “Ma’am, it wasn’t about excluding anyone. We just… wanted it to be about us. That’s all.”

Your mom ignored him, focusing solely on you. “Is this how you treat family now? Running off to do things on your own without even telling the people who care about you?”

The words stung, each one laced with the familiar guilt she’d wielded over you for as long as you could remember. But this time, Logan was there, his hand firm in yours.

You took a deep breath, gathering courage. “Mom, I’m sorry if this hurt you. But Logan and I… wanted something private, something that was just ours. You know we aren’t close, and I…I didn’t want the added stress of making it something it wasn’t.”

She looked at you, her eyes flashing with a mix of anger and something like sadness or maybe resentment. “You really think that little of me, don’t you?”

“No, that’s not it,” you replied, your voice steady. “I think that much of myself. I wanted this to be a happy memory, something simple and true, without all the weight of… everything.”

For a moment, the room was silent, the tension thick enough to feel. Logan’s thumb rubbed soothing circles on the back of your hand, a quiet reminder of his presence.

Finally, your mom let out a sharp breath, turning away as she adjusted a picture frame on the side table—a nervous habit you recognized all too well. “Well, I hope you’re happy then. Both of you.” Her tone was clipped, and she didn’t meet your gaze.

Logan cleared his throat, shifting on the sofa. “Look, ma’am, I know this might not have been what you expected, but I’d like a chance to make things right. We’re family now, and I want you to feel like you’re a part of that.”

Your mom barely glanced at him, brushing off his words with a dismissive wave of her hand. “I don’t care for your excuses,” she said, her voice brittle, as if holding back a storm of emotions. “My own daughter has made it clear she doesn’t want me in her life.” She paused, her hand trembling slightly as she smoothed back a loose strand of hair, her face contorting as she fought to keep her composure. “After your father died, I thought… maybe things could change between us.”

You felt a familiar tension coiling inside you, a blend of anger and hurt that you’d long tried to bury. Your jaw clenched as you forced yourself to stay calm, though your voice betrayed the tremor of pent-up frustration. “It’s not that easy, Mom,” you replied, your tone sharp as you rose to your feet. “How could you possibly expect that from me? How could you think things would just… magically heal?”

Her eyes flashed, an edge of bitterness creeping into her voice. “Because he’s gone. I thought that’s what you wanted.” She looked at you, her gaze narrowing, her tone laced with accusation. “You wanted him dead—”

The words hit you like a slap, and for a split second, the room seemed to blur around you. “That’s not true!” you shouted, your voice breaking, the anger boiling up past the point of restraint. “I wanted a family—a father who didn’t hurt us and a mother who actually protected me. But instead, I got a mom who stood by and watched as her child was abused.”

Your mother’s face crumpled, a raw sob escaping her lips as she clutched her chest, her words coming out in a choked whisper. “He hurt me too…”

Before the words could even fully register, Logan stepped in, his hand firm yet gentle as it settled on your shoulder. He moved forward, positioning himself slightly between you and your mother, his expression calm.

“Enough,” he said, his voice a quiet but commanding rumble. He didn’t raise his voice, didn’t need to—there was a steeliness in his tone that cut through the tension in the room. “This isn’t helpin’ anyone. Not you,” he said, looking directly at your mother with a steady gaze, “and sure as hell not her.”

Your mother blinked, momentarily stunned by the quiet authority in Logan’s voice. She took a shaky breath, her expression shifting from anger to something almost like shame, her gaze darting between you and him.

Logan’s hand remained on your shoulder, a reassuring presence that seemed to pull you back from the edge. He looked down at you, his expression softening just a bit, his thumb brushing gently against your collarbone in a soothing gesture.

“She’s tryin’,” he continued, his voice a low murmur directed at your mother, though his eyes stayed on you. “I’ve seen what she’s been through, and I know how damn strong she’s had to be. But dragging up the past like this… it’s not gonna heal anything.”

Your mother swallowed hard, her eyes glassy as she finally looked at you with something closer to vulnerability than resentment. “I… I didn’t know what else to do,” she admitted, her voice trembling. “I thought… I thought you’d let me back in if he was gone.”

A part of you softened, despite the anger still simmering beneath the surface. You could see the cracks in her carefully constructed mask, the way her hands shook as she held them close to her chest, clutching her own arms like she was trying to hold herself together.

“Mom,” you said quietly, your tone weary but sincere. “I don’t know if I can just… forget everything that happened. But I didn’t want you out of my life. I just wanted you to see… to understand why I couldn’t just be the ‘perfect daughter’ you wanted.”

Your mother’s shoulders slumped, her gaze dropping to the floor. For a long moment, the room was filled with a heavy silence, each of you caught in the web of past hurts and unspoken regrets.

Logan’s hand remained a comforting weight on your shoulder, his presence steady and unyielding. He glanced over at your mother, his gaze gentler now, as if he could see the fragility beneath her guarded exterior.

“Maybe you should give her some space,” he said quietly, his voice respectful but firm. “Let her breathe, let her process. Pushing her right now… it’s only gonna make things harder.”

Your mother looked up, meeting Logan’s gaze with an expression that was almost grateful, if not a bit lost. She gave a small nod, her shoulders slumping further. “Maybe you’re right,” she murmured, almost to herself before standing.

She took a step toward the door, pausing with her hand on the frame as if she wanted to say something more. But whatever words lingered on her lips went unspoken. She cast a final, lingering look at you, her eyes filled with a mixture of regret and longing.

“If you… if you ever want to talk,” she said, her voice wavering, “I’ll be here. I’ll be waiting.”

You nodded slowly, the emotions churning inside you too complex to untangle at that moment. “Thank you, Mom.”

With one last look, she watched you and Logan walk out, the door closing softly behind you. The silence that filled the cool air afterward was thick, but there was a strange sense of relief in it like a weight had finally been lifted.

Logan turned to you, his expression softening as he reached out, brushing a tear from your cheek with his thumb. “You okay?”

You managed a small, tremulous smile, leaning into his touch. “Yeah… I think I will be.” You took a shaky breath, feeling a mixture of exhaustion and peace settling over you. “Thank you, Logan. For stepping in. I didn’t think… I didn’t think I’d ever be able to say those things to her.”

He pulled you into a gentle embrace, his arms wrapping around you securely. “That’s what I’m here for, darlin’,” he murmured, pressing a tender kiss to your temple. “To back you up. And to make sure you don’t have to go through this alone.”

As you rested your head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart, you felt a sense of closure begin to bloom, fragile but real. The past might always haunt you, but with Logan by your side, it felt like a burden you could finally begin to let go of.

[drenosa]

Summer turns to fall, as we peer behind a familiar office door...

Four individuals were gathered around a sturdy mahogany desk. Jaune, Cinder and Emerald were seated, whilst the doctor stood dramatically looking outside his office window.

Doctor: And so, with the inevitable change of one season to another, we inevitably find ourselves here... yet again. *Turns with a flourish of his doctor's coat* And in a surprsingly hale condition this time, Mister Arc.

Jaune: *Looking... not as bad as the usual, quaffing the last gulp of one of Ren's smoothies* Difficult circumstances demanded difficult yet effective solutions. Now stuff the theatrics and hit me with it doc.

Doctor: Can't fault me for having a little fun with it.

Jaune: I can and I will.

Doctor: *Eyerolls to Jaune's left where a somewhat bewildered and quite pregnant already Cinder is being calmed and comforted by a composed looking Emerald* Miss Sustrai, I take it Miss Fall is also ready for the reveal? First time pregnancies are never easy, no matter the strength of character. So if she needs a moment...

Emerald: *Shares some meaningful eye-contact with Cinder before both nodding* She's a bit frazzled, but she'll be ready whenever you present her her files.

Docter: *Nods in confirmation and looks back to Jaune* Before we begin with Mr Arc's files, you are aware artificial insemination is a thing, right? Take some of the pressure of your shoulder to... perform and all that?

Jaune: *Blinks in confusion* Artificial whatnow? My mother just said that I needed to... ah... put my back into it?

Doctor: *Blinks in sudden understanding* Ah... never mind you that then. Well then, first off... *With a grunt of effort he pulls out a rather sizeable and hefty document labelled [Jaune Arc]* Miss Schnee's frankly ostentatious generous donations to our research departments have born quite a lot of impressive fruits. In all honesty, I'm pretty sure the Kingdom of Vale has leap-frogged Atlas in medical technology by a country-mile by this point.

Jaune: *Kinda boggled by the sheer size of the package of paper before him* Holyshit... Does it explain anywhere in there why I've been shooting triplets every time so far?

Doctor: Not in the slightest! *Holds up a hand to forestall any reaction from Jaune* I know, I know. But frankly speaking, none of the tests we did, be it standard, special or experimental came up with anything out of the ordinary. You are, by all means, just a very, very, healthy young man. One in an enviably excellent physical form, I must admit. That said however, you are likely the most well-documented individual on Remnant from a medical viewpoint.

Jaune: *Groans in disappointment* Uuugh, fine. Anything odd with... ah... the mothers then?

Doctor: Surprisingly? None. Just a group of athletic young women who are in peak physical condition. We're frankly stumped at the mathematical improbability of it all.

Jaune: *Slumps in his seat* That's what this all is?! A "mathematical improbability"? So it might as well be a divine joke?!

Doctor: *Shrugs* Might as well be.

Jaune: *Sighs* Okay, might as well get the other part of this meeting over with. *Looks to his left* You ready for this, Cinder?

Cinder: *Doing breathing exercises with Emerald* Yes... Yes, let's do this. I want to know now.

Doctor: Very well... *Pulls out Cinder's binder of medical info, looks back to Jaune* She's said she's ready. However, are you sure you're ready for this as well?

Jaune: *Tapping his breastplate* One of the wives told me to wear this before heading out. No idea as to why, but ready as I'll ever be. Now, can I please get to know whether I'm getting triplets again?

Doctor: *Looks queerily at the blond man's armour before shrugging and handing over the document* In that case, I'm certain you'll be surprised.

Jaune: I spawned eight triplets already, *Opens document* What more could... surprise... me?

Outside the office in an ever more familiar hallway...

Pyrrha Nikos was and remains known as a Goddess of Victory. Becoming a mother of six had not detracted at all from her appearance as the fit and busty beauty she already was. If anything, she was more radiant and fiercer in combat than ever.

Today however was not one for combat, so instead of her combat armour (which had to be generously resized around the bust), she was now wearing a flowing toga in the Mistrali style.

Pyrrha: *Arriving a little late because the wives couldn't decide on who would be there to support Jaune whilst the rest takes care of the recently expanded Arc Horde* Odd why no-one questioned I suggested lots to decide this, or that no-one noticed the strips were all metal...

Pyrrha: *Sees an unfamilar blonde woman talking with... Professor Ozpin??* Huh? I don't remember any of Jaune's family looking like her. And what's with the strange air between her and the professor?

Pyrrha: *Approaches the pair with some curiosity* Uhm, hello professor? Why are you here?

Ozpin: Miss Nikos, fair greetings to you as well. I am here because of several matters that happened to overlap. In regards to Miss Fall and Mister Arc, I mean. Same goes for my fellow attendee here.

Pyrrha: I see. And... who are you miss...

Salem: You may call me Salem, dear. I am most likely the closest thing Cinder has to a guardian, of a sort.

Pyrrha: Closest thing?

Salem: *Sighs with an air of melancholy* Cinder's life has been... troubled, to put it rather lightly. I fear I too have added to some of her troubles in the past few years. It resulted in her being somewhat of a... wayward daughter, one might say.

Pyrrha: Oh. I'm sorry to hear that.

Salem: Do not trouble yourself with mine, child. It's a burden I'm well accustomed to.

Pyrrha: Okay, Miss Salem. *Fidgets a little* What's the relation between the two of you?

Ozpin: *Chuckles* A fair question. One with a long story yet a short answer.

Salem: *Smiling coyly* We're divorced.

Pyrrha: *Blinks in surprise as she looks between the two, stammering for an answer* I... uhm... wasn't aware you were ever married professor, or that you married to someone younger as well?

Ozpin: *Slightly grimaces*

Salem: *Laughs mirthfully* Oh dear child, how amusing. I'm flattered you consider me to be so youthful. However-

Ozpin: We're of similar age...

Salem: Yes. Suffice to say, we've lived longer lives than might appear so.

Pyrrha: *Confused at the two's choice of words* Oh... okay then. Then if Cinder was estranged from you, Salem, why are you here? And with Professor Ozpin for that matter?

Ozpin: Ah, that would be were Miss Sustrai comes in. She has been something of a... middle-person between Salem, Miss Fall and I. Long story short, after Miss Fall's emotional breakdown a few months ago, messages...

Salem: Along with some choice words...

Ozpin: Age-old vitriol that needed to be shared, yes- But messages were passed back and forth between all of us. End result? Two divorcees waiting outside an office of an adopted daughter. Reconnecting, or perhaps rebuilding, an old bridge.

Pyrrha: *Touched by the emotion of it all* That sounds incredible! I hope you two can work things out. If not for yourselves, then perhaps for Cinder and Emerald.

Salem: Thank you dear, for those kind words.

Just soon after, the office door swings open...

Jaune: *Looking absolutely shell-shocked as he stumbles out* Oh, hey Pyrrha... Professor... blonde lady I'm probably not related to...

Pyrrha: Jaune! Are... are you okay?

Jaune: *Grinning like a loon* Not at all. Thanks for the suggestion by the way. *Taps his metal breastplate* It'll come in handy.... right now. *Passes out on the spot*

Pyrrha: *Instantly uses her Semblance to catch Jaune, quickly putting him in a recovery position on a nearby bench* Must have been triplets again, I guess.

Emerald: *Exiting after Jaune with Cinder under her arm* Ah... not exactly.

Pyrrha: *Confused* Then why... *Helpfully gesticulates at a passed-out Jaune*

Cinder: *Sees Salem for the first time in-person in a while* Oh... Salem. Hello.

Salem: *Motherly expression* Child. It is so good to see you. Please, share the news.

Cinder: *Nervous* Right... so uhm... *Mutters something barely audible*

Salem: *Feeling a old, old, yet familiar sensation* Do tell, please.

Ozpin: *Felt something as well* The suspense is quite palpable, dear.

Cinder: *Holds up four fingers* Four, non-identical, all girls...

Salem: *Envelops Cinder in the mother of all motherly hugs* Oh child, how lovely!

Ozpin: *Puts a caring hand on Cinder's shoulder* Anything you need, we'll help provide.

Cinder: *Sobbing mess because of finally getting some long-awaited parental love*

With that, we reached the end of this heartwarming scene of reconciliation, re-connection and familial piety.

Just off to the side however...

Emerald: *Standing next to Pyrrha, both looking at the old familial sight* So... your man broke the spell at least?

Pyrrha: *Clicks her tongue* Yes... and I bet Weiss it would be another triplet. Now Ruby and I owe her.

Emerald: What did Little Red bet on? And owe her what?

Pyrrha: Ruby bet on it being fewer than three this time around. And Weiss gets first dibs this time around.

Emerald: *Already has a suspicion* First dibs on...

Pyrrha: Babymaking... she gets first dibs on babymaking this round.

Emerald: Seriously...

Pyrrha: *Wiggles her eyebrows at Emerald* You can join Cinder and realize why we're all so keen on it.

Emerald: Ah... eh, no thanks. I think being a nanny suits me just fine for now. Schnee pays ridiculously well for it.

Pyrrha: Very well.

Jaune: *Laughing like a loon from the bench he's sprawled on* Eheheheheheeee.... 2 and 8, put them together for 28. Twentyeight daughters with twentyeight little smiles under twentyeight cute little noses.... fiftysix little feet to go with fiftysix little hands... fiftysix little limbs with five littler limbs each... twohundredandeighty little toes and twohundredandeighty little fingers... fivehundredandsixty wiggly little limbs... ahahahahahaaaaaa....

Pyrrha: Shout out to the man that made me realize I was bi....

Ruby and Weiss each being held under the crook of her arms...

Pyrrha: AND into polyamory! 💕💕

Ruby: Eh?

Weiss: Huh?

Vanishes into JNPR's dorm room with them...

Pyrrha: 💕💕 Jaune honey! I found our WAIFUs!!! 💕💕

[pennyellee]

𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐰 𝐨𝐟 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐗 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞

LACRIMOSA | MYG MAFIA YANDERE AU

pairings: mafia leader!yoongi x f!reader

genre: mafia!au, yandere au, historical au

summary: Their interlocking gaze served as a butterfly effect on his heart, stirring it to the core. She, in turn, only dreams to find a way to escape. But perchance, over time she might forcefully learn to love the man who has taken so much from her.

Thus unfolds a twisted tale of love and loss, of hope and despair, of life and death. The music reverberated through the dimly-lit streets. Tears of sorrow, weeping symphony - reflects the hurt, the scars that linger deep within and the wounds that never healed. Lacrimosa.

chapter warnings (preview only): minors dni 18+ | mafia au, dark!yoongi, mafia!yoongi, yandere, implied age gap, hoseok-sshi being tired of yoongi, …

beta read by @chaoticpuff17

word count: 646

release date: 7/12/24

disclaimer: this story is purely fictional, it does not depict real-life events or involve any actual members of BTS. This story will contain depictions of violence, blood shed, death, mentions of abuse, smoking, alcohol drinking, illegal activities, old social norms and traditions, which we do not condone.

author’s note: WELL AT LAST INNIT? Y'all I swear I’m as impatient to put this out but also so nervous. This is the longest chapter of Lacrimosa to this date and there is a reason. A lot is going to happen here and in part two. That’s why I decided to split this into two parts, and perhaps if this would be only one part I would have to write “the end” which I’m still not contemptuous with soooo yeah. But this has been such a long ride and looking at the almost 300 pages long document I’m sitting here like damn. The first draft of Lacrimosa can be traced back to 2021 and I can’t believe we are almost at the end of it all.

ANYWAY - for those who asked a lot about Y/N’s and Yoongi’s age gap, kudos for your patience. Also, I have another fic that is setted in the world of champagne confetti [now i’ll know if you’re actually reading these notes hihi] of which preview will come, probably this week too, or maybe the next one, again, very excited to push it out finally AND, yes to all of you if you’re still reading this note - CHAMPAGNE CONFETTI [now you just looked up to see what i’m talking about right] will come around as soon as i’m finished with UNI this year. If yall be good I can pull out a preview out of my sleeve for Christmas. SO, see you all on 7/12/24, the usual time :))))

previous NEXT

….

“You don’t just do that without having something bigger planned.”

Seokjin’s eyes flickered to observe Yoongi’s reaction to their brother’s words. “He is right, Yoongi. She has always been emotional, and driven by her heart. But this—" He shook his head. “It’s different.”

Jimin shifted in his seat, looking between the men, the concern in his eyes growing.

Hoseok stood straighter, his expression softening as he spoke with conviction. “She had a choice. She could have walked away or stayed neutral, but instead, she chose to act. And what she did, Yoongi, was not just for herself. It was for all of us. For you. Do not dare to doubt her loyalty, when she worked hard to finally be contemptuous here!”

Jungkook, his voice quieter than usual, spoke up listening to Hoseok’s words. “She did what she had to do. And whatever her reasons are, I trust her.” His gaze met Yoongi’s. “You should, too.”

Yoongi’s expression hardened, trying to keep his emotions in check. His mind raced, the weight of everything that had happened in the past hours pressing down on him.

Taehyung’s voice broke through the silence once again, more serious than usual.

“She has changed—” Yoongi exhaled sharply, his mind still reeling. “I just need to understand why. Why now? Why this?” His voice dropped to a near whisper, the vulnerability slipping through despite his best efforts to hide it. His heart... his heart wanted to believe in her, wanted to believe she was doing this out of devotion, not manipulation.

“Of course, she has changed!” Hoseok’s frustration was bubbling at this point. "You were nine when she was born," he continued the quiet force in his voice, not backing down.

“Nine years, Yoongi. You have had that much more time to figure things out. To live your life, to become who you are now. She did not have that—” Yoongi’s jaw clenched, and for a moment, he didn’t know how to respond. The truth was there, raw and unfiltered, and it stung.

“She had three pathetic years to enjoy what life can be and then she went to be your wife.” He took a breath, trying to steady himself. Y/N had spent so much of her life suffocated by the things that had shaped her, by the violence and manipulation that had plagued her existence long before she ever crossed paths with him.

The silence that followed was thick, the air heavy with unspoken emotions.

His voice was quieter than it had been, softer, as he spoke the words he wasn’t sure he was ready to say. “I just… I need to—”

“Even if she is plotting some grand escape, we will stop her, Yoongi.” Yoongi’s head snapped up at the interruption, his eyes narrowing at Hoseok’s words. For a moment, Yoongi’s chest tightened, the idea of Y/N plotting against him threatening to undo everything he’d been trying to hold together.

He stepped forward, his hand resting gently on Yoongi’s shoulder, an attempt to ground him in the present. “You all are too busy doubting her, instead of trusting her.” Yoongi flinched slightly at the rawness in Hoseok’s tone. He had been too caught up in his own doubts to truly see the bigger picture.

“Maybe you are right,” Yoongi muttered, his voice low, almost to himself. He ran a hand through his hair, frustration bubbling back to the surface.

“She is not running, Yoongi. She is not playing you. What is happening now is what happens when you have been given enough time to think.” Hoseok’s gaze softened, his expression becoming more contemplative.

For the first time in a long time, Yoongi allowed himself to take a breath, to breathe out the doubt, and let himself hold onto the belief that maybe, just maybe she was done fighting him for good.

“I genuinely hope that you are right, Hoseok-sshi.”

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coming soon

©pennyellee. please do not repost

Don't be a silent reader, comment, re-blog, heart, asks are more than welcome ♥

PS: Taehyung and Xiaoli 🤭🤫❤️

keep in mind - I'm not expert on chinese, korean and japanese culture, but I tried to research everything realistic I wanted to add to the story. Nonetheless, take it as a fiction.

tag list: @beautifulcloudfestival - @honsoolgloss - @jingerbreadoutofstock - @moscow778 - @januara26 - @dinosolecito - @yoongislatinagff - @xyahrinx - @hi12345567 - @nochuel - @deltamoon666 - @bbkissme99 - @darkuni63 - @nansasa - @sazsazsaz - @strxwbloody - @royallyjjk - @jaiuneamesolitaiire - @shadowyjellyfishfest - @bbgniecyy - @elayne321 - @seojunandsoju - @bun-27 - @whipwhoops - @wobblewobble822 - @whofan88 - @haneyyyyyy - @lostgirlinthewoodss - @secfir - @btspurplesky - @elleflying07 - @pamzn - @megseungmin - @selenophileforlife - @idkjustlovingbts - @seonghwaexile - @catlove83

[yallthemwitches]

“Do you do this for all your sick mates?” She asks, breaking the silence with a wry smile. He chuckles, hand still sliding against her cheek. “Only the ones who deserve it—only the ones I’m especially fond of.”

Rated T. Read under cut or on AO3

“Evans–now this is getting ridiculous.”

She clenches her eyes even more shut, keeping her body curled into a tight ball in the squashy arm chair. 

“Go away—I’m fine. Just…resting.” The effort to speak makes her head ring. “Shouldn’t you be in class anyway?”

She hears the dampened sound of footsteps and opens her eyes. James stands in front of her, tugging at his tie until it comes loose around his neck, his bag abandoned on the ground. 

“Peter told me you were up here looking like a shriveled up flobberworm,” he says plainly, “Can’t have my friends looking that bad.”

“Well, remind me to tell Peter exactly what I think he looks like next time he comes around,” she huffs, a frown too painful to muster.

It gets a smile out of him and for a moment she can look past the utter embarrassment of probably actually looking like a flobberworm. Through her pounding temples, his use of the word friend rattles around, taunting her in a way that she doesn’t have the energy nor desire to focus on. They are friends— that is a good thing. So why does it feel like a knife to her frontal lobe everytime he says it?

Her eyes blink open again to see him rolling up the sleeves of his shirt, tie now lost and the top buttons undone in a carelessly disheveled look. 

Oh, that’s why. 

“You should at least go to the hospital wing,” he chides. The good advice sounds foreign from his mouth. 

“No hospital wing,” she croaks out. “Honestly, it's just a cold. I need to just sleep it off…”

A sharp chill runs through her chest and she shudders her body closer, burrowing her face into her knees. The fire next to her crackles warmly, but it’s like someone has put a shielding charm on it— all she can feel is the cold hollowness of the castle. 

“Alright, suit yourself.”

Something resembling warmth slides under her and pulls her up out of the chair. Body going into panic mode, she begins to squirm in his arms, trying and failing to push against his chest and back into the chair.

“James, put me down. I’m disgusting–my nose is running.” 

“Nah, you’re not disgusting,” he says with full sincerity, “just sick.” His arms tighten around her and she abandons all hope to be released, taking advantage of the opportunity to be cradled against him. 

“We both know you won’t make it even two steps up to the girls dorm anyhow,” she adds, weakly. Playing a battle of wits with him on a normal day was exhausting enough, but with a fever it seemed downright unfair.

“Good thing I’m not going to the girls' dorm then.”

He turns his body in the other direction and starts climbing the steps to the boys’ dorm, having a far too easy time managing to carry her up such a cramped, spiral staircase. On the landing, he kicks open the door to the dorm room, all the boy’s bed curtains open and vacant besides leftover candy wrappers and bits of parchment. 

“The lads are out in classes until at least dinner,” he sets her down on her feet but she holds onto his arm for balance, woozy from the blood rushing back to her body. “--and even so, I’ll tell them to shove off if they happen to try to skive off a class.”

Still holding onto his arm, he leads her over to his bedside. It’s not a place she hasn’t seen before: since fifth Remus would sometimes invite her up to listen to records and now in more recent months she would come up to join in whatever antics they were up to—but to get in his bed? If her body had the leftover energy to make her cheeks burn, she would have been on fire. 

“You want me to sleep here?” She whispers, eyes darting around his space. None of the boys other than Remus had made their beds and looking down at the pulled back duvet she could imagine him clearly —sitting up with impossibly messy hair and eyes still full of sleep, stretching his arms over his head and yawning with some t-shirt on—or no shirt at all…

Suddenly everything went from freezing to blazing hot. 

James blinks, brow crinkling. “Well, I guess you could sleep in someone else’s bed but I think it would be better to ask–”

Her head jerks up to find his face dangerously close. Too close when she’s probably pale as a ghost and full of mucus and just a friend.

“No–sorry. That’s not what I meant. I’m not trying to be some kind of goldilocks…”

“Goldi—what?”

Suddenly, succumbing to sickness seemed awfully appealing. “Nothing, I’m delirious.”

“Right.” His brow furrows and his eyes scan over her face for a moment. “Is this ok then? It’s just that you said you didn’t want to go to the hospital wing and–”

“It’s fine. Really. It’s honestly too kind of you.” She means it, though she doesn’t have the energy to imbue her words with exactly how much. 

His face softens, a triumphant smile breaking onto his face. “It’s nothing. You can use my bed anytime—now, off you go.”

He leads her to sit and contemplate the most loaded statement she’s ever heard. 

Acting as though offering his sleeping quarters is as natural as sharing a quill, he goes over to his wardrobe and starts pulling out drawers, hands fishing through pieces of fabric.

“So what will it be? Socks I presume? Maybe something more comfortable to sleep in?”

She can’t tell if he’s talking to himself or not. The room starts to go fuzzy again and she wishes she still had his arm to hold onto. 

“Er–I have socks thanks.”

He turns around, holding thick, Gryffindor socks that are three sizes too big for her. 

“Yeah, but do you have quidditch grade, comfy, wool socks?” He tosses them in her direction and she just barely makes the catch. 

“Really, you’re doing too much I’m fine with—”

He pulls out a shirt and holds it up to inspect. She immediately recognizes it as his quidditch jersey from last year, the words quidditch captain not yet emblazoned on the front, but his name still written in gold lettering across the chest. It happens so quick she could have dreamed it, but his eyes shift from the jersey to her, a smattering of red starting to appear on his cheeks. 

“Ah, maybe…something else.” He mutters to himself, quickly stowing it away back into the drawer. Moments later, he pulls out a Montrose Magpie t-shirt and gives it a once over before walking it over to her in outstretched arms. 

“Here you are. Can’t say I have the coziest of things, but it’s better than wearing a bloody tie.”

She takes it with a quiet thanks. The burning feeling of being in his room now gone, the unbearable chill from downstairs starts to creep back into her bones. Wanting desperately to be horizontal and under covers as soon as possible, she starts shucking off her tie and unbuttoning her shirt without care, only one button in before she realizes that James’ eyes are zeroed in on the act, completely blown out and frozen on her fingers. 

“Uhm,” she murmurs and he snaps out of it, turning his body so fast that she would have surely fallen over if their roles were reversed. 

“Ah sorry!” He calls, now facing the wall. “I er–just wasn’t expecting that.” He continues to stare away from her, hands on his hips and leaning forward slightly as though he might be in pain. She continues to change, taking off her uniform and pulling the oversized shirt over her head. It’s long enough to cover down to her upper thigh, but she climbs under the covers anyway before letting him know the coast is clear. When he turns around again, he looks bashful—a full bloom of red covering his cheeks as his eyes naturally fall to the pile of her clothes on the floor.

“Feels better, thanks,” she calls out.

“Yeah…’course.”

With her head on a pillow, her body gets taken over by illness. The aches, the booming feeling in her head, the shivering cold all working together to make her want to disappear from the world entirely. From beyond the screen of her fever, she feels the edge of the bed dip from weight and can just barely make out the sound of his voice, talking low with someone else. 

“Yeah—she’s really unwell ...found her in the common room and she refused to go to Poppy…no, just tell everyone else to give her some space and maybe if you pass by pick up something for her to eat when she wakes—otherwise I’ll go in a bit….”

She hears the garbled responses of another voice, but they sound distant, as though coming from a telephone receiver. 

“...don’t be disgusting mate, she’s sick,” she hears James say, his voice flustered. “I’d do it for you too y’know….”

She misses the final exchanges, feeling the lull of sleep attempting to beat out the frigid feeling that continues to circle her like her own private blizzard. 

The loss of his weight on the bed rouses her again as he gets up. Her body reacts immediately, an endless chant of no no no spiraling through her. 

“Stay,” she calls out. From across the room his movement stalls. 

“It’s so bloody cold—I can’t stand it. Can you please just stay,” she tries again in earnest. There’s no response other than a padding of feet towards the bed, then the press of his weight now next to her. 

“You’re cold?” He murmurs, concerned. “ I have the fire running, but I can get more blankets—just give me…”

“No,” she says harder than before. She must be delirious, completely absolutely mental. There’s no other explanation for it, but the words bubble out anyhow.

“Can you just–come here?”

She scoots herself over on the bed, making just enough room to make her intention clear. She hears him swallow hard and the sound of his glasses landing on the bedside table before feeling something solid and warm press flush against her back. 

“Of course,” he says softly and arms wrap around her. She grabs onto them to hold them even tighter, wishing she could just melt into him where evidently all the warmth in the whole world has been hiding from her. His heart hammers at her back and she hears herself give a soft shhh to it–acting as though he is the one needing the comfort rather than her. 

“Is this ok?” He whispers. His lips are so close to her ear that his breath tickles her skin, but she is already drifting away, the sharp pain of cold subsiding and being filled with a delightful, encompassing warmth. The constant ache in her bones calming to just a dull memory as the room becomes darker and darker.

“Yes–you're perfect.” She thinks she hears a response but it's so far away it gets lost entirely. Pushing herself even closer to him, the calming wave of his breath and the smell of his clothes lull her deeper and deeper, until everything disappears entirely. 

* * * * *

It’s no longer warm—it's burning. Her eyes flutter open and outside the window the sun is ducking behind the mountains, taking the last of the daylight with it. Her t-shirt sticks to her, covered with sweat as she turns her body, only to freeze when something warm and heavy skims across her hip. 

An arm—and not hers. 

“Your fever broke about an hour ago,” a voice says softly behind her, a bit gruff with sleep. “I got you some wet washcloths for your head—you should probably drink something, you’ve been sweating for a while now.”

She twists around to see James’ eyes staring back with concern but not making any further movements to untangle himself. Instead, he reaches an arm behind him onto the bedside table and procures a white fabric that drips slightly onto the comforter. Without her permission, he begins dabbing at her face, eyes following his movements with precision as he softly presses the cloth into her hairline. She settles onto her back, the feel of the cold doing wonders to her skin and he pulls himself up to hover over her slightly, a hand holding at her waist while the other continues to work up and down her face and neck. 

If she lets herself ruminate on it for even a millisecond, it will become too much. 

“Better?” He whispers, hand stalling against her cheek. With the fever gone, she is all too aware of how close he is and has been for the past few hours. His shirt, his socks, his bed, him swallowing her like some James Potter vortex that, if she is being honest, would seem like a pretty spectacular place to be—if they weren’t just friends.

“Lots–thanks,” she murmurs. His hand moves to the other cheek and presses soft circles there. She leans into it, finally able to bask in the feel of his body against hers and the way his breath softly falls over her. 

“Do you do this for all your sick mates?” She asks, breaking the silence with a wry smile. 

He chuckles, hand still working against her skin. “Only the ones who deserve it—only the ones I’m especially fond of.”

Her heart clangs against her chest and she knows he can feel it. He stops again, dropping the rag by her side and going back to cup her chin. 

“What else do you need?”

It’s a far too dangerous question given the circumstances, but her hand moves on its own accord, wrapping around him to hold him there as though he might disappear if she lets go. 

“I don’t want to get you sick,” she musters out, “You’ve already done so much.”

“Then let me do more,” he says simply, eyes searching hers, the hand on her waist giving a soft squeeze.

“I want—” she begins, voice faltering. He hangs on her every word, eyes glittering from above her. There’s a thousand ways she could answer that sentence, each more true and raw than the last, but to say them now—now that they are finally getting along, finally mates— is a gamble she isn’t willing to make. 

“--I want you to stay here.”

His mouth goes into a straight line, then forms into a soft, eager smile. “Of course, Evans. Of course, no problem.” 

He settles back down next to her, a hand still cupping the side of her face and her eyes close, sleep already coming to take her away again. Even falling away, she can feel his eyes on her and pictures them clearly through the fog: gleaming and willing and unmistakably kind. She wonders if he can sense the double meaning in her words or if she is going to wake up again and find him gone, back to being just mates who talk and laugh and do nothing more. 

“Lily?” His voice cuts through the quiet, breath hot at her neck.

“Hm?” 

“Is it selfish of me to say I don’t want you to get better?” His voice sounds small but firm. “Is it selfish to say…I like having you here.”

It’s a bright, healing feeling that pulls him closer to her. 

“Not at all,” she whispers. Suddenly, she’s feeling a lot better now–maybe better than she ever has before. 

“It might even be the best thing for us.”