#shes supposed to be quite a different idea than my others

[am-i-interrupting]

Across the River | Viktor x Jinx’s Older Sibling

Chapter 7: Something Something Struggling, Something Something Support

Summary: After the explosion and disappearance of Vi, you take your little sister across the river to Piltover. You struggle to keep the two of you afloat but manage to get Jinx to the academy. This is where she procures an internship that changes your lives.

Up and down. Up and down. Up and down. Up again! And back down.

Jinx was playing a very dangerous game with the screwdriver in her hand. Your heart didn’t falter though. It didn’t stop nor did it race even when the pointed tip got mere inches from her eye.

“Oh,” she grabbed the screwdriver from mid air as she sat up, “did I mention Jayce invited us to a stuffy Piltover party?”

“No,” you said slowly, “when was this?”

“When we went to the Undercity,” she answered. “It’s not for another like three weeks though. He said we didn’t have to come but if we wanted to he’d cover the costs for the night.”

You didn’t like that idea. You didn’t like charity. Rarely ever was it actually that in your experience yet Jayce had been kind thus far. Not that you trusted him entirely but Jinx seemed to. There was also that specific tone in her voice.

“You want to go,” you stated, not asked but stated.

She twirled the screwdriver in her hand. “It’s a scientific Piltover party,” she said. “At least I could learn something if we went but we don’t have to.”

“You can go without me,” you told her.

She laughed, her nervous, uneasy laugh, “Yeah, no, not happening, sis. You’re going with me or I’m not going at all. There’s no way I could survive all of that without you. I told Jayce as much.”

“You can survive it,” you assured. “You’d definitely fit in there better than I ever will.”

“That’s a fat fucking lie,” Jinx said with a snort. “You are sooo much better at social shit than I am. The main reason I haven’t blown up Jayce or Viktor even though I like them is because I don’t take my gun with me when I’m at the lab. That’s the only reason. You think I could do okay with a room full of snobby, arrogant Piltover Pansies? Uh, no. You’re going with me—“ she stuck her finger in your face— “or I’m not going at all.”

The thought irked you. Going into a place where people were flaunting wealth with unspoken etiquette.

When you and Jinx ran up here, there’d been judgement.

It had taken you so long to get a job that was steady. It’d only been within the past two to three years that you’d been able to hold down one for more than a few months at best. All because things were different in the Undercity. You hadn’t known any other way to be than gruff and harsh. Even when you were being kind you’d been scolded for being inappropriate while you’d been here.

The ways of this world were still foreign to you even after more than half a decade. You weren’t sure how to handle things. Not really.

Even more than that, you didn’t want to embarrass Jinx. She was already facing the hardships of being different. People didn’t need even more of a reason to see her as less than. Despite her being better than the lot of them.

“Just think it over,” she said.

She caught the screwdriver mid air as she sat upright. Her feet went beneath her thighs as her legs crossed. She grabbed her homemade bomb and tightened some screws.

You shook your head and continued on making dinner.

You put together the noddles and sauce and shrimp all together in a bowl. You mixed the contents together to get a somewhat even spread throughout the pasta. A piece of bread smothered in garlic and a bit of cheese was placed atop.

You couldn’t even make food look presentable. How were you supposed to make yourself appear that way?

It was on a lunch drop off a couple days later that Viktor followed you out of the door to the lab.

It’d been a suspiciously quiet food drop off. Jayce had been avoiding your eyes but giving you meaningful looks the entire time you were there. You didn’t know what they meant and it was, quite frankly, frustrating.

There was no doubt in your mind that Viktor was going to tell you about the unspoken, quiet elephant in the room. You weren’t sure you were ready for the trunk to let out it’s trumpet but you knew you didn’t have a choice in the matter.

When a cane sounded instead of the door closing, you took that as your cue to brace yourself.

“Jinx has told me she might not go to the convention in a few weeks,” he said. “It’s a very special opportunity.”

“Look, I’m trying to convince her I just—“

“She does not need convincing,” Viktor said. “It’s you.”

You sighed. Your lips sucked into the interior of your mouth in something akin to frustration.

“I have no place at something like this,” you said simply.

Viktor made a noncommittal noise. “Perhaps not,” he settled on saying after a moment, “but she needs you there. You have the opportunity to give her something important.”

You turned to look at him. “How is embarrassing her something important?”

His brows furrowed and his lips pointed downward. “You have the opportunity to give her support.”

You rolled your eyes with a scoff. Your head followed the pull of your neck forward. You began walking away.

“I can only give her so much,” he said. “The people as a whole have forgotten my origins but they have yet to forget hers. Stand by her as someone from the Undercity and I will do the same for you.”

You stopped in your tracks.

“They do nothing but look down on us,” you said. “She’s at least been here long enough in formative years that she knows the way of their world. I don’t know anything. All I will do is show that she isn’t from here.”

A cane sounded against the tiles of the floor. A hand slowly fell on your shoulder. Your body tensed. Only a second of remembering yourself stopped you from slapping it away. Viktor’s face came into your view.

“I’ve been speaking with Jayce about this and he’s extended a hand. He has a friend on the council. She’s expressed willingness to explain the way things are at these events in ways neither one of us could,” he said. “She’s met Jinx several times and sees her potential. Meet with her and then decide?”

“I—“

Your teeth tugged at your lip. A habit you’d picked up from your little sister.

“I guess it can’t hurt too much,” you settled on saying.

“Thank you.”

You held up your hand. “Don’t.”

Mel Medarda was almost exactly what you expected and everything you didn’t.

She was beautiful, breathtakingly so. She spoke with the slyness of a fox. Her voice curled around words with elegance. Her every movement was done with the grace of a dancer. All these things made her the perfect assassin, ready to strike for a kill.

However, she was also kind. There was a warmth in her hazel green eyes. A true sweetness was in the smile on her lips.

She was vulnerable. She was honest. She was soft but she was still sharp.

Her fingers curled around around a silky green dress. The fabric reflected the light like glass.

“What about this one?” she asked, looking to Jinx. She held the fabric up against her skin. “It goes very nicely with the undertones you have.”

Jinx’s lip curled up. She moved to touch the fabric. Immediately her nose scrunched up and her eyes squeezed shut. She couldn’t hold in the noise of disgust.

“I don’t get how anyone could ever touch that fabric much less wear it,” she said. “That feels like butter, not clothes.”

Mel took the reaction with grace, laughing softly. “So that one is a no.”

A man came out from within the racks of clothing. He held a different dress in his hands. It was a dusty blue with silver floral details but as he came closer it was easier to see that it was velvet. Another material Jinx had learned she was not fond of this evening.

Mel hummed. “I’m afraid not this one. I do believe we’ve managed to further improve upon on what we’re looking for though. No velvets or silks. No pinks or blues. Focus primarily on purples, greens, and neutrals.”

The man nodded and spun around before he walked off.

You were careful as you followed the Medarda to not touch anything. You felt like even just doing that would cause you to ruin it and you did not have the money necessary to get it fixed.

All the information you’d been given over the course of the day swirled around in your mind. You felt like you’d been in a daze, not fully there nor in control. Things had just been happening to you since you met Mel Medarda for what she’d called brunch but you thought of as a late breakfast.

No, it was called brunch. Apparently there was a term for late breakfast.

You’d eaten a sandwich with tea that tasted awful. The sandwich was. . . something. Why there were cucumbers on it? You had no idea. It fucked with the texture in a way certainly.

Either way, during this you’d been given a crash course on all things politically correct. It was a lot.

Now you’d been coaxed into dress shopping with Jinx with Jayce’s money so one could assume that meant you’d agreed to going. You don’t remember doing that so you were kind of confused but okay! You were in it now.

Next time you saw Viktor you were going to curse him out. If Jayce and Mel were friends, then Viktor must have met her. That means he must have known she had a knack for doing these sorts of things. That meant this was all his fault.

“Oooh!” Jinx said with excitement in her voice. “Is there a jacket we could find to go with this?”

“I don’t see why not,” Mel said softly.

The man returned. “What about these?”

His voice was like nails on a chalkboard and dear Janna! You just wanted to smash his head in.

Yeah, Viktor was definitely getting something the next time you saw him.

[haniette]

midnight miracle. // ln4

pairing | lando norris x fem!reader

genre | fluff, angst, friends to lovers, hurt-comfort.

word count | 2k

warnings | no use of y/n, use of alcohol, kissing, heartbreak.

summary: when the new year’s eve couldn’t get any worse and everyone disappoints you, Lando is there to keep you company.

a/n: happy new year guys <3 a small gift for you to start this year better. its HIGHLY inspired by my own experience, and as I really needed some comfort, i decided to write this :) hope you’ll enjoy it !

It all just felt unfair.

The wind howled outside as the cold air of the last day of December wrapped itself around the city, making the windows tremble. You pulled your coat tighter around yourself, standing in front of the mirror and staring at your reflection. 

Your shining, mini dress fitted you perfectly, and your makeup was still intact, the soft shimmer of eyeshadow and gloss untouched despite the turmoil churning inside you.

Tonight was supposed to be the night that washed away the sorrow of a year that had taken from you more than it had given, where a new chapter in your life would start with the strike of midnight. A night for celebration, laughter, and fresh starts. But now, standing in the quiet solitude of your apartment, it all felt like a cruel joke.

Your friends were nowhere to be found, each one preoccupied with their own plans. Some were with their significant others, wrapped up in cozy celebrations and shared kisses. Others had joined gatherings where you weren’t really invited—groups you didn’t quite belong to. It had left you with one single invitation, offered by a fellow friend.

You hadn’t wanted to go. The idea of spending New Year’s Eve mostly surrounded by strangers, music blasting too loud for conversation, wasn’t appealing. But as the hours dragged on and the weight of your loneliness pressed harder against your chest, you caved. You needed company.

You spent far too long deciding what to wear, pulling yourself together, and braving the freezing cold to get there.

The moment you stepped into their house, the air was electric with excitement. You scanned the room, searching for any familiar face. Instead, your eyes locked onto him.

Your ex.

The breath caught in your throat as your gaze swept over him. He looked the same but different. Familiar but distant. And then you noticed her. The woman standing at his side, her smile radiant as she leaned into him. His hand rested on the small of her back—the way it used to rest on yours.

The sight hit you like a punch to the stomach. Your chest tightened, and for a moment, you couldn’t breathe. The memories, you’d worked so hard for past months to bury, clawed their way back to the surface, bringing with them a mix of heartbreak and humiliation. Your heart stung again.

You stumbled back, barely managing a weak excuse to leave. You didn’t even wait for your friend to notice you before you slipped away, the cold night air stinging your cheeks as tears blurred your vision.

Back home, the dam broke. The tears you’d held in since the breakup—since the countless small heartbreaks that followed—came flooding out. You sank onto the couch, burying your face in your hands as sobs wracked your body.

The clock on your phone read 10:37 PM. An hour and a half until midnight, and you were certain it would be the loneliest New Year’s Eve you’d ever known. You didn’t even care about the dress or the makeup you made a few hours ago. The dress was already switched for a hoodie and sweatpants, the makeup smudged by the tears that kept falling down your face.

You replayed the scene of him with her over and over in your mind. How he had moved on so easily, so effortlessly. As if you never meant anything to him. How everyone seemed to have someone except you. A best friend, a boyfriend, a girlfriend. Their special person, who would always be their first choice. The unfairness of it all, of not having a person like that twisted like a knife in your chest.

You felt so alone. You just wanted to stop always being the second choice for people.

A soft knock at the door startled you, pulling you out of your thoughts. You froze, your breath catching. For a moment, you thought you imagined it. But then it came again—gentle, hesitant.

Who could it be? Everyone you knew was busy now, partying.

Wiping your face with the sleeve of your hoodie, you stood and made your way to the door. You opened it slowly, unsure of what—or who—you’d find on the other side.

And there he was—Lando.

He stood there, a sheepish smile on his face and a bottle of champagne in his hand. His curls were messy from the wind, and his cheeks were flushed pink from the cold.

“Hi,” He said, his voice soft. “Can I come in?”

You stared at him, caught off guard. “Lando? What are you doing here?”

He gave a small shrug, stepping inside as you moved aside to let him in. He set the champagne down on the counter before turning to face you. “I saw that you left the party quickly, and I didn’t want you to be alone tonight.”

He noticed.

His words caught you off guard, and for a moment, you didn’t know how to respond. You crossed your arms over yourself, suddenly self-conscious. “You didn’t have to leave the party for me, you know?” You said quietly.

“It wasn’t much of a party, nothing special,” He said with a grin. “Besides, I couldn’t stop thinking about you here, all alone. I just… I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Your throat tightened at the sincerity in his voice, and you turned away, blinking back fresh tears. “That’s… really kind of you, Lan.” You said, your voice barely above a whisper.

Lando moved closer, his hand coming to rest lightly on your shoulder. “You don’t have to thank me,” He said softly. “That’s what friends do, right?”

The two of you settled onto the couch, the bottle of champagne opened and poured into the mismatched mugs you’d found in the kitchen to which Lando laughed at you. The TV played quietly in the background, a countdown clock in the corner of the screen ticking away the minutes until midnight.

Lando started telling stories, his voice filling the quiet of your living room as he recounted the ridiculous moments of his year. From the careless mistakes during races to hilarious encounters with fans. His laughter was infectious, and you found yourself smiling despite the ache in your chest that now seemed to slowly fade away.

“Fucking hell, you wouldn’t believe it.” He said, shaking his head as he finished a particularly absurd story about a mix-up at a hotel.

You laughed, the sound surprising you with its ease. “Well, at least you know how to keep things interesting.”

He grinned, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I try.”

The seconds ticked closer to midnight, and a soft breeze whispered through the slightly ajar window, carrying with it the distant sound of cheers and laughter from neighboring apartments. 

You glanced toward the balcony, the curtains swaying gently in the draft. “Do you want to go outside?” Lando asked, following your gaze. His voice was soft, almost hesitant as if he didn’t want to intrude on your thoughts.

You nodded, standing and brushing your hands down your hoodie. “Yeah. Let’s watch the fireworks.”

He stood as well, grabbing the champagne bottle and your mismatched mugs before gesturing for you to lead the way. You slid the balcony door open, stepping out into the crisp night air. It was cold but refreshing, the kind of air that stung your cheeks and made you feel alive.

The view from your balcony stretched out over the city. Lights twinkled like scattered stars, and in the distance, you could see clusters of people gathered on rooftops, waiting for the countdown with sparklers in their hands. 

The sky was clear, the inky blackness dotted with faint stars, a rare sight in the city. Everyone had waited in anticipation of the final countdown for the new year.

Lando joined you, setting the mugs on the small table by the railing. He leaned against the edge, his hands in his pockets, and looked out at the view. “Not bad.” He said with a small smile.

You chuckled, wrapping your arms around yourself. “Yeah, it’s not bad. Kind of quiet, though.”

He turned to look at you, his eyes soft. “Quiet’s not so bad. Sometimes it’s exactly what you need.” You nodded, your gaze dropping to the street below. People were starting to gather, their laughter and shouts echoing faintly in the night air. 

For a moment, you let yourself just be—taking in the sights, the sounds, and the comforting presence of the man standing beside you.

“Are you warm enough?” He asked, his voice cutting through the silence.

You smiled faintly, shaking your head. “I’m fine. I like the cold. It feels… cleansing.”

He raised an eyebrow, a teasing glint in his eyes. “Cleansing, huh? Is that what we’re calling it when your nose turns red?”

You laughed, nudging him playfully. “Okay, maybe it’s a little too cold.”

Without a word, he shrugged off his jacket and draped it over your shoulders. The gesture caught you off guard, and for a moment, you just stared at him.

“Thank you.” You murmured, pulling the jacket tighter around yourself. It was warm and smelled like him—something clean and familiar that made your heart ache in a way you couldn’t quite explain.

“Anytime.” He said simply, his smile soft.

The countdown began, faint cheers echoing through the city as the final seconds of the year slipped away.

“Ten.” You whispered, glancing at the watch on Lando’s wrist as it matched the voices in the distance.

“Nine.” Lando stood a little closer now, his arm brushing against yours.

“Eight!” The voices of the people outside were heard in the distance.

You looked up at him, your breath catching at the way the city lights danced in his eyes.

“Seven!”

He turned his head, his gaze meeting yours. For a moment, the world seemed to be still, the noise around you fading into the background.

“Six!”

“Thank you, Lan.” You said softly, your voice almost lost in the wind.

His brows furrowed, confusion flickering across his face. “For what?”

“For being here,” You confessed, your voice steady despite the emotions swirling inside you. “For not letting me be alone tonight. It means more than you know.”

“Five!”

Lando’s expression softened, and he reached out, his hand brushing a strand of hair from your face.

“You don’t have to thank me for that,” He said quietly. “I really wanted to be here.”

“Four!”

The words settled in your chest, warm and heavy. You held his gaze, the world around you fading away.

“Three!”

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding as you gathered your courage. “Lando?”

“Two!”

“Yeah?”

“Can I kiss you?” You asked softly, staring deeply into his shining eyes.

“One!”

The fireworks exploded overhead, vibrant bursts of color lighting up the sky. Lando didn’t answer with words. Instead, he closed the distance between you, his hand cupping your cheek as he leaned in.

“Happy New Year!”

The kiss was soft, tender, and everything you didn’t know you needed. The warmth of his lips against yours chased away the chill of the night, leaving you breathless and weightless all at once. A tear slipped down your cheek, feeling overwhelemed with the emotions.

When you pulled away, the fireworks continued to bloom above you, their colorful lights reflecting in his eyes as he smiled at you. “Happy New Year.” He said softly, his forehead resting against yours, gently wiping away your tears with his hand.

You smiled, your chest swelling with a hope you hadn’t felt in months. “Happy New Year, Lan.”

The two of you lingered on the balcony, watching the fireworks in comfortable silence. His arm found its way around your shoulders, pulling you close as the final bursts of color lit up the night sky. The weight that had pressed down on you all evening seemed to lift, replaced by something lighter, something warmer.

Eventually, the fireworks faded, and the city settled into the quiet hum of a new year. But neither of you moved. The cold didn’t matter, nor did the late hour. All that mattered was the warmth of his presence, and the way he looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered at that moment.

“Lan?” You said softly, breaking the silence.

“Yeah?”

You hesitated for a moment, trying to rethink your question, before finally asking, “Why did you really come tonight?”

He was quiet for a moment, “I told you already. It's because I care about you,” He said finally. “And I didn’t want you to feel like you were alone. No one deserves that, especially not you.”

Your throat tightened at the sincerity in his voice, and you blinked back the tears that were again threatening to fall. “Thank you.” You whispered.

He turned to you, his expression serious. “You don’t have to thank me. I really wanted to be here. And I— I couldn’t imagine being anywhere else.”

His words hung in the air between you, heavy with meaning. You looked at him, your heart pounding as you searched his face. “Lan,” You said softly, your voice trembling. “I think I—”

He cut you off with another kiss, this one deeper, more certain. And in that moment, with the city quiet around you and his arms holding you close, you felt something shift. 

The pain of the past year didn’t completly disappear, but it felt smaller, and less consuming.

For the first time in months, you felt hope. And you knew that with the new year starting, a new, better chapter of your life was starting with it.

© haniette | 2025, all rights reserved.

reuploads and likes are highly appreciated ♡

[saeun]

megumi's a "whatever," boyfriend. not in the sense that he has an attitude, but in the sense of agreement to your actions. you want him to buy you that korean corndog? sure, whatever. you want to match keychains with him? not quite his style, but it's whatever.

megumi's also an "i don't know," boyfriend. he never knows. he lives by the saying that ignorance is bliss, and it constantly leaves him in a state of confusion. he doesn't know how he got to the nail salon, but apparently he's found himself attempting to decide which colour's best.

"megumi, should i get this one or that one for my nails?"

"i don't know. they both look like the same colour," he repsonds, bursting his brain to find the difference.

"it is, honestly, but the shade is different."

"the first one then," he opts for the first choice, still having no idea what the difference is.

one more thing about megumi: he's a "my girl," type of man. believe it or not, he addresses you as "my girl" when you're not around. such behaviour leaves itadori and nobara in shock. the most endearing name of affection they've received from megumi bordered "idiot," or his favourite, "stupid." it's no wonder why they thought he had no capacity to be romantic.

"why are you so down in the slumps?" nobara questions, rounding the corner with itadori who's holding all her bags.

itadori joins in on the questioning, "yeah, you look like you found out spiderman isn't real."

in unison, nobara and megumi sigh heavily. it's only itadori who'd be sad at the fact that superheroes are fictional.

megumi slouches, resting his head on his knees. it bothers the other two that their friend isn't his usual self today.

"seriously, meg, are you okay?" nobara's voice softens to show her genuine concern. it doesn't last long, however. softness doesn't last long when you have the kind of friend who finishes every snack as soon as it's been bought.

"itadori yuuji, put that snack right back where you found it."

"my bad," he apologises, doing as nobara said.

the attention turns back to megumi. his aura radiates sadness — something that neither of the three knows how to deal with. well, it's better to say it than to dwell on it.

"my—" megumi stops himself, sighing at the mere thought, "my girl's mad at me and i don't know why."

"oh," the duo shares a response.

"uh, well, what did you do?" itadori asks, drumming his fingers awkwardly against his thigh.

"i don't know," the sad boy replies.

"do you ever know anything, fushiguro?" nobara pipes in. how are they supposed to help him when he himself has no idea?

megumi sighs heavily again, nobara's words hit him where it hurts the most, "you sound just like her."

"there's no saving him," itadori whispers to nobara.

"you're right. we should call her to deal with this," nobara whispers back, nodding with itadori as she secretly sends you a text.

[pathologicalreid]

in sickness and in health | S.R.

Minutes before your wedding is supposed to start, Spencer gets cold feet, and you have to find out why.

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: fluff (a smidge angsty) content warnings: alzheimers, weddings, children, babies, sad!spencer, reader wears a dress and makeup, cursing word count: 1.8k a/n: so this became sadder than I had initially intended. also i decided to try something new and write in a different POV and i don't know if i like it. this is my entry for @imagining-in-the-margins' new beginnings challenge, because nothing says new beginning quite like getting married! thank you for having this challenge!

If it were up to you and Spencer, your wedding would’ve taken place at a courthouse with no fuss, just rings and a certificate. Especially after he shot down your idea of a 24-hour wedding chapel in Las Vegas.

In your defense, you pitched it to him as an intimate wedding in his hometown, but he didn’t take the bait.

But when the team found out that the two of you were planning what they deemed unsuitable, they all volunteered to help throw together a ceremony and reception. Everyone was under the duress of Penelope at the time, but they all volunteered.

She could be very formidable when she wanted to.

Your now maid of honor’s eyes were shimmering as she carefully adjusted some of the last few strands of hair upon your head, you had managed to talk her out of a tiara, but to Penelope Garcia, a veil was non-negotiable. “You look gorgeous,” she says, “the perfect bride.”

Laughing uncomfortably, you turn to look at yourself in the full-length mirror and take a deep breath, “Thank you, Pen.”

“I know I may have slightly nudged you in the direction of a bigger wedding-“

“More like punted,” you interrupt, an affectionate smile on your face.

Rolling her eyes, she leaned over to grab her buzzing phone on the velvet chair in your ready room. “Whatever, I just think that after everything you and Spencer have made it out of, you deserve a celebration that reflected that,” she speaks passionately, as she always does when discussing people in love.

Turning around to look back at the mirror, the tulle of your veil cascading over your shoulders as you grew giddy. Your dress was a whimsical, white chiffon that fell to the floor and moved with you as you walked. Small straps of fabric were delicately draped over your arms for an off-the-shoulder effect, you had never felt more glamorous. Although, if there was a day for glamor, your wedding day would certainly qualify.

You snap your head around to see Penelope furiously typing on her phone, “Uh oh,” she whispers, looking at the screen.

Humming, you step off of the pedestal and over to her, careful not to trip on your dress, “What’s wrong?” You murmur, trying to see what was distressing her. Dread built in your stomach; the team couldn’t be getting called away? Two of its members were about to get married. This is why you should’ve just gone to the courthouse; you never should’ve let Garcia talk you into this.

Jolting you out of your panic induced stupor, she answers, “Something’s up with Reid.”

Your heart clenches, “Reid? My Reid?” You whisper, “Is he okay?”

The two of you jump when someone bangs on the door, and she moves to open it, just a crack at first – to see who it is – and then all the way open to reveal Luke on the other side. Naturally, the members of the BAU made up your wedding party, and Luke as the best man was the easy choice.

He was mostly dressed, save for the bowtie that remained undone around his neck, “I need to steal Y/N.” His shoulders were rising and falling quickly like he had run across the building.

“She’s getting ready for the wedding. Her wedding,” Penelope answers, gesturing back to you. “Besides, it’s bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the wedding.”

Really, you were mostly ready, you just needed to put your shoes on and line up. “There won’t be a wedding if we can’t get the groom out there,” Luke replies.

You warily approach the doorway, peeking around the door, “What’s wrong?”

“He just needs you,” Luke explains, gesturing toward you with his hands.

Nodding determinedly, you step out the door and run over to the other side of the building to where the groom’s ready room is, pulling the fabric of your dress up so that you don’t trip. Along the way, you pass a few guests, but you don’t stop.

It wasn’t news to most of them that you were a grounding force for Spencer, the two of you had been put through, as Luke put it, the wringer together and still managed to come out the other side. You skid to a halt in front of the door and knock quickly, “Spence, it’s me.”

“It’s bad luck to see the bride before the ceremony,” he murmurs through the door, echoing the earlier sentiments of Penelope. You know he doesn’t believe in it, which only adds to your concern.

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes, fidgeting with the doorknob just to discover it’s locked. “If you don’t unlock the door, I’m going to go find Derek and have him kick it down for me,” you threaten, wondering if the reminder of all of the people here would coax him out.

There was no response from the other side of the door.

Sighing, you turn to look at Luke, “Can you give us a minute?” He nods, letting you know he’ll talk to Garcia before walking down the long hallway.

Once he’s gone, you hear the tell-tale click of the door unlocking, “Garcia will kill you if you walk in here.”

“Penny isn’t here, baby. It’s just you and me, okay?” You speak lowly, “What’s wrong, my love?” Dropping your hand on the doorknob, you startle slightly when it turns and the door swings open.

You yelp when Spencer pulls you in, closing the door behind you before he wraps his arms tightly around your waist. Immediately, you feel his body relax against yours, “Isn’t this supposed to be bad luck?” He murmurs.

Humming, you return his hug gratefully, “We’ve had enough bad luck, don’t you think? It’ll be okay.” His arms loosen around you, and you pull away slightly so you can look up at him, placing your hands tenderly on his chest, thumbing the satin fabric of his lapels. “And besides, I���m not fully dressed yet. I’m fairly certain that means it doesn’t count.”

“You look beautiful,” he whispers, holding you out at arm’s length. “You’re perfect, and I’m…” His voice trails off as he takes a step back from you, sighing as he takes a seat in one of the white chairs in the ready room.

Tilting your head to the side, you felt the fabric of your veil flow to the side, “You’re what, Spence?” You ask, slowly approaching the chair he was sitting in.

He furrows his brows in apprehension, “I think I might be scared of you,” he answers candidly.

You couldn’t help the giggle that spurted from your lips, “Am I really that scary?” You inquire softly, seeking more answers from him. You saw him better now, the darkness of his tux offset by the purple bowtie and handkerchief, joined with the light florals of his boutonnière. Spencer’s hair was a mess, a tell-tale sign that he had been running his hands through it.

Clearing his throat, Spencer looks up at you with a look in his eye that you can’t quite place, “I passed by your room earlier, and I heard you laughing.” He took a deep, tentative breath, “I thought you sounded so happy, and now I’m not sure I can keep you happy.”

Sighing, you duck your head slightly, “Spencer,” you say seriously, “are we still getting married today?”

“What?” He says in disbelief. “Of course we are, that’s not- I’m sorry,” he murmurs, shaking his head. “We’re still getting married; I’ve quite literally never wanted anything more in my entire life. I’m just worried,” he speaks quietly.

Gingerly, you step closer to the chair before he reaches out for you, placing a hand on your waist and gently guiding you down until you are sitting on his lap. “You make me so happy, Spencer Reid. I know that somewhere in that gorgeous brain of yours you know that, but I also know that you are your own worst critic.”

You’re sitting sideways on his lap with your legs latticed on top of each other. Gingerly, he places a hand on your thigh and another on the small of your back, “You deserve everything you want in the world.”

“And I want you. Doesn’t that count for something?” You ask him, emotion beginning to rise in your throat – you cannot cry, then the wedding would really be delayed. “Spencer, I’m so ecstatic that at the end of today, I get to be your wife. That’s such a privilege to me. You and I, we get to be so fucking happy today. We deserve that.” You tell him gently, “We get to be married and go on our honeymoon and come home and we can tell all of your stories to your mom, and we’ll have a baby or two and we’ll be so fucking happy.” You swallow your emotion, looking up at the light in the hope that it will clear your tears. “For the rest of our lives, we’ll be so happy.”

Then it came, “I don’t want to forget you.” His voice is almost imperceptible, but you hear him still.

The ache in his voice feels like a stab to your heart, you were well aware that his mother had Alzheimer’s. She wasn’t having a good day today, but the two of you had gone to visit her in the morning. Ever since she was diagnosed, it’s been like Spencer has a storm cloud hovering over him – he can’t be tested for the gene markers, not for a few more years. Taking a deep breath, you reach over and smooth his hair back, “If you get Alzheimer’s, I will sit down with you every day and remind you. I’m going to walk down that aisle today and tell you that I’m going to love you in sickness and in health and I’m going to mean it.”

“I’m scared,” he murmurs, leaning into your touch.

Using your free hand, you reach up and tenderly wipe a tear from his cheek, “We can take it.”

He nods in agreement with you, “Together, as a team,” he concurs, a slight amount of confidence returning to his voice.

Resting your head on his shoulder, the two of you take your moment. The last moment before you officially unite as one, and you let that moment take as long as you need. “I should go,” you whisper, looking over at the clock, the ceremony was supposed to have started by now.

Spencer leans down and kisses you, “I’ll see you out there?” He asks expectantly.

Nodding assuredly, you reach up and wipe a smudge of lipstick from his mouth, “I’ll be there.”

During the ceremony, you impressively were able to keep yourself together, until you promised him you would love him in sickness and in health.

please remember to like, reblog, and/or comment if you enjoyed!

[catxfisher]

Just the tip

One Shots about our favorite Adult trio and Y/N in different "Just the tip" scenarios.

Illumi Zoldyck

Her fingers dug into the soft black T-shirt as she gently pushed her hips over his lap. She tried to look into his dark eyes while he tried to avoid her gaze. He knew he couldn't say no when he looked into her beautiful, large eyes. "Please Illumi, just the tip, please..." Damn, now he had looked up. Her cheeks were slightly flushed and the first tears were already welling up in her eyes. She was absolutely enchanting in his eyes. And it was difficult for him to deny her a wish. But they had already talked about it and had come to the conclusion that it just wasn't quite right yet. She wanted to pursue her job as a Hunter for a few more years and, above all, consolidate her relatively new relationship with him before she started planning a family. And it was universally known that "just the tip" never remained "just the tip". And her opinion on the whole child topic as well as the fact that they had run out of condoms and were not using any other form of contraception, was making his life really difficult right now.

But what was he supposed to do when she was sitting in his lap and literally begged him to give her "just the tip"? She was just so damn horny and he found it so hard to stand firm. And maybe he just rolled his eyes and grumbled something quietly to himself that sounded a lot like "needy brat". But deep down he just wanted to throw all resistance overboard, because for him there was no better idea than to finally pump her full until her belly was round and her breasts were heavy and full of milk. He just wanted to give free rein to his breeding kink, which never was allowed to see the light of day until now. His otherwise emotionless dark eyes now seemed almost to blaze as they fell on her full lips, which were slightly parted and from which soft gasps escaped while she was still grinding against him. Faster than she had thought possible, he had rolled her over until her back was pressed against the soft sheets and he was on top of her. He slipped his hand under the old T-shirt she used to sleep in and found two things. Firstly, no underwear and secondly: "You're so wet, love." It was impossible for her not to moan softly as his fingers slid between her pussy lips and teased her lightly. "Want my cock that bad?" She nodded frantically and pulled her bottom lip between her teeth as she watched him sliding his jogging bottoms halfway down his thighs, freeing his cock. She couldn't stop her mouth from watering when she finally got to see it. Long and grithy with a slight curve to reach each of her spots perfectly. Drops of pre had formed at his tip, which was already slightly reddened. He pushed her thighs apart to create more space between her legs for himself and also pushed up the t-shirt to finally get a glimpse of what would eventually be his personal downfall. His long, slender fingers travelled back up her thigh to her centre to make sure she was ready for him. But she needed no further preparation. She was so wet that he could see her juices wetting not only the inside of her thighs, but also the bed sheets beneath her. His fingertips brought whimpers to her lips, begging again for more. And he gave her exactly what she wanted from him. The tip of his cock, swollen and reddened and leaking, rubbed against her entrance while he played with her clit. He threw his head back and couldn't suppress the deep humming in his chest. Meanwhile, she moaned loudly and tried to push herself away from the bed and get closer to him to finally have him where she longed for him. His hand gripped her hip and held her in place so that she couldn't move any further. "Stay still," he mumbled softly. But he only achieved the opposite. She braced herself against his hand and tried to push him away so that he would finally come closer.

"So impatient, love." His gaze was fixed on her expression. The way her lower lip was pushed forward because he hadn't yet given her what she wanted. The single tear that ran down her cheek. He didn't even realise that she had wrapped her long legs around his hips and crossed them at her ankles. His cock slid deeper into her and the soft exclamation of his name was like music to his ears. He thrusts into her gently and listened to the soft sounds that escaped her. She was so needy today that the knowledge that only he could provide her with this kind of satisfaction made him feel warm inside. "What me to fuck you that bad love?" he asked. A nod and a few gasping breaths were all she could say in reply. And who was he to deny her that wish. A cry escaped her as he sank completely inside her with one hard thrust. He was so incredibly deep that she felt him push against her cervix. He found a hard and fast rhythm with which he buried himself in her again and again. He watched as her eyes rolled back and her hands eached around until they found his shoulders and grabbed onto them to find some sort of support and brace herself for his pace. He felt her literally suck him in, her warm walls gripping him and making it difficult for him to pull back.

It was unrestrained. Just reduced to lust and her urges. Messy. Without a condom. She could see it in his eyes, just as he could see it in hers. There was no coming back from this. For both of them, there was no better feeling than this. Without a barrier, skin on skin. He knew that he would never again be able to live without letting his bare cock slide in and out of her warm cunt raw. As quickly as they had brought up "just the tip", they had also thrown it out the window. Forgotten as soon as he fucked her on purpose. Buring his shaft inside of her right down to the hilt. All caution was lost in their lust and need to feel each other and listen to his name slide over her lips again and again like a mantra as her pussy pulsed around him and seemed to literally suck him in. He watched as her back lifted off the bed and her body shook as her orgasm swept over her. "Fuck, shit...!" Illumi closed his eyes as he felt her almost milking him and he tried to penetrate her as deeply as he could. He felt the distinct tugging in his stomach and heard the roaring in his ears that showed him that he was ready too.

The thought of pulling out kept coming back to him and he was determined to maintain at least some semblance of control. Because at least one of them had to remain rational and think about how they had come to an agreement. But no matter how good the arguments were to pull out, it couldn't beat the feeling of finally fucking her without protection. Her lewd noises grew louder and louder as the grip on her hips tightened and the rhythm of his hips became uneven, turning her first orgasm into a second. A hiss escaped him as he tried to fight the stuttering of his hips and pull out. But her pussy just felt too good and while inside him his breeding kink was still fighting against the good reasons of pulling out, she finally made the decision for him. The grip of her legs tightened, not letting him back off, keeping him exactly where her lust-fuelled brain wanted him: Between her legs and deep inside of her. A long drawn-out "fuck" escaped him and echoed through the room while he could no longer prevent his own orgasm from overtaking him and allowing his sperm to flood her pussy.

Hisoka Morow

She had agreed to accompany him to the event. Her job was just to look nice next to him, smile nicely and make small talk. And she totally regretted going along with it. There were a lot of older gentlemen at this event, who lost interest in her after a few lecherous glances and brief exchanges of phrases as soon as they realised she was here with the crazy magician. She couldn't blame them, really. She could feel the fear spreading through the men as soon as they realised. And it was justified, Hisoka was dangerous. Still, she was disappointed. Without anyone to talk to, she was bored to death. She wasn't close to the few people present who were her age and not that afraid of Hisoka. She had discovered members of the Phantom Troupe and Illumi too. But she didn't have a point of contact to engage them in conversation and they were more interested in talking to Hisoka and didn't give her more than a few quick glances. So she sat next to Hisoka and was bored.

She tried to occupy herself for a while by trying to recognise patterns in the tablecloth in front of her or by counting the tiles on the floor. But she didn't last long before her eyes wandered around the crowded room again, longing for something to do. Hisoka didn't pay any attention to her either. He was far too engrossed in the conversation with Chrollo and Illumi, who had the seats opposite them at the table. She knew that she had to do something if she didn't want to be stuck here. And she knew a method that would definitely help her to lure Hisoka away from this event and get him home. And to get her plan rolling, she first took a quick trip to the toilet, only to return to her seat next to Hisoka just a few minutes later.

She slid her hand under the table onto Hisoka's thigh. She felt the muscles under her fingers tense up for a moment, only to relax again shortly afterwards when he realised that she was merely drawing small, random shapes on his thigh. With her fingertips, she felt the muscle strands of his leg, which were still rock hard even though he was sitting completely relaxed next to her. Her fingers travelled upwards from his knee before pausing halfway up and then finding their way to the inside of his leg. She let her fingertips circle there too before placing her entire palm on his leg. With gentle pressure, she caressed his thigh before venturing further and further up. Her fingertips brushed against his crotch and after a short wait, she dared to slide her hand further until it covered him completely. She could see Hisoka watching her out of the corner of his eye, but without interrupting the conversation with the other two men. She gave him a slight smile that spread into a grin as he sank further into the chair, spreading his legs wider to give her more room. Her hand quickly found a comfortable position as she slid it over his crotch again and again, feeling him slowly harden beneath her. Only a short time later, her fingers slid a little further up until she found the button and zip of his trousers and undid both.

Her hand slipped under the fabric. Now only separated from him by his boxer shorts. As she continued to massage him, she could see him swallowing hard and his breathing was a little faster than usual. If you weren't paying close attention, you wouldn't notice, but she had a feeling for him. She heard the slight excitement in his tone as he spoke to the other two because his words came out a little more stretched. He was telling them about a fight he had coming up in the arena and she chose that moment to slip her fingers under the elasticated waistband of his boxers and finally feel his hot and hard cock for real. Her fingers slid over the soft head, catching the drop of pre that had formed and rubbing him in agonisingly slow strokes. She could feel it pulsating as she continued to massage him. She knew him well enough by now to know that it wouldn't be long before he came into his boxer shorts. And probably to avoid that, Hisoka's own hand slid under the table and grabbed her wrist to pull her away. She allowed it, but before he had a chance to straighten his clothes back under the table, she placed her hand over his and guided it to her own thigh. Just a moment later, she had navigated his hand even further until his fingers were under her dress. The cool satin fabric was a stark contrast to her naked and hot centre. She had taken off her panties in the bathroom so that he now met her pussy lips, wet with her own juices. She bit the inside of her cheek to stifle the slight moan that escaped her as his fingertips finally made their way to her entrance. She gripped his wrist tightly and thrust her hips forward as she pushed his hand towards her centre until two of his fingers finally entered her. She couldn't stop her soft walls from tensing and pulsing as she finally felt something of him inside her. She pushed her hips towards him in small circular movements, holding his hand until she had the feeling that he wasn't going to pull away. Only then did she push her own hand back into his boxer shorts and grasped his cock as tightly as her pussy was gripping his fingers.

Faster than she could react, Hisoka had stood up, pulled her to her feet and positioned her in front of him. At the same time, he turned to the two men, who looked at the couple in surprise: "You'll excuse us for a moment, we have to go and say hello to someone." Before the others had a chance to reply, Hisoka had already pushed her out of the hall in front of him and only stopped at a door down the corridor. He yanked the door open, pushed her inside and then closed the door again behind him. She didn't even have time to look at the room before he had turned her around and pinned her against the door. "Fuck Pet, be good and let me come," he murmured softly as he pressed his lips to the sensitive spot under her ear. She couldn't suppress the smile that spread across her face as she thrusts her hips towards him. "I didn't stop you, did I? You could have come then and there at the table." She could sense that he was getting really desperate, chasing towards his orgasm the way he was grinding against her thigh. "Not in my boxers, you know what I want" he was still panting against her ear. His breathing quickened by now. "How could I, you'll have to tell me Hisoka." Her hand slid between their two bodies, freeing him from the last piece of disturbing fabric before her fingers closed around him again. "I need your pussy, darling. Need to feel you around me, want to pump you full so the old peeping geezers here know you're mine." With slow movements, her thumb circled his slit, playing with the soft head before she pumped him again in slow movements. She savoured his throbbing, the slight desperation she could hear in his voice. "Why should I let you? You ignored me the whole evening and I was bored. You promised me a nice evening and you didn't deliver. So do you really think you deserve my pussy?" Soft moans reached her ears as he thrust his hips towards her to at least urge her to move faster. But she took her time. They both knew very well that he could actually take what he wanted, as he was much stronger than she was. But she had him wrapped around her little finger and made him do what she wanted. "Just the tip Y/N. Please, just the tip, that's all I want." He pressed light kisses on her neck and her collarbone. His warm breath stroked her skin as he gasped "Please" over and over again. She pushed him away from her to turn her back to him. Her fingers dug into the soft fabric of her dress as she pulled her skirt up so that it billowed around her hips. She spread her legs and leaned forward to finally give him a glimpse of her pussy. With a quick glance over her shoulder, she caught his dilated pupils and flushed cheeks. "Okay, just the tip and then at home you'll fuck me properly." She had barely finished the sentence before he had bridged the distance between them and penetrated her with the thick head of his cock. "Anything you want darling," he gasped as the tightness of her pussy mesmerized him and he poured himself inside her.

She had won.

Chrollo Lucilfer

He knew he had to have her the first time he laid eyes on her.

That day, he had sneaked through the dark alley, looking for someone connected to his next coup. She had walked past him in her white dress with a pretty smile on her face. She was so radiantly beautiful, like a bright light in his darkness. And he couldn't get her out of his head. So he did what he did best. Gathered information and hunted her down to make her his. And so he met her again. He had found out that she was a guest at a charity event organized by one of York New's wealthiest persons.

He had arrived before her, sat down at the bar and watched her descend the stairs. Her hair was artfully tied up and the red dress she was wearing made her shine. He wasn't the only one who had noticed her arrival. Both men and women around him eyed the beautiful young woman and he could hear the murmuring and whispering that went through the crowd. When she made her way to the bar after a while and a few rounds of small talk, he saw his chance. He immediately engaged her in conversation, which was not difficult for him. He was charming and had been told many times before that he had a way with his words. And Y/N was glad that someone had finally approached her who wanted to have a conversation with her that went beyond mere small talk and the exchange of meaningless phrases. Someone who wasn't just interested in her money. Oh, if only she knew what he really wanted from her... She was lively and talkative. And the more champagne glasses he handed her, the more trusting she became. He could probably have asked her for all the login details to her bank accounts and she would have given them to him. Instead, he listened to her as she confided in him about her life and suffering. Among other things, she told him about the upcoming wedding next week. That it had been planned by her parents and that she had only seen her future husband twice so far. That she was very much looking forward to her married life because she wanted to fulfill her duties as a daughter and wife to be conscientiously. She was a good girl who always followed the rules and wanted to make her family happy. Chrollo sensed that the alcohol was slowly making its effect. So he seized the opportunity. "Let's find a quieter room, love, then we can talk better," he suggested as she sipped her champagne. Without thinking twice, she nodded: "Yes, it's really very noisy here." He could hardly believe his luck at how trusting she was. He offered her his arm she smiled and as soon as she hooked her arm around his, he led her out of the ballroom and into one of the small guest rooms at the other end of the corridor.

While he closed the door behind them and locked it inconspicuously, she made herself comfortable on the bed. The alcohol had made her cheeks rosy and her beautiful eyes had become slightly glassy. The radiant smile still adorned her face as she waited for him to finally take a seat next to her on the bed. Slowly, and with a deliberate steps, he closed the distance. The mattress gave way slightly beneath them as he sat down. He leaned his back into the soft pillows and made himself comfortable. The soft laughter that rang out next to him sounded like the most beautiful melody to him. "Tell me more, love," he asked her. And so she made herself comfortable next to him and talked about her upbringing, her childhood and her pets, and then again about the man she was going to marry next week. As she talked, Chrollo listened attentively and casually let his hand wander over her thigh. She only paused her story for a moment before blessing him with her radiant smile again. The way she spoke so passionately, using her hands to paint the picture for Chrollo and how relaxed she sat by his side, made his heart lose its rhythm and it skipped a beat for a moment before he could regain his composure. "I'd like a nice house, it doesn't have to be big but cozy with a little garden where I can grow some vegetables. And then maybe..." She couldn't finish the sentence. Because in a split second he had sat up and turned towards her, then he had already pressed his lips to hers.

Her eyes widened in surprise and she slid her hands between their bodies until she could rest them on his chest. She tried to push him away, but he was stronger than her and didn't give in. But when he held her face with both hands and gently caressed the soft skin of her cheek, she no longer wanted to push him away. She found herself enjoying the gentle kiss. She thought he was a nice and attentive man. And she also found herself wishing that he was the man she would marry. She would like to live with him by her side. A happy life. Images of a shared house with a garden flitted before her inner eye. Maybe a dog, definitely three children. She hesitantly returned his kiss, opening her mouth willingly when the tip of his tongue tapped against her lower lip. She allowed his hands to wander down from her face, his lips following them until they paused at a point just below her earlobe. A shiver ran through her as he pulled the soft skin between his lips. She felt like she was getting goose bumps. She wanted to look, but her body no longer seemed to obey her. Instead, she tilted her head, giving him more space to caress her neck.

She allowed his hand to close around her breast and when he began to knead it lightly, she leaned towards him eagerly. It felt so good. No one had ever touched her like this before and she liked the slight tingling sensation that ran through her body. She liked it so much that she could become addicted and above all didn't want him to stop. So she leaned towards him, pressing herself against him until he pushed the straps of her dress off her shoulders and the soft fabric billowed around her hips. He pushed her into the pillows and climbed over her until his hips found their place between her legs. His mouth never left her body, but he moved lower. So deep that he could suck her nipple between his lips. She knew she was supposed to stop him. Knew she shouldn't be doing this. She wanted to save herself up for the husband she would have next week. But it just felt too good. And when he bit down lightly, she could no longer suppress the moan of his name. He smiled at her as he let go of her breast and shortly afterwards went for the other nipple. Heat gathered in her belly and when he took one hand to gently knead the free breast, her lower body twitched. Her abdomen collided with him and she felt a hardness between his legs that hit that one spot perfectly, sending lightning bolts through her body. She moaned his name again and clung to him. She didn't know if she was trying to push him away or if she was pulling him even closer. All she knew was that she didn't know how this all worked, but it felt too good to stop him. Besides, she wasn't even married yet, she tried to justify the behavior to herself.

She felt his hips pick up her pace, rutting against her. His lips let go of her breast, releasing her nipple with a soft pop. He straightened up on his knees and looked at the young woman beneath him. Her hair had begun to come loose and her hands had moved to her breasts to cover them. She was even more beautiful in his eyes. He knew that the sight was etched in his mind forever. His fingers closed around the hem of her dress, pulling at it, and she helped him take it off by lifting her hips. She was now lying there in just her panties, while he was still fully clothed. He seemed to be able to tell from her face that this bothered her a little and added to her insecurity. So he slowly undid button after button of his shirt until he let it slide off his shoulders and onto the floor. Then his fingers slid down his muscular torso until he came to a stop at his belt. She watched as he undid it and then slipped out of his pants. He stood in front of her in just his boxer shorts, his bulge prominent. He was long and thick, she could tell from the outline. He seemed like calmness personified as he stood there smiling at her.

She knew what that meant. That he wanted to have sex with her. And as much as she liked that tingle inside her, she knew it was something that couldn't happen. She couldn't let herself be tainted like that. She wanted to go into marriage as a virgin, the way girls like her should. Untainted and pure. He could see worry darkening her eyes. Her doubts were clearly written on her face. She sat up, scrutinizing the wicked grin on his face. "Chrollo, you know we can't do this. We can't go all the way." Her voice small as she looked at him through her lashes. She now had her arms crossed in front of her chest and looked so incredibly vulnerable. The innocence she radiated made his cock throb with excitement. "Don't worry, love. That's not what I want" he murmured softly as he climbed back into bed and over her. "There's another option." Her eyebrows drew together, irritation spreading across her face. "Huh?" He knew she didn't know any better. That she would believe what he would tell her next. "Yeah, if I just put the tip in, then it doesn't count," he whispered softly in her ear as he lavished kisses on her neck. Sucking the sensitive skin between his lips again. "It doesn't count?" she asked, still confused. She'd never heard of it before, but she hadn't heard much on the subject in general and had no idea what the options and possibilities were. "Exactly," he confirmed, reaching for the elastic of her panties and sliding them down her legs. She was now completely exposed in front of him. And as he looked at her, she came to the conclusion that he was probably right. He knew his way around better than she did. And he was a nice man, she had no reason not to believe him. "But it'll only be the tip, right?" She wanted him to confirm it again. That he recognized how important it was for her to maintain this status of untouchedness. He looked her firmly in the eyes and smiled at her: "I promise you, my love." After she nodded once more, she watched him take off his boxers. His hard cock slapped against his stomach. Undressed like this, he seemed even bigger. But he was pretty, she hadn't expected that. The head was slightly pink and she could see a drop of liquid glistening at its tip in the light of the room. His fingers slid up her thighs until he touched her pussy lips and felt the wetness that had formed between her legs. Then he moved even higher, massaging her clit and eliciting a moan from her. It felt so incredibly good.

He slid closer to her and then gripped the base of his cock. He navigated it between her legs and lips. He let it slide up and down a few times until it was thoroughly covered with her wetness. She couldn't suppress the string of moans that escaped her. She couldn't understand how it could feel so good when he wasn't even inside her yet and had really started. In the next moment, his tip penetrated her, was practically sucked in by her. A deep moan escaped him as he held the position, just the tip. If just one of them moved a little, he would slide out again. She had thrown her head back and her eyes were closed. Her lips were parted as soft sighs escaped her. "Just the tip Chrollo" she managed to gasp. He began to slide the tip in and out and it felt incredible. But he knew he couldn't leave it at that. She felt too good. He had to know what it was like when she completely enveloped him. He buried his head against her neck, kissing and licking the soft skin there. He knew he had to be clever about it. He had to make sure that she was completely overwhelmed by her lust. So his hand reached between them and he began to massage her clit. Meanwhile, he kept pushing in and out and with each thrust, he went a little deeper. It was barely noticeable, so slow that she only felt it when he was halfway inside her and the burning sensation she felt intensified with every second. "You promised it would be just the tip," she gasped as he continued to stimulate her clit. She knew that she should do something now, push him off her. But she just had to admit to herself that it felt too good to do anything now. The feeling was overwhelming, but he was so unbelievably big that it brought tears to her eyes with every further thrust. His head was still buried against her neck, soft moans and sighs stroking her skin. He had never felt anything that felt so good. She wasn't his first, not by a long shot. But none of the women before had stirred up lust in him this much. She was so warm and so, so tight. "I can't stop, it feels too good love. But I'll make it up to you, okay?" He breathed feather-light kisses on her swollen lips. With another thrust, he buried himself completely inside her, driving all the air from her lungs. "I'll put a ring on your finger," he promised too dazed by the veil of lust. "Okay," she gasped. She had only half realized what he had said and she didn't even care anymore. A knot was forming in her abdomen and it was the best thing she had ever felt. And while he never stopped playing with her clit, she began to push herself against his every thrust, meeting him halfway. This allowed him to thrust even deeper into her. His tip bumped against her cervix each time. His previously styled hair now fell loose in his face as he threw his head back. His pace increased and she couldn't stop her eyes from falling shut as the knot tightened. His name rolled off her lips in a continuous loop of moans and the next moment the knot burst. His hips didn't pause as her orgasm rolled over her and only one thought occupied her mind at that moment: it was worth it. This feeling that had taken over her whole body was worth no longer being considered untouched and not starting her marriage as a virgin. She didn't care that someone might find out and what the consequences might be.

His pace seemed to increase even more, even though she hadn't thought that was possible. Then his hips stuttered and she felt a warmth spread through her. He came inside of her. But even that no longer interested her when she caught a glimpse of his peaceful and almost blissful face. He stayed like that above her for a moment, peppering her face with kisses. Then he rolled off her and slid into the sheets beside her. His gaze wandered over her form. She smiled at him, her cheeks still flushed. There were many small marks on her neck and chest that he had left behind. His gaze slid further, between her legs. Her pussy reddened and his cum flowed out of her. Another image of her that he would never forget. He hadn't intended to come inside her, but he hadn't been able to resist in that moment.

[yanderismo]

Yandere Platonic Superman Concept/Idea (?)

BRO, BRO, I DON'T KNOW IF I LOVE OR HATE MY MIND FOR GIVING ME IDEAS THAT I'LL NEVER START OR FINISH. But okay, I have an idea for a platonic yandere Superfam, maybe it involves Batfam or the entire DC universe. I think this is more platonic yandere Superman. Let's go. (using the translator, be kind to me please 😭) 

— Imagine that you are originally from the Injustice universe. You were a neutral young/teen heroine who wasn't at all interested in siding with Batman or Superman. Well... that neutrality of yours had consequences, and now, somehow, Superman and Batman were in a bloody tug of war to get you on their side. And you are the cable they are selfishly pulling. And one day that cable would break, and that's what happened to you, you broke it. So broken that I would consider it irreparable. 

— But luckily for you (bro, are you lucky?), after so much physical and mental suffering, you ended up in a way that I won't explain, in the original DC universe. In other words, no superheroes is crazy tyrants. Too bad you don't know that (yet).

— You were living as if the world was a danger to you (just like it was in Injustice). But you discovered that you were REALLY in a different universe or timeline when you met Lois Lane, the woman who drove Superman insane after her death. And it shocked you, you thought maybe you had gone back in time. And as reckless as it was, you felt hope that you could stop the future of Injustice from happening, stop Lois Lane from being murdered! After all, you were still a hero, even if you had probably lost half of your original universe's neurons.

 — So you made a decision. You decided to protect Lois Lane! You practically become her protective shadow. Being noticed wouldn't do any good, and for SO FEAR of being confronted by Superman/Clark for apparently stalking his wife, you stopped watching her when Clark showed up and you went back when Clark left. (In your head, this Superman is the same Superman from Injustice, just before Lois' death happened). You were wary as hell of all the heroes. Anyway, a lot of trauma caused by Injustice.

— And I believe that Lois, even if she was a civilian, would notice that she was being watched (or maybe you're just not very good at stalking because you're a very young heroine). Whatever it is. Lois noticed and she became cautious (she is a journalist, there are many people who may not like her to the point of committing atrocities), as you could be a threat to her life. Although you haven't revealed yourself as any threat so far.

 — But let's suppose there were events in which she was in danger (actually, it was just something like shelves falling, preventing her from being run over, preventing some rabid dogs from biting her, small things), events in which you managed to remain hidden, however Lois knew it was You, her strangely protective stalker. Lois was trying to know your intentions and work it out for herself, so she didn't say anything about it. If this is something much more than she can handle, Clark can always lend a little help. 

— But on another one of those times when she was in danger, you desperately saved her (the situation was quite dangerous, more than normal), asking if she was okay and everything. Lois was surprised, you were surprised. Before you know, the idea of staying in the shadows went down the drain. You were almost begging (you were begging) her not to tell anyone that you were persecuting her (protecting her), you didn't want her to report you to some authority (that would only hinder your mission) or worse, report you to Superman. You said, stammered, that you were just protecting her. Wanting to make sure Lois didn't feel threatened and report you. 

— The desperation, the panic in your voice, seemed too young for Lois to feel comfortable. You were like a scared child, you looked very much like just a scared child, and that made Lois uncomfortable but at the same time... motherly. If you wanted to hurt her, you would have done it already. You at least accomplished one thing: making Lois not feel threatened by you.

 — The other thing you couldn't do was stop Lois from telling Clark about you. Look, I'm sure Lois didn't mean it, it's uncomfortable to be watched almost every day, but also, since she discovered you, she's been quite worried about you.

 — And Clark is all worried, like, "What?? My wife is being stalked??? Oh wait, my wife is being stalked and protected. Well, that's still very worrying, I'm definitely going to check it out for myself." Furthermore, Lois insisted that he be gentle when approaching you. And Lois saying this to him made him even more intrigued. 

— He tried to approach you just as Clark Kent, just to know how you would react around a seemingly civilian person, think of it as a method to read your character (he didn't want to confront you as Superman in a careless way. After all, who wouldn't Does he act nice or change to a more pleasant personality around Superman?)

— Needless to say, Clark was surprised and confused when you looked at him like he was the greatest terror of your life before simply running away from him. He recognized that look, only villains who were traumatized after a confrontation against him have that look (but the you look was much, much worse than that). That day, you didn't chase Lois.

 — Clark suspected you knew his secret identity. There is no longer any reason for you to have reacted like this. 

— lol, that day Lois noticed the absence of the feeling of being watched and scolded Clark for scaring you. Although it wasn't his fault, he apologized. He really didn't mean to scare you ;( You were gone for a few days after that. But of course, you still had to protect Lois in her everyday life. Even if you were scared. 

— Anyway, it didn't matter how softly, friendly Superman approached you next time. You ran, or at least tried to run. Do you really want to bet on who is the fastest? He easily caught you and held you by your forearm. And that was enough to make you scream, cry, struggle and finally, shrink as much as possible.

— And Superman was all confused, he wasn't even hurting you or squeezing you hard. His voice was also friendly. If anything, it made him even more worried. Add the fact that you appear to be very young and his paternal instincts kicked in. 

— To his surprise, you pulled out a knife. Something like that couldn't hurt Superman, of course not. But who said the knife was meant to hurt him? Let's say you picked up the knife and tried to slit your own throat as a last resort escape. (What did you go through with Superman from Injustice to the point that you tried to commit suicide just to escape him?) 

— Superman was surprised and then horrified. He immediately knocked you unconscious before you cut deeper into your throat. Now with you unconscious, you seemed more vulnerable and fragile than you should have been. Now he understood why Lois was worried about you. (You know, if Batman can adopt multiple children, why couldn't Superman...? You seem like a good kid and even Lois agrees with that. Conner and Jon would definitely like to have a sister) 

— Superman wondered what happened to you that made you reach the point where death was a usable route. He wanted to question you personally, but the moment he confirmed that you knew his identity (you acted the same way when he approached you as a civilian. He was the only one to receive this reaction from you and no one else), this matter became the subject of the Justice League. Discovering the identity of a superhero and pursuing someone close to that superhero was not going to be taken lightly. Who's to say you don't also know the identities of others? Although Superman wants to deal with you alone, he doubts he'll get any information out of you with you yelling and screaming. So he took you to the justice league. 

— Batman can definitely help you solve this.

(Imagine the anguish it would be to probably have to get used to people having the same appearance and the same voice as your captors in Injustice. Imagine them acting all soft after finding out you come from a universe where the heroes are corrupt and broke you😩)

Notas: I leave the rest to you. Or to any author who wants to use this idea (I beg you, some author write a Yandere platonic Superman/Superfam fic😭 They could even add other platonic Yanderes like Batfam, it would be so interesting 🙏😭)

(I just realized that the one who acted the most Yandere was Reader herself, lol)

[lovely-peace]

Embarrassing!

Summary: The marauders are popular in school, sure. But that doesn't mean that they are really nice. In the end you are just living the basic high-school experience.

Pairing: Remus Lupin x Gryffindor!reader

Warnings: Low self esteem, past bullying?, This is no bully! Marauders fic!!

Part 2 Part 3

"You four back there, pull yourselves together now or I'll break you up!"

James' laughter could be heard all the way to the front, to my ears, along with the giggling of the girls next to me.

Great. So I must have been wrong again.

Professor McGonagall was now looking at me, teachingly. "To get back on topic. You have the right idea, but it's not quite that simple. To transform a body, it is of great importance…"

~

"Oh come on, it wasn't that bad. You weren't that far off the mark." Lily tried to comfort me. That was easy for her to say, she would never be wrong.

And the golden git Gryffindors would never make fun of her.

"Maybe."

"Evans, will you come here?" There stood the loverboy James, ready to have another go at her.

Lily rolled her eyes and smiled apologetically at me. "Don't take these idiots seriously, okay?"

With that, she walked in his direction, and did just that.

But I shouldn't be so hard on her because she was really trying to cheer me up, even though we're not really friends. She's clearly, well, more present than my friend Amy and me.

Amy was Gryffindor just like me, but didn't have transfiguration. She called the subject "A walking unnecessary babble".

Oh how I wish I had thought that when I chose my subjects.

I could still see Sirius grinning as James talked to Lily, Remus just stood there ashamed and Peter patted him on the shoulder.

Sirius noticed my look and whispered something to Remus, who flinched and turned away. I snorted.

Sirius' laughter was still ringing loudly in my ears, long after I had escaped to Amy's and my dorm.

~

"Well, I think they're really annoying. That's all." Amy pushed a plate of dinner towards me. She immediately realized something was wrong and I wasn't ready to go to dinner. I was very glad she was so good at the invisibility spell.

"Yes, but everyone likes them. Even Lily likes the four of them, even though she's always upset about them!" I groaned loudly and accepted the plate gratefully.

Amy looked at me with a smile. "Well, I don't really like them. They're entertaining, but I think they lack empathy."

"I think they're all stupid ego centers who only make themselves so important because they actually feel so bad about themselves." I took a big bite.

"And yet you can't stop talking about the four of them." Amy was grinning now. "I thought you said the other day that 'Remus isn't actually that bad and nice to talk to'?"

I almost choked at the mention of meeting the quieter boy of the group. It had been three months since we had met and talked in the library.

"That was something else. He just watches and lets the others get away with everything." I quietly turned to my food and Amy dropped the subject.

Oh, how I hated this cycle. Getting up. Eating at a house table where I know everyone and yet no one really. Subjects in which I will eventually make a mistake. Skipping meals to avoid the stares. Sleeping.

Hogwarts isn't that different from other schools. The same faces making fun of the same things. But we're all supposed to be adults soon, aren't we?

I should stop before I sound like an angsty teen.

~

Breakfast. New day, same course. I sat down opposite Amy and a laugh escaped my lips at one of her jokes.

But then another girl sat down next to me. Marlene McKinnon.

"Hey, you two, how are you?" she smiled, but something made me uncomfortable.

"Good, good." Amy laughed. "And you?"

"Oh, just fine." Marlene looked at my plate as if to check something. Suddenly I felt uncomfortable having a few chocolate cookies in the morning.

She turned to me. Oh no.

"Hey, this might be a bit sudden, but I'd like to know something." There was this twinkle in her eye that I didn't like at all.

I looked at Amy, who just shrugged her shoulders.

"Okay?" Very carefully. Don't make any big mistakes.

"If you had to date someone from Gryffindor, who would it be?"

I looked confusedly at Amy, who had to pull herself together not to burst out laughing.

"What?"

Marlene shrugged her shoulders. "Oh, I was just a bit curious as I've never seen you in a relationship with anyone before."

I saw her eyes twitch briefly to the right. When I looked in that direction, not very inconspicuously, I saw Sirius whispering something to James. He grinned at Remus in response.

Oh.

"Well, I can't really think of anyone right now, sorry Marlene."

She looked at me in surprise and wanted to say something, but Amy gasped in shock. Shocked, she clutched her chest. "After everything we've been through!" she didn't exactly say that quietly. To my dismay, quite a few heads turned towards us. Including the idiots.

"Amy-" I began, but she talked herself into her theater rage. "Hush! I don't want to hear any excuses! I thought we were something special! But no. In the end, I'm just another one of the many picks that will never be taken." She stood up. She skillfully looked away and took in the audience. "I can reassure you. I was prepared for all of this."

"Amy, it's not what you think!" I played along a little now. "I couldn't be so open about something so… Say something like that!"

Amy furrowed her brow. "Girl, no homo."

The Gryffindor table laughed and we fled the room.

Outside, we also laughed a bit, but Amy quickly composed herself.

"Did you see how he looked at you?"

I furrowed my brow. "Who?"

She rolled her eyes. "Remus, of course."

"Maybe it's because you made a big show," I said playfully, heading towards our next class.

"Hmm, but I think then he wouldn't have looked at you so longingly-"

"Amy!"

"With red cheeks and big heart eyes!" I walked faster while she laughed.

"That's all nonsense. Marlene only asked because one of those idiots requested it."

Amy looked at me confused. "Why would they do that?"

"Oh, they were looking at us too. And yesterday they were whispering among themselves. They probably find me really funny."

Amy became very quiet after that.

The only sounds were our footsteps and voices in the distance.

"You know," Amy began quieter than usual. "It's not like it used to be. We're all slowly growing up. We're not the odd ones out anymore. I think," she took a deep breath. "That the four of them won't make fun of us, of you, anymore."

How much I wished I could believe that. But I won't be able to, even if Remus talks to me in the library or Peter asks me if I like certain creatures.

Because in the end, I gave up on that a long time ago.

[monimccoythings]

Like Father Like Daughter

I have so many WIPs from different fandoms and this Wolverine fic ideas just keep coming and coming... I appreciate so much the support I've been shown, I don't look at the notes because it shows in activity that is 99+ and I get anxious lol. Logan has a nasty temper but is really fun to write.

Living with an ill-tempered man like Logan wasn't always easy, but living with him and his variant's teenaged clone turned adopted daughter who had the exact same temper as him, was proving to be quite the challenge.

As anybody would expect, those two were constantly butting heads at everything, be it food, curfews, or, just as they were doing at this very moment, Laura's choices in fashion.

The girl had chosen some shorts and black leggings, with black sneakers, and a crop top that was way too short for an old fashioned man like Logan to approve, to hang out with some friends she had made at her new high school. Barely sparing a glance at her outfit, Logan had snapped at her to go back to her room and change into something more appropiate, which Laura took it as well as any teenage girl that had spent part of her earliest teen years dressing and doing what she pleased in the void would. And then the screaming match had begun.

"NO CHILD OF MINE IS GOING OUT DRESSED UP LIKE THAT."

"IT'S JUST A SHIRT, IT'S NOT A BIG DEAL."

You let out a quiet sigh. You knew daughters were supposed to rebel against their parents, but having two superpowered beings at each other's throats at all times wasn't the great idea the universe thought it was. You knew they loved each other deeply and would kill for each other, but sometimes they were way too much alike.

"Sweetie, listen to Daddy on this one, he just wants what's best for you."

How the fuck had Wade gotten in and embraced your husband's muscular arm without anyone noticing. With a low growl, Logan pushed him away. Laura did not seem too pleased with him either.

"FUCK OFF, YOU AREN'T MY MOM!"

Wade covered his mouth and let out a shocked gasp that honestly was worthy of an Oscar nomination. You quietly thanked him for his presence, maybe that would help relieve the tension in the room. Laura turned at you, imploringly.

"Tell him he's just overreacting. Please."

You sneakily looked at your husband, who seemed to be red with rage, his lips pulled back in a feral snarl that clearly was a display of dominance, knuckles pressed against the wooden table so tightly that you started to fear for the well being of the furniture. His muscles were so tense he looked like he was going to burst out of his shirt, by the way the veins in his neck were swelling.

You didn't want to disrespect his authority over his daughter, but you also didn't want to make Laura direct her hate at you; you loved that girl and her attitude as if she was your own child. It seemed they needed some consesus, and you guessed you'd have to be once again the bigger person here.

"Laura, your father is just worried about you. If you want to wear that top, then you'd have to put a jacket on. And we want you back home by eleven."

"But my friends-" She started to protest, but you quickly cut her off.

"Eleven and that's more than your father was willing to give you."

She bit her lip, considering her options. With a huff, she stomped back towards her room to get that jacket. She slammed the front door on the way back out, not even bothering to say goodbye. Teenagers.

The living room got quiet. Really quiet. You could only hear Wade munching on some popcorn he had gotten from God knows where. Logan was fuming, not at you of course, but at his unruly adoptive daughter's behavior. He stormed towards your shared bedroom and slammed the door close hard enough, it made the pictures on the wall tremble. You sighed.

Well that went well.

It wasn't until half an hour later that he cooled off and decided to come out. You were cleaning up some dishes while Wade sat on the couch watching some cartoons. It made you smile, it was like you had two children running around.

You felt your husband's stubble and nose nuzzle against the back of your neck, as he embraced you from behind, his massive hands covering the entire expanse of your fourth month pregnant belly. "Feeling better now?" You casually asked.

His teeth nipped at the skin on your neck leaving a burning feeling that only his tongue could soothe. "I don't know what to do with her, she seems to fight against everything I do or say." His deep rumbling voice sent shivers running down your spine.

"Deep down she knows you love her. And she loves you too, even if she is too 'cool' to admit it." He let out a bitter chuckle, massaging your belly while leaning his chin on your shoulder, his sideburns made you tickle.

"I just hope this little one doesn't give us that much trouble."

"Hey, however they come out, we will love them the same, because they are a part of our family." He kissed your cheek and you leaned back into his embrace.

"Yes, our family." You let out a laugh at the sudden extra weight on your backs. Looks like Wade had gotten tired of the tv and had decided to join you into your little embrace.

"Wade..." Logan started warningly, carefully prying his hands away from your belly.

*SNIKT*

[allfearstofallto]

"You Look Very Nice Today,"

Yandere Diluc x Fem! Reader

A/N: This was written before the "Braiding Diluc's Hair" drabble, but was scrapped because thought braiding his hair was a cuter idea. But this was still in the drafts so you can have both.

He stopped dead in his tracks, eyes wide and nearly popping out of his head. A part of him believed he was hearing things, maybe a ghost or even the creaking walls of the old manor. But sure enough, it was true. You'd spoken those words to him. Despite his lack of words or expression on his face, his heart was about to beat out of his chest.

His face flushed, he looked down at himself. His outfit looked no different than usual. Diluc was wearing the typical waist coat and jacket over it, the same pants that he'd bought multiple of just to not have to think on it, his boots that he was partial to, in his mind nothing was different. Yet you thought he looked nice. A bashful smile was forming on his lips and it took everything in his power now to let such an expression show, not when he knew it would displease you.

“I suppose you've grown rather fond of my attire then?” he joked aloud.

You raised your eyes from the book that had your attention and looked him up and down, humming the entire time, “No.” You said, your harsh, nonchalant words practically piercing his heart.

Realizing that he actually wanted you to tell him what had gotten your attention, you lazily pointed a finger to his head, where his hair was ponytailed. Confusion seeped onto his face as he turned to look in the mirror, he wore his hair the same every single day, yet he did notice a slight difference. This Morning in particular he was feeling quite tired after a long night at the bar and asked a random maid to tie his hair for him. Instead of his usual ponytail that cascaded down his back, she gave him one that sat higher a top his head, a style he hadn’t worn in years, not since he left the knights, and something he failed to notice in his busy schedule.

Apparently the style was popular amongst the ladies and many of them silently wished that he would bring it back. Your little comment solidified that claim, and the words from your mouth meant more to him than any other.

Diluc wore his hair high up a few times more than a week, each time noticing how your gaze would linger on him a bit longer than normal. Verbally, you didn't say another compliment, but the way you actually looked at him for a change was praise enough.

[woso-dreamzzz]

Treat You Better V

Laia Codina x Reader

Summary: Sometimes, Laia can't understand you

When Laia first joined Arsenal, she studied English hard.

Arsenal was a big change and she wanted to hit the ground running and she did for the most part.

The only issue she had was understanding everyone's accents.

You and Katie are very Irish. It leaks from your every pore, right down to the way that you both decorate your cubbies at training.

Your accent is a little softer than Katie's, more tempered by the English people you surround yourself with.

It's softest at home with Laia, when you're both curled up on the sofa together, watching some mindless tv show to help Laia with her English.

But your Dublin accent comes out when you're around Katie.

It's thick and throaty and Laia is always shocked when it suddenly switches back to your softer one when it's just you two again.

Laia loves your accent, she really does. It's different to everyone else's she's heard and it's so unapologetically you that she can't hate it.

But, god, does it make you difficult to understand.

Laia can barely follow along as she sits at your side at the breakfast place you've dragged her to. Katie's there as well, opposite you in the booth.

You're both talking at a mile a minute and Laia just can't keep up. Your words jumbled into each other and it's like you don't even need to come up for air, your accent mixing with Katie's until it's all just a jumbled mess in Laia's ears.

She'd be a little bit annoyed if it weren't for the fact that you're still holding her hand under the table and the look on your face is so happy that clearly she isn't missing out on much by not being able to understand.

It also helps that Caitlin, who sits opposite her, looks like she's in the exact same boat. That helps a little, that a native English speaker also can't keep up with the fast paced Irish accent that's filled the booth.

"Honestly," Caitlin whispers over the table, leaning forward so you and Katie can't hear her," It's like listening to the radio in another language. I can never tell what they're saying."

"It's easier when it's just me and y/n," Laia confesses and Caitlin nods along.

"Yeah. Katie always slows it down when it's just us. I don't know what it is about those two being together that brings out this side of them."

"Side of who?"

It's impressive the way your accent switches back to what Laia normally hears when you're not addressing Katie, the way it softens and goes smooth.

"No one," Caitlin says.

You look at her in confusion for a moment before shrugging and turning back to your conversation with Katie.

It's not just with Katie that your accent switches though, Laia notes as she sits next to you on the sofa one night.

You're on the phone to your parents and it goes all thick and throaty again. You're not talking quite as quickly and you're not talking quite as hard but your accent does turn back to what Laia supposes it must be like at home in Ireland.

She has no idea what you're saying but she could listen to you waffle on forever.

You're talking to your mother about something, Laia can only catch a few words here and there but she can't help but stare, a small smile on your face as you laugh at whatever your mum has just said to.

"Yeah, yeah," You say," I've got her here. Do you want to talk to her?"

Laia sits up a little bit.

"Laia, my Mam wants to talk to you."

It's in that moment, when Laia takes the phone from you and greets your mother, that she realises your accent was a much more tame version than everyone else's.

Your Mam speaks fast and without her being here in person, Laia can't attempt to lip read to fill the gaps. She talks fast and it seems like she's asking questions that Laia stumbles through answering, hoping that her hesitation is put down to English not being her first language.

Somehow though, with her head reeling and a little more stumbling over her words, she makes it through the conversation and you both say goodbye to your Mam.

"She approves," You preen, puffing out your chest like her approval of your girlfriend is the greatest thing you've ever done," You really impressed her."

"I did?"

"Yeah. She's super impressed. She said that she'll come over to visit us soon. You haven't lived if you haven't tried my Mam's roast. Perfect every time."

You relax back on the sofa, arm flung over Laia's shoulder.

"I...But how? I-I stumbled over my words. I couldn't under-"

She catches herself but you seem to know exactly what she was going to say.

"Understand her? Yeah, Mam does that whenever I date anyone that isn't Irish. She really exaggerates the accent but you really pushed through."

"Wait, that was on purpose?"

"For sure. Mam won't accept anyone who doesn't try. She was really impressed with you."

Laia grins, feeling pretty proud of herself.

"It's why me and Katie have been training you." You grin at Laia as she looks at you in disbelief. "If you could handle us together then you can certainly handle my Mam."

[sluglore]

Explaining The Iterator's Purpose (And Why They Weren't Made to Circumvent The Echoes)

Alright, I know there's already been a few posts like this out there, like this older one from @halvedforest, and this recent one from @noizepushr, which are both good posts, but I've been meaning to touch up and cross-post my own older misconceptions post from reddit for a while now, and provide a deeper, more expanded analysis as to why this misconception exists and explain what's actually going on, so here it finally is haha I'll also be using the term 'Benefactor' instead of 'Ancient', if people are confused about that, I intend to make a post about it eventually ^^

( If you're confused on who out there even believes this, this idea originated from Rain World YouTube lore videos, long before Downpour was ever a thing! It is unfortunately still quite prominent on there... but it's definitely getting better :3 )

This misconception stems from misreading the singular pearl to ever mention the echoes, being the Bright Red farm arrays pearl, so let me begin by attaching the specific section below:

“There were some horror stories though... That if your ego was big enough, not even the Void Fluid could entirely cross you out, and a faint echo of your pompousness would grandiosely haunt the premises forever. So even when the Void Fluid baths became cheaper, some would still starve and drink the bitter tea.” (Bright red Farm Arrays pearl dialogue)

Note the specific usage of “some” here. Echoes weren't presented as an issue significant to re-center Benefactor society around, (let alone build the iterators for) but as some horror stories which only "some" people (likely on the fringes of society) would believe in. Nowhere are we given anything that alludes to the existence of Echoes being regarded as a societal problem to address, much less have anything to do with the Iterators.

Additionally, although we know for a fact that echoes do exist, its fairly possible that most of Benefactor society didn't, as LTTM doesn't even know what they are either, regarding them as nothing more than superstition. On the very next line, LTTM confirms that the void baths continued all the same, while again mentioning that "some" would still choose to abstain from them, and drink the bitter tea.

Then what’s the purpose of the iterators if they weren't created to circumvent the echoes? What is The Big Problem that they are even trying to solve in the first place? Well, both FP, LTTM, and the Exterior colored pearl dialogue spell the answer out for you. In fact, it's the first thing FP even tells you!

“The good news first. In a way, I am what you are searching for. Me and my kind have as our purpose to solve that very oscillating claustrophobia in the chests of you and countless others. A strange charity - you the unknowing recipient, I the reluctant gift. The noble benefactors? Gone.” (Five Pebbles dialogue to Survivor) (Monk's version also hits similar notes)

Five pebbles introduces himself as a “reluctant gift," with his purpose being "to solve that very oscillating claustrophobia in the chests of you and countless others," meaning to solve the cycles for everyone and everything else.

If you bring Looks to the Moon a neuron, she has the chance to repeat the same exact explanation to you.

"We were supposed to help everyone, you know. Everything. That was our purpose: a great gift to the lesser beings of the world. When facing our inability to do so, we all reacted differently. Many with madness.”

FP, LTTM, and the rest of their kind were created to serve the rest of the world in finding a method of total mass ascension, of ending the cycle entirely for everyone.... and everything. Not only including the fauna of the world, like the slugcat, but the bedrock, microbes and even gases, as explicitly stated in this snippet from the Exterior pearl dialogue below:

“The Moral Argument: Five Pebbles is our Creation, and we have Parental Obligations towards him. As an Iterator, he is also a Gift of Charity from Us to The World (unable to reach Enlightenment by itself - being composed mostly of Rock, Gas, dull witted Bugs and Microbes - and towards which We thus have Obligations)” (Pale Green Exterior pearl dialogue)

Here we have the Benefactors define it very clearly, that as an iterator, Five Pebbles is a "Gift of Charity from Us to The World." It's important to note that many misinterpret the next section in parentheses as being about FP himself, but if it were, it would be the only time FP is ever referred to as “it”. What's really being described is the world, “unable to reach enlightenment by itself, being composed mostly of rock, gas, dull witted bugs and microbes” The world is unable to reach Enlightenment on it's own and therefore, that's why the iterators were created. (Also- when you think about it, the description of "being composed of rock, gas, and dull witted microbes" doesn't even really fit FP's description lol)

Quick but necessary tangent, the concept of non-living things being apart of the cycle is a little confusing, and tricky to quickly answer without going deep into cycle lore discussion, (I have an entire post in drafts dedicated to clearing this up) but it's actually incredibly important for understanding what The Great Problem is! To shed some light, it's not that non-living matter are able to somehow comprehend the cycles, but that the entire physical world itself is actually an intrinsic part of the cycles.

If you leave a stone on the ground, and come back some time later, it's covered in dust. This happens everywhere, and over several lifetimes of creatures such as you, the ground slowly builds upwards. So why doesn't the ground collide with the sky? Because far down, under the very very old layers of the earth, the rock is being dissolved or removed. The entity which does this is known as the Void Sea. If you drill far enough into the earth you begin encountering a substance called Void Fluid. The deeper you go, the less rock and more Void Fluid. It's believed that there is a point where the rock completely gives way - below that would be the Void Sea. When that stone you placed on the ground has finally done its time in the sediments, it meets the Void Fluid and is dissolved, leaving the physical world. (Teal Subterranean pearl dialogue)

There's a reason that 'Cycles' is always plural in Rain World, because there's multiple of them! Organic life is in cycles, the physical bedrock of the world is in cycles, even the very concept of civilization is in cycles. In order to ascend everything, that means ascending not only all living things, but the entire physical universe itself! That's what the Great Problem really is :D (Also technicallyyy it's only ever referred to as "the big problem" and not "the great problem", the latter term stems entirely from the community but it's whatever i just wanted to quickly mention that. great problem definitely sounds cooler LOL)

In conclusion, Iterators are described as "Gifts to the World" not once, not twice, but three entire times throughout base game Rain World's dialogue, one from FP, one from LTTM, and one from the Benefactors. Rain World lore holds many unanswered, purposefully ambiguous questions, but the Iterator's purpose is not one of them!

If you're confused/interested in analysis of the Benefactor's motivations and perspectives on Ascension, I made a post a little while back containing my thoughts right here :)

[normal-thoughts-official]

it always struck me as kind of hilarious that you have to pass a 30DC check to convince shadowheart not to kill dame aylin but if you're just like "sure do whatever lol" she chooses not to kill her anyway. tsundere ass fuck. killing is bad unless it's out of spite. i have morals unless you try to tell me what to do

but i just got to that scene in my new replay and it made me realize that that's not what's at stake at all

because the persuasion check isn't "don't do this". the persuasion check is, your life is whatever you make of it. you don't have to do something just because your goddess tells you to.

convincing shadowheart not to kill dame aylin is easy. she knows it's wrong, and she doesn't want to, not really. if given the choice, she is literally unable to go through with it even if she clearly wants to, or wants to want to so badly she can't tell the difference

the problem is convincing her she has an option in the first place

the problem is convincing her that her life is her own

shadowheart has never belonged to herself since she was captured. not in body, not in soul, not in mind, not even her memories. she quite literally doesn't know who she is in more ways than one. she doesn't know her past or her family, she doesn't know who her loved ones are (including the sharran loved ones, like nocturne), all she really knows about herself is a fear of wolves that's been implanted into her by lies and an attachment to a flower she can't remember the details of. and a mission. always a mission. the will of someone else she has to carry on, that is not for her to understand or question or think about. she can't even want to serve shar, because she isn't allowed to pursue her intention to become a dark justiciar. she is supposed to be well and truly nothing, empty as the sharran doctrine

(oh, and pain that she doesn't know the reason of. no matter what, she must bear the pain)

how can she see herself as more than her goddess, when she quite literally doesn't know anything about who she is other than her devotion to shar? how can she choose her own destiny, when she couldn't even choose how to devote and give herself over to her?

she can't, which is why, unless you have infinite rizz points and/or roll a nat20, shadowheart attacks you. not dame aylin. you. and she never argues about whether or not it's the right thing, because she knows. what she's rebelling against isn't the idea of letting dame aylin go. what she's rebelling against is the idea that she could leave her cage and belong to no one but herself. because the idea is scary and she quite literally doesn't know where to begin. which is why her obsession becomes to find her parents, even though she doesn't remember them at all. because maybe they can tell her who she's supposed to be, and she can have the comfort of having her path laid out before her again

(which is also why she has to kill them. not because of some hand hurty curse bullshit. but because she just wants them and selûne to become the new shar, and she has to let that go if she truly means to claim herself again)

and now im sad. because it's easier for shadowheart to do turn against shar and everything she's ever had on the grounds of saving someone else than on the grounds that she deserves better than to be a puppet. even if you do nothing, saving dame aylin, to her, is easy. saving herself is a wholly different matter, one she's not sure she has any right to, or wants to, even if it's what she really needs. accepting a selûnite's humanity is easier than accepting her own. losing everything is easier than gaining her own autonomy. and she will fight tooth and nail to be allowed to stay in her own, metaphorical soul cage

[safination]

The Wrong Competitor

|Masterlist| Ao3| NOW WITH A PART 2: |The Actual Competitor| Pairings: Alastor x wife!Reader. Platonic! Vox & Reader Tags: fem!Reader, AFAB, Established Relationship, , Alastor is in hell for a reason, Reader is in hell for a reason, being a simp for your partner, husband! Alastor. demon! Alastor, drinking,flirting

Vox approaches with a steady and confident smile. There are two drinks secured around one hand. The other reaches out for a handshake. Alastor takes a step forward, using his body as a barrier. “Just a friendly one,” Vox says, a charming smile on his screen. “It would be a shame to ruin the Princess’ evening. The music is lively and the food and drinks are delicious.” Alastor’s eyes twitch from underneath the mask as he sees you reaching out. Well, that won’t do. He takes the handshake intended for you, shaking Vox’s hand with a firmer grip than needed. You’re determined to enjoy yourself and Alastor prides himself on being a husband. So, he won’t cause a scene—not today at least. The handshakes last longer than handshakes should last. Vox slides his eyes towards you, a smug smile displayed on the screen of his lips. You tighten your hold around Alastor’s arm, leaning to his bicep to hide your scowl. TLDR: The Hazbin Hotel decides to hold a masquerade party. Despite his better judgment, Alastor invites his wife even if he’s aware of Vox’s attendance, who’s keen on competing with Alastor for his wife’s attention….If only Alastor knew how much you and Vox would gag at the idea of him flirting with you. It’s not his wife’s attention that Vox competes for. It’s not even Alastor who he’s competing with. Actually… Alastor isn’t part of the competition.

Have a little brainrot of mine. Lol just pure on crack of the silliest shit. Tell me what you guys think because I found this so fucking hilarious that I had to write it down. Anyway, have my heavily unedited brain rot. I tried a different writing voice today instead of my usual third person-second person pronoun pov, and tried like an all around pov. Update: *6/19/2024 We lost electricity at home so instead of studying, I decided to polish my un-polished crack. Everything's the same, it's just written better and I didn't add much.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Alastor slithers out of the shadows below, stepping out from the darkness that pools underneath you. There are hundreds  of shadows to pop out of, still it’s your shadow that Alastor chooses to spring out from. There’s a smile painting his lips as he materializes. A deer mask covers half his face.

“Goodness,” you say, mirroring his smile. “What am I supposed to do when strange yet handsome Sinners pop out of my shadow without a warning.”

Alastor steps further into the light. “Handsome?”

And oh…oh.

(Oh, indeed. Alastor is wearing a tail-coat, a vest hidden underneath. Oh god he’s wearing a vest. One side of his hair slick back, allowing stray strands to flutter around the deer mask. When you run your hand across his biceps…you feel it underneath your touch—Sleeves garters.)

The smile on your lips widens, and you’re thankful that a mask covers your own face. “I’d call you handsome any day, sweetheart,” you tell him. “If it’s alright with your wife, of course. Such a charming little thing like you surely belongs to someone.”

“I think I like you better than my wife.” Alastor inches closer to press a kiss. “She never compliments me as much as you do.”

A delighted humm escapes you. “Then she’s quite the fool, for you are quite the charmer.”

Alastor shakes his head, a small laugh escaping as he smoothens some feathers that stick out your head. “You didn’t have to join me tonight,” he says. “I’ll be too busy with work to be next to you.”

“Then you should have thought about that before you gave me an invitation to Charlie’s party.” You reach out to smoothen the lines of his tail-coat, pulling on it to adjust its fit around his body. “And I’m already here, wearing a very, very, expensive dress.”

“Do you even enjoy such parties?” Alastor grabs your wrists before your hands can trail any further. “It seems your mind would rather be somewhere else.”

“There’s food and music, and I get the excuse to wear such a lovely dress.” You pull your wrist from his hold, catching his hand to intertwining your fingers with his. “Do you like it? I hope you do, considering I received it along with the invitation.”

Alastor lifts his arm, twirling you underneath to flare the skirt of the dress. “You look almost as dashing as I do.”

“Ha! And that’s precisely why I must join you, deerest.” You smack his bicep in good fun, barking out a laugh. Dear god, he’s wearing the leather sleeve garter tonight.) “With such dashing good looks, I’l fear others may try to take your attention.”

He flicks your nose. “Stop it.”

Alastor slips off the deer mask, gazing straight into you. Those eyes of his shine brighter than the stars above this Hell. He reaches out, and pulls on the ribbon that secures your own mask to your face.

There are feathers on your mask. It mimics the bird you are. Alastor inches closer, staring straight into you once there’s nothing to obstruct his view.

“That’s mine,” you say, trying to grab your mask.

Alastor shoves the deer mask on your face. The force causes you to stumble back a little. He’s such a nuisance, honestly…but …but well, his fingers brush over your feathers as he ties the ribbon on his mask. 

Strands of your feathers flow between his fingers as it lingers. Alastor presses the feathers to his mouth, brushing them with his lips. “I think our masks are a bit too on the nose,” he says, and each word caresses your feathers. “Deer masks suit you much better, and this way, I can spot you from even across the room.”

Alastor inches lower until you meet his eyes. You take the bird mask and tie the ribbon around his head, securing it on him.

There’s a feather that sticks out your head. Alastor picks it out. The stray feather gets waved around until he tucks it within the mask.

You reach out to remove the feather, but Alastor catches your wrist and presses a single kiss on the inside.

“The color of my feathers are different from the ones on the mask,” you tell him. “Come on, take it out. It sticks out a bit too much.”

“I’ll have you know that I quite like the feathers.” Alastor plays with the feather on his mask. “More importantly—tell me about your day. I want to know every second of every minute…it’s been a while since I’ve heard from you.”

“You would know all about my day if you were living at our home with me,” you tell him, crossing your arms. “You know, the home that we’ve built together for the past few decades?”

Alastor plays with the edges of your pinky before intertwining his fingers around your hand. “Or…” he begins, and presses a single kiss on the wedding ring around your finger. “I would known if you lived at the hotel…with me.”

There’s a smug smile on you. “Are you asking me to live with you?”

“Would you?”

“I would.”

“I’m still rather hesitant to involve you with the hotel…yet I found myself sending an invitation anyway.” Alastor presses a kiss on the edge of your lips, letting himself linger. 

“An invitation?”you say, faking a gasp. “That’s weird because I swore the invitation came with a dress as well. Hmmm, now I’m wondering who sent such a piece to me.”

“I found myself sending an invitation…and a dress.” Alastor rolls his eyes. “But the point still stands, it’s safer if you are at our home. It’s quiet and secure and doesn’t have a giant sign pointing straight at its door.”

“Ah yes…that,” you say. “I heard about it on the televisi—newspaper. It must be tiring to be attacked thrice in one day.”

Alastor shakes his head, pulling you into a tight hug. One hand presses on the back of your head, cradling you gently. “Just before I lose you to my job.”

You steal a kiss from him. “As if you could ever lose me.”

Music beats through the cracks of the Hazbin Hotel’s door. Alastor escorts you inside, a bird mask on his face as he runs his thumb up and down the skin of your hand. You adjust the deer mask on your face before following him deeper inside.

The door opens easily, and you walk inside, arm in arm with the Radio Demon. The fun about masquerade balls is being able to hide behind a mask.

 Except from those who really pay attention.

Vox approaches with a steady and confident smile. Two drinks are secured around one hand. The second reaches out for a handshake. 

Alastor takes a step forward, using his body as a barrier.

“Just a friendly one,” Vox says, a charming smile on his screen. “It would be a shake to ruin the Princess’ evening. The music is lively, and the food and drinks are delicious.”

Alastor’s eyes twitch from underneath the mask when he sees you reaching out to shake Vox’s hand.

Well, that just won’t do! Alastor takes the handshake intended for you, grabbing Vox’s hand before you can reach it, and shakes his hand with a firmer grip than needed.

You’re determined to enjoy yourself, and Alastor prides himself for being a Husband.  (Rosie tells him that there’s a difference between ‘a husband’ and ‘a Husband’ with one clearly better than the other.) So, Alastor won’t cause a scene—not today at least.

Vox slides his eyes towards you, a smug smile displayed on the screen of his lips as he shakes Alastor’s hand. It forces you to tighten your hold around Alastor’s arm, leaning into his bicep to hide a scowl.

The handshake lasts longer than handshakes should last.

Vox offers you a glass. “I brought drinks to start,” he says, keeping the second glass around his hold closer to him. “I hope I’m remembering this correctly—but you still enjoy lemony flavors, correct?”

“How delightful!” Alastor tries to take the drink intended for you.

Vox quickly retracts the drink, taking a single step backwards. “It’s for the lady.”

Alastor’s smile widens ever so slightly into a snarl.

You take the drink from Vox, smiling as lemony goodness fills your senses. Not many bartenders keep such flavors. Part of you wonders if Alastor organized the bar to keep your favorite drink in stock.

One hand trails up Alastor’s back as static emits from his skin. It snakes around until it hooks behind his neck to pull him into a kiss. It’s just a quick peck of the lips, but Alastor places a hand around your waist to pull you closer. Such things are reserved in the confines of privacy, but it seems he doesn’t mind tonight.

There’s an imprint of your lipstick on his skin. It’s something you don’t bother mentioning to him

“Just before I lose you to the crowd,” you say.  “I’m sure you can’t leave your post for so long, and I’ve already kept you for far too long. Don’t worry about me—I won’t be too far from your gaze.”

Alastor presses one last kiss on your cheek before walking away.

With a scowl on his screen, Vox turns the other direction.

You trail behind him, smiling at the second untouched drink around his hand. It seems he’s also wearing a tail-coat tonight, but it doesn’t suit him as handsomely as it does for your husband.

“So, it seems you're here,” Vox tells you, that proud Overlord puff on his chest as he walks around the room. “And here I was wondering why the life in the room suddenly became dull.”

“Funny,” you say, matching his steps. “It seems you’re still pining for my husband—Will you ever give up on him?”

“Ah yes…the same husband who disappeared on your for seven years,” he says, casually swirling the second drink in his hand. “He left you once, he can leave you again.”

You take a sip of your drink, letting the taste of lemon slide down your throat even as your eye twitches from underneath the deer mask. “It’s quite hilarious to know you still remember how my husband hates lemon undertones in his drink.”

“Well, I didn’t want him choking on such unrefined tastes.”

“Is this meant for Alastor?” You grab the second glass from his hand, bringing it closer to your nose. “Whiskey. Ah… it was meant for him. What—were you too scared to give it to him?”

Vox barks out a laugh, crossing his arm. “It’s for me, actually.”

“Then drink it.”

“It’s been compromised by your stench.” Vox takes the glass and tosses it away.

From across the room, Alastor swirls his whiskey and allows his eyes to wander across the crowd. In a room full of Sinners, he can never be too careful especially when you’re involved. It’s then that his eyes catch Vox inching closer to you, and it’s then that his grip on the glass tightens.

Charlie smiles at Alastor as he doesn’t seem to be listening to her. That’s alright—it’s quite loud and drinks often tend to loosen him up. Alastor’s looking at her, but his body faces the crowd as he leans on one of the tables. It’s almost as if he’s looking out.

It’s been the same pattern for almost fifteen-minutes ever since Alastor came back with a bird mask instead of his own deer mask. Charlie would say something, and he would nod. From time to time, Alastor would glance out into the crowd in the same direction his body is facing.

“So, I had an idea to get more sponsors,” Charlie tells him, tapping the glass for her soda. “We can do a whole music number with flowers and dancing and singing, and I just thought you could be our main lead! The genre would be rap music.”

Alastor’s eyes slid to the crowd once more. “What a spectacular idea!”

Charlie follows his gaze until they land on you. Well, that certainly solved the mystery of where his deer mask went and where the bird one came from. One of the feathers on Alstor’s mask matches yours perfectly.

“Do you think we can get more TVs for the hotel?” she asks. “And I don’t mean the old ones, but the flat-screens that are about fifty-inches.”

You glance over at Alastor and Charlie when you notice their looks, and offer a small smile and a wave.

Alastor smiles back, giving you a wave as well. “Perhaps.”

“How about some digital cameras?” she says. “All of us could take a happy family portrait.”

“Of course.”

Wait-staff carry trays of different types of appetizers. Vox snatches a couple tiny platters, offering some to you. The first bite causes you to hum with delight. It’s quite delicious…but quite small. Vox offers another tiny plate to you, and it’s grabbed enthusiastically.

It’s great that Vox took more than one.

He bites into the cracker with some kind of seafood on them, humming at the taste. “You’ve aged.”

“Yes, it seems I have.” You laugh at him, shaking your head as you take another sip of your drink. “I’m quite lucky that I’m in the company of my husband to grow old with. It’s quite the treat to be able to live day to day with Alastor.”

Vox offers you a bite of the cracker.

You take it, nodding and humming with delight at the taste. “Oh, that’s quite good—here, taste this one.”

At the sight of your laughter, Alastor’s drink shatters into tiny pieces of broken glass. It shatters to the floor.

Charlies raises an eyebrow at him. It only takes a snap of her fingers for magic to work its wonders and clean the broken glass and replace his drink.

“Apologies,” Alastor says, smile widening just a fraction. It doesn’t fully reach his eyes. “I forgot my own strength.”

Once more, Charlie follows Alastor’s gaze until it lands on you, and once more, the glass in his hand shatters when he sees Vox inching closer to offer you some appetizers and then your laughter.

Charlie snaps her fingers and a new drink appears in his hold. “I’m going to run out of glasses eventually.”

Alastor takes a turn around the ballroom after Charlie kicks him away from the corner. It’s all he can do to call his growing ire to keep the guests happy. Afterall, it’s him who controls his emotions and not the other way around. There’s also the matter of his job.

A Sinner blocks his patch, a doll-like smile on her face. “Do you happen to be the Radio Demon?”

“In the flesh!” Alastor’s smile widens to show off the yellow in his teeth, giving a little bow.

“I wasn’t sure with the mask,” she says, motioning towards it. “My friends said they spotted you earlier with a deer mask, but it seems you’ve changed it. I quite like the feathers .... Although, the one that’s different kind of sticks out.”

A muscle in his cheek tightens. “I’m quite fond of that feather,” he says. “It means quite a lot to me, and I don’t take kindly to those who insult what is precious to me.”

“Oh…of course,” she says. “It suits you quite well.”

She points a finger towards his bowtie. It seems it’s a bit crooked. There’s a smile on her face as she reaches out her sully hands to fix it.

Alastor takes a single step back, making it a point to show it off to her that he’s doing so.

The doll-like smile on her face wobbles a little. That’s fine. Alastor always hated dolls. “Oh…um…,” she says, scrambling to recover. “There’s a stain on your lips.”

His ears flicker for a moment, but he runs his thumb across his mouth. Red stains his gloves. It’s the color of your lipstick. “It seems I do.”

“Been drinking too much wine tonight?” She offers him a handkerchief.

“No need.” Alastor takes out his own handkerchief. It has his initials carefully embroidered on them.  He goes to wipe your stain on his lips, but decides against it. “The wine they serve here is quite bland, but luckily there’s something much sweeter on the palate.”

Her smile fades into a frown when she notices the embroidery on the edges of his handkerchief.

Alastor continues to stand with a smile as she tries her best to compliment him in the smallest of ways. It’s quite nice to hear such compliments that inflate his ego.

Although… It's a bit weird.

The thrill of sudden recognition doesn’t hit as high as before. It’s just stagnant now. Praise doesn’t thrill him like they should.

Alastor allows his mind to wander, and his ego inflated to the highest degree when he imagines you standing before him instead, saying the things this random Sinner tells him. (He should figure out a way to get you to compliment him more.)

Plates of food and dozens of empty glass litter the bar table. It’s the aftermath of downing unlimited alcohol and enjoying some appetizers as insults are hurled that not even a merciful god can forgive.

Vox takes a bite of the olive and flicks the toothpick that came with his drink. It lands between your feathers.

A curse escapes your mouth as you try to dig it out. “Why are you even here?”

“It’s a party.” Vox hands you another drink. “I like the music, the drinks are unlimited, and this is quite fun.”

The drink gets downed in one gulp, and you flick the toothpick at a passing Sinner’s hair. It lands between the strands of his hair. “That’s one more point for me,” you say, pumping your fist. “Come on, TV boy—give me my point.”

Vox’s head flashes. It goes from his face to a screen with both your names on it. The number below your name increases on point before his face returns once more.

You shimmy a little dance as your point increases.

Vox makes a face, cringing at your dance. “You’re such a fucking loser.”

“Ha! His loser,” you say, sticking out your tongue.

“You’re still five points down,” he tells you, scowling as he grabs a passing drink from a waiter. “Why suggest this game if you’re not even good at it.”

You shrug, grumbling a little. “I always win against Alastor.”

“Are we not going to get in trouble?” Vox swirls the drink in his hand. “This is still a royal’s party.”

“Aren’t you an Overlord?” you say, taking another bite of a cracker. “Act like it. I mean, it’s not like anyone’s going to call you out.”

The music catches your attention, and it pulls your focus to the dance floor. Oh…Alastor’s dancing. His broad back puffs out as he moves across the floor with purpose and grace. There’s a charming smile on his face as he dances along the beat of the music.

That looks fun.

 It would certainly be a shame to waste such a beautiful dress by blending in with the decorations on the walls.

You turn to Vox. “Care to dance?”

Vox takes another toothpick, flicking it. It missed the Sinner’s hair. He curses while you pump your fist. “With you?” he says, making a face “Ew—no, that’s disgusting.”

“Alastor’s dancing right now,” you say. “It looks fun.”

Vox raises an eyebrow and glaces to the dance floor. A snarl appears on his lips when he notices that smug smile on the woman dancing with Alastor. “A new challenger?”

You tilt your head, and feathers slide across your face as you observe Alastor dancing. Oh, Vox’s right. There’s a woman with him right now. “Oooooh, who’s that? She’s quite the belle—smash.”

Vox turns to you, making a face. It’s quite funny to see. “Do you even know what that mean—”

“I know what I said.”

His screen shifts and paragraphs of information appear on his face. “Oh…she’s one of the daughters of the Ars Goetia.” The scowl on his face deepens as he continues watching, and he offers an arm towards you. “Come on—let’s dance. Game on, bitch.”

“Just ignore her,” you tell him. “She’s no threat to me, and I allow you to flirt with Alastor all the time.”

“That’s because I play fair,” Vox says, rolling his eyes. “We have our rules, and it creates order. This bitch doesn’t know that…and hasn’t someone ever told her—three’s a crowd.”

Once more, you turn to the dance floor. Alastor’s graceful movements catch your eyes and a delighted hum escapes your lips. His body dances with control and power. There’s awe in the woman’s face as Alastor dances with her. 

That’s alright—she’s only doing her due diligence.

Only a blind fool wouldn’t appreciate how Alastor’s hair sways with each side-step, or how his tail-coat fits handsomely across his back, or how charming his smile paints across his lips, or how the dress-pants he wears compliments how long his legs are.

Vox may be a fool but at least he isn’t blind.

“Holy fuck! Woman—get it together!” Vox points towards the dance floor, to the Sinner dancing with Alastor.

There’s a triumph in her smile. She dances with Alastor as if she won.

Vox watches your expression carefully, chuckling as a cold look steels your face despite the gentle smile. Oh, it is so on.

“Well, this just won’t do. If there’s one thing I hate—it’s those who don’t know their place,” you say, snaking your arm around Vox with a smile. “Game on, bitch.”

Vox escorts you towards the middle of the dance floor, that proud Overlord puff back on his chest. It’s quite easy to match his movements when he always was quite the talented dancer.

“Hey…,” you say, eyes twitching. “What are you doing?”

Vox’ hands hover above your skin, refusing to make contact. “I’m afraid that if I touch you, my life would turn to ruin like everything else that has had the misfortune of meeting you,” he tells you, a triumphant smile on his lips. “And you’re doing the exact same thing!”

“That’s because I’m married. It would be improper of me to be touching such a slimy Sinner.” You slam the point of your heel right on his shoe. “My apologies…it would be much easier to dance if you’re actually holding me.”

Vox steps on your toes, and you snarl at him. “You first, witch.”

“As you say whenever Velvette tells you to take a bath—no thanks.”

“The I guess you say the same thing about shampoo—”

“May I interrupt?”  There’s a wide smile on Alastor’s lips that show off the yellow in his teeth. He stands in the middle of the ballroom, not caring as others give him weird looks for blocking the path. Alastor stands proud as his hand offers itself to you.

Across the dance floor, there’s an irritated look on the woman’s face when Alastor abandoned her mid-dance. There’s a smile on your lips as you show her what real triumph looks like.

Vox smiles at him, and hands you towards your husband. “Of course.”

He takes your hand, playing with the tips of your fingers before intertwining them. A hand snakes around your waist to pull you flush against his chest. The music flows slowly across the room. It’s sweet melodies forcing you to lean your head on his chest.

Alastor squeezes your hand.

You squeeze back.

His legs slide between your as Alastor dips you low, a hand on the small of your back to support your waist. He takes the lead in this waltz, spinning and twirling your around while pressing himself as close as possible to you.

The side of his cheek, nuzzles into the crown of your feathers as you’re swayed around the ballroom.

“I’ve found myself in a bit of a corner,” you say, snaking your hand up and down his back as if to pet it. “I owe Vox two dances. You interrupted the first, but there’s still the matter of the second one.”

Alastor’s hand tightens around you, and shadows flare around the room. It causes dancing couples to instinctively take a step away. “Did he force you into a deal?”

“Not at all,” you say, nuzzling into his hold. “I lost a bet, that’s all. You know me, I get rather competitive, and got a little bored a while ago after getting my fill of food and drinks.”

 “I’ll take your place so just stay far away from him.” Alastor’s smile turns into a snarl. “Don’t worry, he won’t bother you again after this.”

You go on the tip of your toes to press a kiss. “Thank you.”

Alastor twirls you underneath his arm. “I never got to ask…,” he begins. “How do you like my outfit?”

“It suits you very well, my love,” you tell him. “In fact, I have to say that you are the most handsomest of handsome, and those pants really do you some justice.”

Alastor flicks your nose. “Stop it.”

“Should I really?”

“No…,” he says, leaning into your ear. “I want to hear more.”

The dance ends eventually, and Alastor behind you with one hand on your shoulders and the other holding you to escort you like a gentleman.

Vox greets you with a wave, another drink around his hand.

You step out of Alastor’s hold and press a hand on Vox’ shoulder to whisper into his ear. “As you dance with my husband, I want you to know that he’s taking your hand only because I allow it,” you tell him with a smile. “I want you to know that it’s only possible because of the permission I grant you.”

Vox snorts and offers a hand out for Alastor. “Understood.”

The musicians play their instruments and music once again fills the dancefloor. Sinners stay paces away as Vox and Alastor dance, especially given the threatening expression on Alastor’s face. It’s funny how Vox doesn’t seem to mind Alastor’s darkened gaze.  The irritated look on your husband's face makes you a bit guilty. Oh well, you’ll make it up to him later.

The dance ends, and both Vox and Alastor go their separate ways once more. There’s a twinkle in Vox’s eyes as he gives you a small nod of farewell. It has you shaking your head.

Alastor wipes his hands before taking your hand once more. “Let’s go.”

“Already?” you say, frowning. “We’ve only had one dance so far.”

“We can dance to your heart's content, my love…just not here,” Alastor says, fixing the straps of your dress. His hands ghost around the zipper, and it lingers there for more than a moment. “Apparently, I’ve maxed out my working days. Charlie told me it was in my contract and I have to spend them before I can go back to work at the hotel. She practically kicked me out. So, I have the next few days off.”

“That’s good.”

“Shall we go?” Alastor brings your hand closer, pressing a kiss on the ring around your finger. “Home—our home.”

“Really?” you say. “You’re going to go home with me?”

“For the next two weeks.”

Alastor watches your smile brighten as your eyes crinkle. It’s the most precious thing in this ballroom, and its radiance can light up the whole room. You spring up to hug him, squealing as you wrap your arms around his neck. The force of your hug causes him to take a couple steps back to keep from falling over. Alastor places a hand on the small of your back to steady you.

His bowtie is crooked. 

You point towards it,and reach out a hand to straighten the fabric. Alastor takes a single step forward, leaning down to allow more access. The pads of your thumb smoothen his crooked bowtie.

Vox catches your eyes and he toasts a drink in your direction.

You remove the wedding ring around your finger, slipping it over your middle finger instead. The ring and the finger are presented to Vox as you leave with Alastor’s arm around your waist.

Game on, bitch.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Alastor whenever someone flirts with you : hiss hiss, get away from my wife. Reader whenever someone flirts with Alastor: Fucking understandable. Finally, someone with good fucking taste. This is so funny and silly. Vox and Reader are so sibling-coded that it wonderful. I love fan-fiction. I love how unserious it can be

[aethelwyneleigh27]

Toothache

How does one go "You're Too Sweet For Me" to "My Baby's Sweet As Can Be"?

Synopsis: Simon Riley finds himself stuck in a situation, growing feelings for his roommate who's so annoyingly caring, domestic, sweet and too good for him. What happens when he let's himself indulge in the sweetness rather than cage himself in the bitter life he's been told is the only one he's deserving of and the only life he's known?

Apologies to this mess of a lyricfic, I couldn't help it even though this was supposed to be a relationship analysis..

MEN WRITTEN BY ANA HUANG ARE GONNA BE THE DEATH OF ME. Alright back to our original programmed schedule with Hozier. ALSO SURPRISE! THIS CONTAINS 3 HOZIER SONGS as an apology for not posting these past two weeks due to me enjoying holidays, reading, prom dress picking and wanting to stab myself because of life, there's the added bonus 👀

My CoD Masterlist

My Simon Riley x You Playlist

Also reader in this one had a lot of characterization, she's me fr, so AFAB?Reader, Fem!Reader, Short!Reader, Reader is VERY feminine with fashion, soft-girl-sunshine!Reader and Chubby?Reader. Y'all have no idea how hard it is to write without a personality and physical intimacy in romance, I tried but failed 😭

Warnings and Disclaimers: Mentions and details on sexual content ahead (is this considered smut? Idk anymore). Not detailed smut but vivid memories of sexual intercourse (especially the dialogue) with Simon. Again, this is a safe account for all ages because I'm not a MDNI acc, you are responsible for your own media consumption. DO NOT GO ON MY DMS, INBOX OR REPLY TO MY CONTENT TO TELL ME YOUR AGE. I don't need to know that and let's strive to not make each other uncomfortable. Mentions of questioning of religion or rather belief on afterlife??

Pink, bold and italic: Lyrics

Italic: recalling past events

Little snippet of an image of how I imagined he'd hold you, courtesy of the one and only @ave661

"It can't be said I'm an early bird, it's 10 o'clock before I say a word. Baby, I can never tell, how do you sleep so well?"

Simon Riley was never a man to live the life he was taught to in the military, it was out of habit for him to not leave his room until around noon. Then there was you, his roommate, he didn't exactly calculate how much it would affect his personal life to save money through rent by willingly letting someone within the same living space.

He'd find himself with not even a wink of sleep, hearing your footsteps through the thin walls, hearing the lock on the windows outside click open.

"You kept telling me to live right, to go to bed before the daylight. But then you wake up from the sunrise."

He'd always hear you, quite frankly it was like nagging on the constant.

"Simon you shouldn't do that, you'll hurt yourself"

"Simon please go get some rest"

"Simon.."

He'd swear he'd rip his own ears out every time his name falls from your lips from how sweet and chirpy it sounded and yet deafening silence would consume him whenever you aren't around.

"You don't gotta pretended, Baby, now and then. Don't you just wanna wake up dark as a lake? Smellin' lika bonfire, lost in the haze?"

Something about you makes it so tempting for Simon to give in, I mean it would be a one time thing, wouldn't it? So soft, so pliant, he set himself up for an addiction. It wasn't healthy, he knew this, he'd convince himself of the fact that he would end up hurting you.

Just too different, it repeated like a mantra in his head. He was bitter, brooding and didn't find any sense of pleasure in living. Why'd you think he has the job he chose? It's all he knew, till you skip your way into his life, giving him the sweetness he was deprived of.

"If you're drunk on life babe, I think it's great. But while in this world, I think I'll take my whiskey neat"

Drowning himself in alcohol, a trait Simon promised himself he wouldn't ever do when he was young, setting his glass down with a small thud from the wooden table. But what would the kid version of him know about life. He didn't have healthier options of coping with what seems to be his dilemma.

But then there you were, sweet little thing coming home at the late hour in that skimpy dress of yours. Revealing too much to the eyes of those who wish to have you for themselves with just one look. Where did you go that night?

"My coffee black in my bed at three, you're too sweet for me"

Desperately trying to keep himself awake and at bay from his thoughts of you. Drowning himself in now two cups of straight black coffee to help him focus.

It was odd, you got used to the scent, was strong with a lack of sweetness but it calmed you down knowing he was around.

How he'd corrupt you, he wanted to shatter that rose tinted glasses of yours to save you from himself because being with him would change you. Selfish but he doesn't want that, you were utter perfection..

Simon further delved into his feelings, what the fuck was wrong with him?

"I aim low. I aim true, and the ground's where I go. I work late where I'm free from the phone and the job gets done"

Grumbling, Simon walks back into the apartment in the middle of the night. You heard a thud, you come out of your bedroom, yawing from you incomplete sleep.

"Si..? Are you hurt? What happened?" You asked in a soft tone, careful not to agitate someone would could possibly be pissed off.

Simon stays silent, glaring at you as his eyes was only thing visible because of his balaclava. Your soft gaze intimidated him, because why would he feel that squeeze in his heart?

"But you worry some, I know but who wants to live forever, babe? You treat your mouth as if it's Heaven's gate. The rest of you like you're the TSA, I wish I could go along Babe, don't get me wrong..."

The only thing Simon heard was a sigh from you and nothing more, you walk up to him, each footstep feeling louder than that last.

Something Simon didn't expect you to do was wrap you arms around his waist, tiny thing you are that your head only goes up to his chest. Your body against his, basking in the warmth in contrast to the cold weather he had to deal with coming home.

"You know you're bright as the morning, as soft as the rain, pretty as a vine, as sweet as a grape. If you can sit in a barrel maybe I'll wait, until that day.."

You took care of him that night, to his reluctance and stubbornness. Despite refusing, he had no choice, he wouldn't want a soft thing like you on his ear the whole night till he agrees. You were persuasive in your own irritating way.

Sitting on the edge of the tub of the warm bath he's in, washcloth in hand. Touch was so gentle, why was it so soft? Why's it so warm? "It's the water you fucking idiot" his subconscious screaming at him. In denial.

Why is his heart beating so fast..? He wants to stab it to stop the feeling..

"I'd rather take my whiskey neat, my coffee black and my bed at three. You're too sweet for me"

Using both your hands this time around, one gently holding his chin with your fingers while the other wiping away at the eyeblack he had. Every scar on his face felt the graze of your finger.

The slow blinks, your eyes on his. Before any conscious thoughts consume Simon, he lifts his arms from the warm water and wraps them around you.

Your nightgown was now damp but you couldn't care less, now with the man you were pinning over, foreheads against the other.

"Si.." you softly whisper. That nickname will be the death of him, you'll be the death of him. He crashes his lips on yours, not wanting to let go till you both were panting. You were too fucking sweet, your lips, your skin, everything. He wanted a taste and he got it...

"My lover's got humor, she's the giggle at a funeral. Knows everybody's disapproval, I should've worshiped her sooner"

Another sleepless night wasn't uncommon for someone like Simon.. however this aching feeling wasn't, he doesn't know where it's from or what it's about. Not until he heard you in the kitchen, letting out a giggle even though you knew better.

"If the Heavens ever did speak, She's the last true mouthpiece. Every Sunday's getting more bleak. A fresh poison each week "We were born sick"

That sweet fucking voice, like the angels speaking to him themselves. "Oh- I'm sorry Si, did I wake you up?" You asked, turning around to the sound of his footsteps.

That tiny nightdress of yours, a reminder of the night you spent together, that morning you slept in his bed.

Lashes beautifully displayed on the delicate skin of your under eyes. Soft noises while your chest was peacefully moving up and down with every breath.

"She tells me, "Worship in the bedroom". The only Heaven I'll be sent to, is when I'm alone with you I was born sick, but I love it Command me to be well. A, Amen, Amen, Amen"

"Simon.. Ahh~" you moan out softly, your body writhing underneath him. It felt hot, sweaty despite the well ventilated room, so intimate from something that was supposed to be the farthest thing from domestic.

"Shhh, you can take it sunshine.. You don't want the neighbors to hear us, do you?" Simon whispers, callous hand covering your mouth with as little pressure possible, you whimper at his words.

Closing your eyes to lose yourself in the pleasure you've never felt before. Your body being worshiped with gentle hands and soft kisses that leave marks by the very same man who kept distancing himself from you, now he'd stop at nothing for your pleasure.

"Take me to church, I'll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies. I'll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife, offer me that deathless death. Good God, let me give you my life."

"Simon.. no more–" you whined. Scratching his back hard enough to leave marks without being aware, he'd always imagine what those pretty pink nails could do to him.

"Just one more, please sunshine.. you remember our safe word right?" Simon asks for you to nod softly, you didn't have energy to take anymore. "I told you I'll make you feel good, didn't I? So be a good girl for me and take it, hmm?"

Your eyes roll back at his praise, your legs shake with one after another wave of pleasure running through your body. This man was starved.. insatiable.. who would be able to resist such a request? Not you.

"If I'm a pagan of the good times, my lover's the sunlight to keep the Goddess on my side. She demands a sacrifice, drain the whole sea, get something shiny"

It took everything in Simon not to worship the ground you walked on that night, he wasn't trying very hard, was he? Because always.. at the end of the night, you're in his bed, his mind, his life.

Was it really a sin? To want something you don't deserve? Simon stayed up that whole night, not a wink of sleep while thinking of whether this arrangement should continue. Every bone and organ in his body telling him to be selfish, take what was something that wasn't his to take.

"Something meaty for the main course, that's a fine looking high horse. What you got in the stable? We've a lot of starving faithful that looks tasty, that looks plenty, this is hungry work"

Simon's gaze, never faltering on your sleeping figure that he refuses to go anywhere but his own arms. He tries to close his eye to compose himself, free himself from the emotions you emit from him.

His efforts were to no use, all he saw was the image of you, sweetly smiling, those doe eye staring right through his soul.

"No masters or kings when the ritual begins. There is no sweeter innocence than our gentle sin In the madness, in the soil of that sad earthly scene. Only then I am human, only then I am clean"

You were getting too close for your own good, Simon knew that, he'll be damned if he let's himself hurt you. So he does what any stupid man would do, avoid you like the plague. Did it mean nothing? Were you just some fling, never to be talked about again?

Fuck you Simon Riley, he made you feel loved in bed like no man ever has or ever will, completely ruining your chance of ever thinking of anything else and that was just a hook-up session? Maybe this one time you can let yourself be delusional, was there really something more? Only one way to find out.

"Oh, oh, Amen, Amen, Amen, Take me to church, I'll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies. I'll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife, offer me that deathless death. Good God, let me give you my life"

You caught him, fucking finally, after days of waiting and trying to get him at the perfect time. "Si.." you whispered softly, you didn't know where to start. He took a quick glance at you before looking back at what he was doing.

"Simon Riley, don't fucking ignore me. Not after everything that happened those nights" You said, it was stern but he needed to hear it. It made him stop, think about what had happened.

Before he could generate a response, "Why?" You asked. It was a vague question, why was he ignoring you? Why does he feel this way? Why does he love you yet refuse to act on it?

"Take me to church, I'll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies. I'll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife, offer me that deathless death. Good God, let me give you my life.."

"You don't deserve a man like me, you deserve one who is like you, optimistic, sweet, fucking beautiful and alive.. A man who's not damaged, scarred, has blood on his hands and haunted by his past. A man who's not afraid to show his love for you. A man who won't put his burdens on your shoulders and a man who will take care of you instead of the other way around. That's what you deserve and I can't give that"

Everything felt like it came to a stop, were you hearing that right?

"You have no idea how much you contradict yourself, Si. How are you so sure that you haven't given those things to me already? You might not be like me but "like me" isn't what I want.. I want you, every flaw, every beautiful scar. Not once before your silent treatment have you hurt me, it's frustrating yes, but you are worthy of that. Every struggle, frustration and mistake, every bit of your love is worth all of that. I want you to see that Si, your actual true worth rather than what some psychotic fucker decided to torture you with"

"Boys, workin' on empty. Is that the kinda way to face the burning heat? I just think about my baby, I'm so full of love I could barely eat"

"Si?"

"Yes, Sunshine?"

"I love you" You whispered after smothering him in a plethora of kisses. Never has anything made Simon melt more in his life than his wife say that. Doesn't matter how long it's been, how much the both of you have been through or how much frustration the both of you were going through..

It will always stay the same, the feeling those three words give him, like the first time, every moment feels that way. Familiar, finally.. Home.

"There's nothing sweeter than my baby I'd never want once from the cherry tree. 'Cause my baby's sweet as can be, she give me toothaches just from kissin' me"

He always thought about how unfaithfulness was such a struggle between some people, he thought about how good he has it constantly, reflecting back on what he used to have to how now this is something he never thought he'd have or deserve.

"When my time comes around, lay me gently in the cold, dark earth. No grave can hold my body down, I'll crawl home to her"

When a man finds himself in the verge of embracing death's arms, what causes the struggle? What causes him to fight that pain, to keep on going? Not once has this crossed Ghost's mind.

No. He's not Ghost, he's Simon. Your Simon.

And you're expecting your Simon home, fuck everything else, he'll give the biggest "fuck you" to death itself and crawl home to you because he'll be damned and he'll experience everything he has in his life over and over again just to hold you again.

"Boys, when my baby found me I was three days on a drunken sin, I woke with her walls around me. Nothin' in her room but an empty crib and I was burnin' up a fever I didn't care much how long I lived, but I swear I thought I dreamed her. She never asked me once about the wrong I did."

It should matter, the amount of blood on his hands. Not once did you judge him for it, what the fuck was wrong with you? Giving a monster such as him a bath like he was some innocent stray kitten, although this time around it was far more messy. The dried blood caked underneath his finger nails.

Flashing him a tired smile while you wiped off the blood that made the water in the tub a hue of brownish-red. Taking your hand in his, his lips brushing against your knuckles. The way you looked at him was enough to make him cry.

"When my time comes around, lay me gently in the cold, dark earth. No grave can hold my body down, I'll crawl home to her"

"Fucking get up" Simon repeats to himself, "She needs you, she loves you" despite how many times he's convinced himself you didn't due to the voice of his father in his head, it felt like a knife twisting in his heart imagining how it would be for you without him.

How much you cried the night he came home a day later, you told him yourself, practically sobbing while clutching your aching chest and him with your other arm how you weren't ready for Price to show up at your doorsteps holding Simon's belongings.

He won't let that happen.. he can't...

"My babe would never fret none, about what my hands and my body done. If the Lord don't forgive me, I'd still have my baby and my babe would have me"

Simon knew it, no one would ever love him like you do. No one would show him the same acceptance, devotion, care, concern and love. It wasn't healthy to be so attached dependently to someone in love.

He couldn't help it, it felt so right, everything with you did. Never a judgmental one, at least towards him. Always first to hold him, the first to ever take away the heavy guilt that weighed his heart and shoulders down after he'd done something he knows he'll go to hell for, if it's even real

"When I was kissing on my baby and she put her love down soft and sweet In the low lamplight I was free. Heaven and hell were words to me"

Every inch was kissed, not a part wasn't worshiped. "So fuckin' beautiful, so sweet. All for me, hmm?" Simon mumbled against your skin, suckling on the soft sweetness that he so claims. All hickeys, no bruises.

Fuck, he'd not just survive but thrive on just you. No other sustenance, your supple thighs he adores to cover in purple, your neck, your lips and your skin that he often compares to sugar syrup in his head.

"When my time comes around, lay me gently in the cold, dark earth. No grave can hold my body down I'll crawl home to her"

The question was, was it worth it to live an eternity of lifetimes filled with suffer to be with you in at least once? The only answer to ever graze Simon Riley's lips was the word "yes", the day that changes is the day that he'd be the biggest bull-shiter the world has ever known.

Simon opened the door to your shared home, "Daddy!" A loud squeal wakes him up from his dread of what he's seen on the field.

"How's my little sunshine been? 'Ave you been good to your momma while I was gone?" Simon asked, carrying the little girl in his arms.

"Yes! Momma said we'd go to the park tomorrow as a reward for me helping out!" Little one saying it so proudly, Simon couldn't help but smile, beaming with pride as his little girl grows up to be what he recognizes as a good person.

"Simon..? You're finally home, I missed you so much" You said, peeking out the laundry room. You walked out, quick to give him a peck on the lips.

"I love you Si.."

"I love you too Sunshine"

Also this is a very long fic.. I expect long feedback.. @connorsui 👀

Does this make sense? Idk anymore it's like almost midnight and I'm running on a few hours of sleep. GOD MY PROM DRESS LOOKS SO GOOD, I CAN'T WAIT.

Taglist: @wishesforyou @puff0o0 @simping4konig @simp4konig @blingblong55 @azereus @rustic-guitar-notes @shadofireshinobi @thelightdjinnofpalestine @09maruchan @anonymuslydumb @skeletalgoats @icarustypicalfall @ghosts-cyphera @fawnchives @connorsui @capuccino192 @miss-gms-and-the-rotten-womb @celestialhole @the-second-sage @starryylies @everlastingmoonlightsworld @keiva1000 @iexiam @drewsmusee @konigceo

Trying out new dividers as well by @anitalenia

[jiminrings]

fail-safe (2)

pairing: yoongi x reader

wordcount: 8k

glimpse: yoongi got everything he ever wanted and you've heard nothing about it, so you're thankful.

alternatively, yoongi reminds you of home in more ways than one.

[ part one, intermission, part two, intermission 02, finale ]

[ a Lot of angst, brother's best friend AND single dad au, eventual fluff, a lot of yearning but For What, they reunite but at what cost rlly, jealousy, self-loathing, unrequited love (initial), deja vu but in the worst possible form, eventual redemption in the next parts ]

notes: i am So sorry for this .

as always, lmk what you think <3 send in feedback n love to my askbox anytime!! even reading ur thoughts in the tags give me life :) | series masterlist

FIVE YEARS LATER

The trip back home wasn’t as rough as Yoongi expected it to be.

Somehow, there’s a huge difference between sitting in economy seats versus first-class seats, even if they’re situated on the same aircraft. When he left, Yoongi was irritable (amongst other things) to keep bumping elbows with everyone else; now that he’s back, he almost misses the ruckus in the cabin that’s far too cramped for everyone who could afford it.

Yoongi used to hate people like himself — atleast the version that he is now. He hated bastards sitting upfront in seats that reclined all the way back and ate off plates instead of noisy, flimsy plastic containers. Back then, deep down to his very core, he wanted that lifestyle for himself. To become bigger and better than he could ever imagine for the life ahead of him was always the goal.

Now that he’s at the peak, maybe even being the peak himself, he feels weirdly homesick.

“You need to bundle up all the way, Haneul. They’re gonna scold me if you’re not covered from head to toe,” Yoongi playfully chides his son, the insecurity and nervousness underneath his tone flying right over his head. It’s not even that cold, but still, a huge part of Yoongi worries.

He worries everyday if he’s a good dad to his four-year old. He worries if he’s good enough to be a solo parent because after all, he’s the one who has main custody of Haneul anyway. He worries and worries, but there’s nothing quite like the trepidation he feels being back home with everyone who has ever known him prior to all this success, suddenly seeing him come home.

It should be the opposite way around, that’s what everyone says to him. Yoongi had been queasy the whole flight back home despite the flight being one of the smoothest trips he’s ever been on in his life. He’s nervous to be back where he had been born and raised and he doesn’t know what’s that supposed to mean, except for the fact that he has an inkling of what the weight in his chest pertains to.

He’s back because it’s your mother’s 60th birthday. He’s back because her and Namjoon had asked him to, and he obliged without even thinking about it. Yoongi had offered numerous times to throw a party for the woman who had practically raised him alongside his closest friend, and even if Namjoon had backed him up on the grand idea for such a large milestone, she said no. All she wanted was for everyone to be back home, and Yoongi couldn’t say no.

Neither could you.

Yoongi is not the most modest person alive, but he is at his humblest when he drives the long way home just to delay the inevitable. He’s happy to the point he could be sick. He can’t tell if it’s the joy or the anxiety in his chest that makes it tighten, almost unbearably so, that he makes Haneul reach up to his forehead to check if he has a fever.

Yoongi’s home.

Not Los Angeles home, and not New York home. Not his home with a closet that’s the size of his childhood house’s living room, and not his space with the big windows and concierge downstairs.

Yoongi’s home — where the streets are narrow and the stairs are creaky; where this time, it’s all of him and none of you.

.

.

.

Enduring is different than working.

You’ve realized that the two concepts are drastically different as soon as Yoongi left, leaving you to survive the remaining years of your degree before you had to face the reality that you had to work to the bone for the rest of your life if you wanted a shot at living an average, food-stocked-in-the-fridge kind of life.

You didn’t know anyone who was connected to someone of importance one way or another, your family had zero ties, and you graduated from a university that raised more eyebrows in confusion than it tilted heads in awe. Your degree does havehigh promises as far as everyone in your town was concerned — it does and it should be, if only you were born and raised in different circumstances.

There’s not one acclaimed and high-profit company that would ever accept the likes of you. You worked hard and even if there were no exchange student agreements and Latin honors to show for it, you really did. You gave your best to graduate with a degree you never really liked and was only forced upon you, all for the promise of a future. It didn’t matter if it was extremely good or bad — everyone else just said you had to have one.

Your misfortune is what it is. It’s empty and haunting and the two weeks you had spent in the city right after graduating is truly something you never want to relive.

In hindsight, gambling the rest of your pocket money on a bus fare in your last day of job-hunting in the city at the time was a stupid decision. It was impulsive and irresponsible and everything your family scolded you for, what Yoongi hated you for, but it ended up being the single best gamble you’ve ever made, even above entry-level lottery tickets.

The same circumstances that held you back from where you’re supposed to head ended up propelling you to somewhere far, far different. Your degree became completely irrelevant, and the fact that you had nobody of significance in the city– no person to pass malice and gossip onto— made you a manager.

It had been a gamble to go work for an unknown entertainment company, much more a sinking one. It was an insult to have busted your ass back in your hometown, studying and working at the same time, only to work professionally in the city for a field that you didn’t even study about.

Your fate is what it is. You’ve endured and worked hard enough to the point that you had finally lucked out. Being the manager of someone who had later turned out to become the biggest actor in the industry, even in Hollywood, became your biggest break up to date.

Your way back home feels like an embrace you’ve denied yourself for far too long. You’ve mainly stayed in Seoul apart from the several hundred times you had to come with Jungkook for filming outside of the country, yet you could only count on one hand the amount of times you came home without anyone telling you to.

Coming home had become foreign to you as much as leaving it had become familiar.

“I’m near, Joon,” you hum to your phone, taking a quick glance at the cake you’ve strapped to your front seat. “It’s only us, right?”

“Yeah. Just us.”

Maybe it’s your fault for changing what us meant throughout the past five years, but Namjoon’s definition never changed. Maybe it’s your fault for not clarifying what he meant when you’re still kilometers away, when you can still leave, but nonetheless, you were cornered.

Us meant what it used to be when you were a kid in your childhood home — when Yoongi was still in the picture and you didn’t hate him for it.

In the grand scheme of things, you realize that Yoongi was right — nothing valuable was left for him in your hometown anymore. He was as right as you were wrong every time he went on a monologue of how he thinks there’s no problem in him admitting that he’s full of envy. He had been right for being bitter that there’s people who have and get much more than him, more than what they deserve, by not even putting a fourth of the effort that he does.

In the same way that he was right, you were wrong for thinking each time that Yoongi would soon outgrow his ambitions and instead, see things for what they are. You were wrong for thinking Yoongi would stoop down to your page, much less ever think of it.

Yoongi was right for saying that his stomach’s made of steel, and you were wrong for trying to convince him otherwise. He’s always had the appetite for more, the digestion of whatever life throws at him coming easy. Yoongi can choke down the reality of leaving Namjoon, your brother, who’s been buddies with him even before they could talk. He could forgo the only brother figure he’s ever had in his life if it means making something of himself.

He doesn’t get constipated from the reality of no longer having the homemade meals your mother would make that the younger, more innocent, and less ambitious version of him would literally jumps fences for. In fact, Yoongi’s palate craved something more foreign and sophisticated; not familiar, hearty meals served in dinnerware dulled from years of routine.

His stomach doesn’t turn thinking about how the skyline he said he’d never get tired of, wouldn’t appear in his new side of the world. The little, unassuming, and far too comfortable version of him who used to chase sunrises with his bike as a child and chase sunsets with his car as a teenager, doesn’t feel like he’d be poisoned if he were to see the sunlight in a high-rise instead of a run-down pavement.

Yoongi’s right when he said he had a tolerance because he doesn’t even get heartburn when you cry for him to no longer leave. You’re not in the position to beg him to stay (and you probably never will be) because as you’ve come to realize, he would only stay for the big things.

The only thing that would anchor Min Yoongi into place and dissuade him from chasing more is by being the most. One would have to be extremely significant, even bigger than Namjoon’s brotherhood, your mother’s impact, and what your hometown has to offer. You can’t even hold a candle to the aforementioned.

In Yoongi’s grand plan that’s as big as the galaxy, you’re merely a speck of dust that had the luck of hovering around him. You realized it back then when you blew over and fought with him right before his flight; right when Yoongi was clutching his one-way ticket, right when one foot was already out of the door.

“But the future that you want is not easy, Yoongi!” you gritted through your teeth, the grip you had on his suitcase too visceral that it bends under the pressure. Yoongi snatches his luggage from you in a blink, nostrils flaring in annoyance.

“Of course you’d be the first to say that,” he seethed, eyes wild and unforgiving. He drills his finger into his temple, inching towards you with an anger he had never shown before. “You don’t work as hard as I do, Y/N! You always settle. You always go for mediocre. You never put your head into anything because you’re too immature for any of this shit!”

“I’m not immature, you asshole!”

“Yes you are, you dipshit!” Yoongi scoffed, throwing his head back. “You cave and you bend and you let the whole world fuck you over, then you come running to me whining. You don’t have a passion in life, Y/N! You’re begging me to stay in the same predicament that you’re in now, what’s not immature about that?”

“When you leave now and decide to come back one day, Yoongi,” you spat with resentment, the tears that pour down your cheeks no longer out of sadness but instead, out of promise. “Nothing will ever be the same.”

“Good,” Yoongi clipped, turning his back on you for the last time. “Good for me.”

In the grand scheme of things, you realize that when Yoongi left five years ago, he also took the large chunk of your soul that had been shaped over and over again the entire time that he stood by you. He’d gotten his hands on the security and contentment you used to take pride in, weaponizing them against you.

You’re unsure if you have to thank him for that, the uncertainty being on par with the insecurity you had felt when he left you with his truth.

When you visit your mother for her birthday and see Yoongi emerge from your childhood bedroom, hand-in-hand with a toddler that looks like an exact carbon copy of him, you’re unsure of what to do either.

You’re not hysterical in the same way you stood before him when you even considered ripping up his plane ticket, but on the other hand, Yoongi’s inconsolable in the way he flounders before you.

“Y/N,” he says breathless, the lump in his throat even bigger than the tiny fist that grips his hand. “I… I-I didn’t-…” Yoongi tries again, his mouth dry at your appearance. “You came home.”

“I’m only visiting,” you answer, the curt smile on your face that Yoongi recognizes to be the one you’d give to strangers making his blood run cold. “I don’t plan on staying.”

.

.

.

You’re numb if that’s the word for it.

Your chest buzzes emptily the same way your fingers clench around nothing. You look at everywhere and everyone but Yoongi and his son. It’s nauseating to even think that everyone’s eating dinner as if everything’s okay; what’s even more sickening is that somehow, you’re willing to settle for it.

Yoongi is your mom’s cross-stitch project of a teddy bear that she hung up in your room one day when you were in school that you never took off by the time you came home. He’s a dent at the corner of your gate that could’ve only been made by Namjoon when he was practicing his soccer skills. He’s a Snellen chart that nobody really uses, stuck to the side of the refrigerator that you walk past.

Yoongi’s here, there, and everywhere, but you don’t question it. He’s simply there in your orbit and even if he exists, you don’t follow up on him.

You stay quiet at the talks of the sleeping situation because it turns out that Yoongi’s family had long sold their house. You never knew that throughout the several times you came down to visit.

Frankly, you’re relieved to barely know anything about Yoongi these days.

“You and Haneul can take my room,” you half-heartedly offer, not because it’s Yoongi who tugs at your heartstrings and demands your pity, but his child instead. The two, three (?) year-old baby (read: you’re too hesitant to ask what his age is because if it’s anything higher, then that meant Yoongi had moved on earlier than you did) you didn’t even know existed because you’ve completely cut off Yoongi from your life and refused to listen to Namjoon every time he talked about him, will be sleeping in your room; it just happens that he’s with his dad.

Yoongi’s awed at your preposition but he’s even more worried. He can’t tell a single thought that’s going on behind your eyes nor a single hint behind your tone. You’re formal; neutral. You’re detached even when you utter Haneul’s name and gesture them to your bedroom as if he hasn’t spent years and years of his life in your home.

“Where will you sleep?” he furrows his brows, his hand that had been rubbing circles on Haneul’s back faltering.

He’s asking because he doesn’t know anything about you at this point. He can’t tell if it’s the indigestion he has from resisting to talk your ear off at the dining table (like he’s always did when you were young) because you barely even spoke to him, or if it’s the overwhelming feeling of being back home with everything feeling familiar but you — either way, Yoongi thinks he’s gonna be sick.

“I’ll sleep at my mom’s,” you purse your lips, leaving him at that.

Between the yearning, demanding looks you get from Yoongi, the nosy and concerned glances from Namjoon, and even the guilt that you get from keeping all of your emotions from your mom when you used to confide in her religiously when you were younger — you’re drained. The urge to wash off all your anxiety can’t be done in your childhood home’s small bathroom. You can’t with the faulty water heater (you have to keep one finger pressed on the button at all times to keep it running) because you can’t even cry in peace under the either scorching or freezing water.

You can’t evade everything by grabbing a drink from the fridge that runs loudly as if it’s excavating oil from underneath your floors. You can’t curl up on the couch that’s become worn with age because there’s dents of you and Yoongi, the only two people who had sat on it the most every late night for years on end. You can’t romanticize any of the things in your home that have brought you joy all your life at this point in time.

To sleep under the same roof with your mother and brother again after so long feels foreign. It’s a language you can perceive but can’t translate and the frustration that comes with it seeps into your bones. There must be some common ground between the three of you; it should be anything and everything. With Namjoon being a world-renowned football player and you being somewhat accomplished and decorated in your field, you’ve managed to retire your mom early.

The three of you are doing fine. Not one interaction in the past five years has ever felt this tense and unfamiliar, but if you could pick just the odd one out, the very reason why you feel like falling to the floor and crawling your way out of your own home because you feel like you don’t belong to it — it’s Yoongi.

You feel awkward in your own four walls, whereas Yoongi finds your nightlight that you keep tucked in your closet without breaking a sweat.

Namjoon tugs you right when you’re about to call it a day in your mom’s room, his hushed whispers taking you back to when he pleaded for you not to rat them out whenever he and Yoongi crashed at the couch drunk.

“Give them this,” he shoves the can of bug spray into your hands, your immediate reaction making him wrestle with you just to push you closer to your own bedroom.

“No, Joon. You give it.”

“Y/N, no. You give it,” he whines, purposely having given Yoongi extra sheets and blankets earlier without the bug spray so you’d have something to take to him.

“I don’t wanna see Yoongi,” you whisper, trying to pathetically regain your footing even if you know your attempts go futile against an athlete for a brother.

“You think I don’t know that?” he snarks, giving you one last shove with a stern finger. “We’re gonna talk about whatever the hell happened between you and him, but right now, you’re gonna offer him bug spray like the gracious hosts that we are!”

You crash too far to your door that it could be mistaken as a knock, making you hiss because you know you can’t retract it. You actually knock this time, being met with nothing but a quiet Yoongi behind your own door.

Even when he opens it fully, even when it’s your own room — you enter hesitantly.

Yoongi’s already made a home out of your room. He knew where your nightlight was, knew which good extension cord (that didn’t spark every time it shifted) to plug into the wall, and even knew where you kept the magazine that you had to wedge between your windows whenever they didn’t fully close.

“Namjoon told me to give you this,” you put your hand out, looking at everything but Yoongi. You could look at Haneul who’s sprawled in the middle of the bed, but it isn’t any different than looking at his dad himself.

Yoongi, on the other hand, can’t see anything but you. He feels like an intruder who just happened to know the confines of your life almost better than his own, holding bug spray and the remainder of whatever recognition you have left for him.

“Will we ever be alright?” he whispers, not for the sake of keeping Haneul asleep, but for the sake of his sanity. If he makes his voice any louder, he’ll spill all his grievances and question if he had ever meant anything to you.

“We’ve always been alright,” you smile tightly, wrapping your hands around your back.

“You know what I’m talking about,” he pleads, swallowing the lump in his throat. “When did you ever give me bug spray? When did you have to knock on my door, o-or when did you ever have to treat me like I’m some guest and not a huge part of your life?” Yoongi stumbles over his words, correcting himself with a huff. “Most of your life.”

The sarcasm that coats the last of his words makes you twitch, the clench in your jaw being unmistakeable. Yoongi almost forgot what you looked like whenever you argued with him — talked to him, even. “Why are you only bitching about this to me and not to Namjoon? He’s the one who told me to give you the bug spray.”

“This is not about the bug spray!”

“What is it about then? Is this, is this some sort of long-winded euphemism that involves bug spray? What is it Yoongi, are you gonna hound me for an essay about it?” you spit, exhaling heavily. Haneul twitches in his sleep from the corner of your eye. “You grew up and so did I.”

Yoongi flinches like you’ve shot him.

“Don’t do this to me, kid. Don’t do this to us.”

You flinch because anything is better than to have him dig up his old nickname for you as if he’s close; as if he’s still the Yoongi that you chased, as if you’re still the Y/N he looked out for.

“Don’t call me that.”

( ♡ )

Yoongi’s in the kitchen with your mom.

He looks domestic this way, hair tousled and pajamas loose. Even if you have unbridled internet access (courtesy of the high-speed package you split with Namjoon for your mom even if the most she does online is repost motivational quotes, reels of Namjoon and his team, and clips of Jungkook where you’re seen), you can’t muster the courage to search Yoongi’s name and what he’s made of himself.

You’re too scared to search up articles about his success as a producer because if you do, you’re terrified by the thought of accidentally clicking a link that leads you to a page of him and his ex-wife.

You’re too weak to search up the songs he’s had a hand in (that is if you hadn’t heard them before) because you fear that if you even listen for a single second, you might hear how perfect his life has been ever since he left behind everything that he’s ever known.

Even now, you’re too uneasy at the sight of him. He’s in your home and he looks like the version of himself that had never left. The Yoongi in front of you, sitting on your seat at the dining table and peeling tangerines with your mom, resembles the Yoongi that would top off your glass with water whenever you ate with him.

It’s as if you’ve always been in touch for the past five years; it’s as if Yoongi has never aged and you never drifted apart.

“You’re awake,” he remarks, greeting you first before your mom could even register your presence.

“You’re still here,” you reply, the exhale that leaves you making you deflate in reflection. Breakfast isn’t ready yet, but Yoongi’s already slid over a plate to you.

“There. Just how you like them.”

There’s tangerines with barely any pith on them, and iced tea that had more ice cubes in them than there are in the freezer.

Yoongi smiles at you like you’re the old you again; the one who is more forgiving, and the one who is more hopeful.

( ♡ )

If it wasn’t for your brother guilt-tripping you into joining the impromptu road trip, you never would have come.

You didn’t want to come with them in the first place because the very thought of hanging out with Namjoon and Yoongi like old times, this time with the addition of the latter’s son, was too close; too familial. The three already knew each other and had kept in touch and you’re the odd one out. You’re the only planet out of the system and once you’ve come to think of it, that bit of their galaxy never failed. Whether you were in it or not didn’t matter — atleast that’s what you thought.

Yoongi got everything he ever wanted and you’ve heard nothing about it.

You blocked his number and on every social media account he had to his name. Even with Namjoon as a prominent variable, you’re amazed to how you’ve heard little to nothing about Yoongi ever since he left your hometown. You still talked to your brother, of course, but there was an obvious difference to how your conversations went because none of them ever went to Yoongi.

You didn’t tell him to not talk about Yoongi at all. You didn’t instruct him to never utter a single word about his closest friend whom you also grew up with. You never told Namjoon anything concerning Yoongi and what unfolded between the two of you before you left, and yet, it’s almost as if he had already been in your mind and knew exactly what to do.

You’ve come to realize that the prospect of growing up never used to be in your cards. The whole concept of it sat at the very back of your mind, the only times you used to pay attention to it being whenever Yoongi picked at your brain.

You thought your world would have ended when you were 19. You didn’t think you would grow up and see past high school. You didn’t think you would finish college, much less pick a degree to pursue in the first place. You didn’t think of having a future — you didn’t think you’d be living it now in this way.

“Joon,” you mutter, voice barely being heard at the expanse of the balcony you’re in. It’s his balcony in his vacation house he barely stays in, overlooking the waves by the beach he isn’t even that fond of to begin with.

Yoongi and Haneul are already asleep, the father-son duo knocking out way ahead than everyone else. They stayed with the two of you in the balcony hours ago, the bug spray in both the adult and kid edition being proof of it.

Tonight, alone, felt different. It’s as if the younger version of you was gazing out to what was supposed to be your future, except neither the past nor present variant of you could have ever had it for yourself.

“Hm?” he hums, sipping the last of his drink while he’s sat at the far end. You know about each other’s presence, and while years ago, the two of you would’ve been giddy staying in a house as grand as this whilst drinking behind your mom’s back, you and Namjoon grew up. You didn’t fight or anything — you simply grew up and grew apart.

“I never said it before, but thank you,” you exhale, clenching Haneul’s towel as you try to warm your hands. You may have spent the better part of the day not even acknowledging his dad, but you did fawn over him like you would with any other child. “Thank you for not telling me a thing about Yoongi.”

“You’re welcome,” Namjoon finally speaks as soon as he grasps what you were talking about, the smile on his face only lasting for a second. “If it were up to me though, I would have told you everything.”

“Good thing it’s not up to you, hm?” you laugh uneasily, running your hand through your hair. You didn’t know how much you had to be grateful for until Yoongi came back and reminded you of how little you knew about him.

Namjoon breathlessly laughs, looking up at the sky to try and condense everything that has happened through his words before you leave again. “I would have told you that he confessed what happened that time you ran away from home a couple years back, and I beat his ass. We didn’t talk for like, I don’t know, three months? Even when I was still training in the US that time.”

Your lack of a reply is what makes him take notice, the stunned look you have on your face making him snort.

“What?” he questions, eyebrows furrowed as he throws a stray bottle cap at you. “Why are you so shocked? I love him like a brother, but you’re my actual sister,” he confides his loyalty to you, yet you don’t even have a second to express your awe before he opens his mouth again. “I would have told you that I became the best man at his wedding. Even mom was there.”

“You can stop telling me these things now.”

Namjoon exhales, already feeling deep in his chest that you’re gearing up to leave. He wants to get the last word in, not to prove himself, but to try and vindicate you and the quiet suffering you endured without telling anyone.

“I would have told you that Yoongi kept trying to come back to you.”

( ♡ )

Haneul wakes up before Yoongi does.

You’re confused for a second because the moment you hear the lightest footsteps that you ever could pad along the kitchen, you become completely disoriented. There’s a child that looks like Yoongi, wandering off to where you are.

For the briefest second, your heart drops because the whole situation resembles a vignette. In another lifetime, it could’ve been your child, your Haneul, waking up before his dad, trudging to the kitchen where you are is if you’re his mom.

He’s an observant kid, far too trusting unlike his dad who used to scold you to hell and back for even entertaining strangers that asked you for directions. He’s friendly to you; to someone Yoongi had introduced as appa’s close friend. There isn’t even a single hint in how he introduced you to Haneul that the two of you stopped being close. Yoongi didn’t leave the faintest indicator to him that you most probably hated his guts and would probably choose a lifetime where he hadn’t even been in your life at all.

Haneul is innocent to yours and Yoongi’s history and it’s going to stay that way. You don’t meant to change whatever he introduced you as because by the time your mom’s birthday week is over, or by the time Yoongi takes the hint and leaves your hometown again, you would be a fleeting persona in Haneul’s life.

You’re not his mom. You’re not anyone of significance to either him and his dad.

“Good morning,” he greets shyly, his diction telling of how just attentive Yoongi is as a dad. You mostly listened to whatever Namjoon told you last night anyway, tuning out the parts where he rounded to how Yoongi had been miserable not having any contact with you (you don’t believe that at all), and instead zeroing in on the large details that you’ve missed. “Auntie.”

You smile tightly, patting the empty seat beside to you to which he climbs effortlessly.

Haneul doesn’t know you, but you do know him. You know that his dad is a doting, slightly paranoid one whose current dilemma is whether or not enrolling him in kindergarten early or waiting for one more year. You know that Yoongi doesn’t want him to know about the existence of iPads for probably ever, so he spends almost every waking moment talking to him to the point that Haneul’s eloquent at speaking for his age. You also know that Namjoon’s his godfather, and that he had looked after him for a whole day by himself when Yoongi went to settle his divorce.

Haneul doesn’t know you, but you know his parents. You know Yoongi is his dad, and more importantly, that Hyewon is his mom — the same Hyewon who had been with him in your room before, and the same woman Yoongi shared his success with when he made it big.

“Hi,” you greet him softly, handing him his bottle for him to drink from. It’s a warm, domestic vignette for a split second. You’ve watched Yoongi far too many times at the corner of your eye to know where he gets the distilled water. “Why are you up already?”

“Uncle Joonie promised yesterday we can watch the sunrise together,” he says in between sips, letting you comb his hair into order unconsciously. You didn’t even think of it before your hand sweeps the strands scattered on his forehead, the hum you have at the back of your throat pausing when you realized what you’ve done.

“He’s still sleeping right now. He had uh, a long night,” you mutter, at a loss for a child-friendly alternative word for hangover. You keep your hands to yourself because you fear falling into the domesticity that isn’t yours to relax into; if you think about it for a second longer, you’d think that Haneul is yours and Yoongi is the final piece to your puzzle.

“Oh. But I, I wanna watch,” Haneul frowns, brows softly furrowed at your revelation. He’s not close to throwing a tantrum, but the upset expression on his face keeps tugging at your heart to cave.

“You can take your dad with you,” you offer, willing to knock on Yoongi’s door if it meant his son smiling again.

Haneul shakes his head at that, looking up at the ceiling as he recalls the events of last night before being tucked in. “Nuh-uh. Appa had a long night too. He just kept crying.”

A part of you wishes that Haneul didn’t speak so clearly.

“What?” you clarify, heart skipping a beat the more you replay his words in your head.

“Crying?” Haneul repeats, tilting his head as he tries to figure you out. He says it again for a third time as if you needed any clarification of the word and not because of your disbelief that his dad was capable of it. “Like this,” he adds, pretending to bawl with his hands wiping at his eyes.

The scene before you is your brief moment of reprieve, making you chuckle breathlessly as you try to regain your senses. Whether or not Haneul was sure of what he was saying, if Yoongi had cried, it’s most probably not because of anything that has to do with you.

“Oh. So that’s what it means. Thank you, Haneul,” you laugh lowly, patting him on the head until you retract your hand again in realization.

Haneul thinks nothing of your trepidation; he thinks nothing of the yearning behind your eyes, and thinks nothing of the tremble in your voice.

“Can we watch the sunrise together?” he asks, eyes looking up at you as if doing so would be the equivalent of hanging the stars up for him in the sky.

(Read: it probably is, and in another lifetime, or in the far-shot that it happens in this one, you’d do it if he asks you to do so.)

You want to ask Haneul why it’s you who he wants to accompany him, but you don’t. You can wake up either Yoongi and Namjoon to go with him instead, but you won’t.

In another lifetime, this would have been your son, your Haneul asking to watch the sunrise with you. There’s a Yoongi-shaped hole and a Haneul-shaped vacancy in your chest, but you don’t prod about it further.

You don’t question what’s happening, and maybe, just maybe, there’s a tiny part of you that wants to fully accept it instead of hesitating to do so.

“Okay.”

Haneul puts his hand in yours, but you don’t pull away. You just hold him tighter.

( ♡ )

A large part of you forgot that for as long as Yoongi’s here, he’ll treat every interaction you have with Namjoon as an open invitation for him. He had always been this way; for as long as you could remember, he’ll include himself even if he isn’t needed nor wanted.

You can’t count the amount of times your mom had berated Namjoon for something and oddly enough, Yoongi also happened to be there. Whether it was to rat out on his own best friend or being at the receiving end of said scolding, Yoongi jumped at every opportunity to come along as a package deal.

When you asked Namjoon to drink with you at the balcony two days ago, Yoongi butted in and asked what brand of alcohol he should buy you at the convenience store. When you were on the way home and asked your brother what he wanted from the rest stop, Yoongi said he wanted the biggest can of coffee you could find.

And when you asked Namjoon what time you should come to the stadium to watch him practice, Yoongi said he’ll pack you an extra cap while Haneul bonded with your mom.

Sometime long ago, you and Yoongi saw each other eye to eye. You can’t determine when and how exactly, but there was a point in your life where everything you had to say to each other was what the other was thinking all along. Nowadays, you can’t even look at Yoongi in the eye while all he wanted was for you to return his gaze.

If there’s just one thing though, one single variable that remained unchanged between the two of you, it would be Namjoon.

The way Yoongi engages you in conversation this time around is not to trap you and to ramp himself up to apologize again, but purely, it’s to talk about your brother. Namjoon’s a lot of things, and one thing you pray would remain unchanged is the love you have for each other.

“Who would have thought, right?” Yoongi nudges, asking you sincerely. “Who would have thought that the Namjoon who had knockoff cleats years ago would become this world-famous athlete?” he chuckles, shaking his head as he once again tries to digest the fact that this very stadium in your hometown had been built and refashioned in his honor.

You laugh genuinely, the sound being the first he’s ever heard in such a long time.

“Abibas.”

Yoongi has his lips parted, shocked that you were even answering him.

“Abibas. That was the brand of his knockoff cleats,” you chuckle, bowing your head as you try to contain your laughter. “He could’ve bought the original with his allowance and everything, but he split it so he could also buy me knockoffs.”

Yoongi laughs at the memory you jog up in his mind, remembering distinctly how Namjoon kept asking for his opinion repeatedly on which colorway of the knockoff pair he should gift you.

Even if things are still tense between you, even if Namjoon is the only salvation that Yoongi could bring up in a conversation to which you don’t run from, nothing from the past five years could ever take this moment away from you.

The three of you have grown up. Some faster than they’d like, and some because they had no choice but to — nonetheless, in this moment, it’s the three of you back at home like it used to be.

“Namjoon was always meant for greatness. Even from the start,” you murmur, your attention waiting on Yoongi’s response even if your eyes were on Namjoon in the field.

“You are too,” he interjects quickly, voice defensive at the lack of your name to your own sentence.

“No I’m not,” you snort, crossing your arms. You’re not angry when you say it; in fact, you’re calm as if you’ve always seen it coming. “You told me I’d amount to nothing.”

You’re calm, seemingly at peace with what you just said and what Yoongi had ingrained in your head before, but he’s the furthest thing from it. His mouth hangs open, chest tightening impossibly as he shakes his head eagerly.

“I never said that!”

You’re about to counter him when you hear a familiar holler reach you at the lower section of the bleachers, eyes perking to see a familiar figure who isn’t blood-related to you.

“Y/N!” Jimin runs up to you faster than to whenever he passes the ball to Namjoon, engulfing you in a massive hug that forces you up to your feet before you know it.

“Oh my god, Jimin! I didn’t know you were gonna be here!” you awe at the sight of him, unwilling to break away from the embrace until he does so. It’s been ages since you’ve seen him, the second-best player in the team (you’re biased because of course Namjoon had been the best player to you since you were kids) being the closest member to you out of everyone.

Jimin doesn’t care for Yoongi. He knows of the guy and he doesn’t want to know any more than he already does. He doesn’t even acknowledge the guy’s presence; all he does is squeeze you tighter and twirl you briefly in his arms.

“Fuck, me neither. Heaven must’ve healed my ankle quicker so I could come here and see you,” he flirts playfully, earning a well-deserved eye roll from you.

“And you know, play for Korea.”

“Eh. That too, I guess,” he shrugs, sitting at the seat beside you. He looks straight at you and only you — Jimin only pauses to snort to himself when he notices that Yoongi’s squirming in his seat, beyond annoyed and frustrated.

( ♡ )

On the fifth day of Yoongi staying over at your house, there’s a power outage.

The sound of everything shutting off together in sync makes you jolt, the collective groan you hear outside from the neighborhood comforting you in solidarity.

You can only make out a grunt from Namjoon and a gasp from your mom until you hear the trembling voice of Haneul, the sound of a cry that crawls up his throat putting everyone on their feet.

“Oh baby, it’s okay, it’s okay! It’s just a little dark, that’s all,” Yoongi pipes up instantly, scooping him up in his arms without having to fumble for where he is because he could practically locate his son in his sleep.

You didn’t want for it to be a power outage, but oddly enough, you feel sorry that it happened while you’re here. “It’s okay, Haneul,” you whisper as consolation, the dark of the night shielding you from how Yoongi’s eyes widen at your cooing for his son. “Mom, where did you put that generator I got you?”

“About that,” she sheepishly shrugs, turning on her phone to illuminate her shyness. “I donated it last year to the public school nearby.”

“It’s gonna get so hot,” Namjoon groans, the sound of him clumsily feeling around for the lights alerting Haneul briefly. He comforts him instantly, finally turning on the torch in his phone instead of relying on his instincts. “Don’t cry, Haneul, alright? Uncle Joonie’s gonna get the candles and the flashlights.”

“I’ll go try to find a guy,” you get up as soon as Namjoon hands you a flashlight, your contribution to help instantly being shut down.

“You can’t just try to find a guy, Y/N. That’s dangerous,” Yoongi scoffs, putting a hand on your forearm to pull you.

“I meant on my phone, Yoongi,” you grit. “I was gonna go outside to try and look for a signal.”

“That’s still dangerous,” he narrows his eyes at you as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“Give me a break,” you mutter, removing his hold from you. You’d save your pride and actually go outside if not for your mom interjecting that she knows an electrician from her contacts.

Namjoon comes back after his quest for battery-powered fans and flashlights, unaware of how Yoongi’s protective streak for you practically never disappeared; in fact, it came back twofold. “Whole neighborhood’s out. Must be a broken transformer or something.”

Your mom consoles Haneul in her arms.

Namjoon waits by the gate for the electrician.

You and Yoongi clean the fridge up before anything spoils.

In between getting food out and embracing Haneul every now and then who insisted on obediently sitting atop the counter so he’s closer to his dad, Yoongi holds your hand.

“That’s my hand that you’re holding,” you murmur, assuming that he had mistaken yours for Haneul’s as he’s always chuckled how yours always seemed to be small against his.

Yoongi only hums.

“I know.”

( ♡ )

You’re falling back into your old routine.

Maybe it’s how your mom has to shake you awake because otherwise, you’d sleep through the afternoon and would therefore be unable to sleep through the night. On the other hand, it could be Namjoon who either hounds you to hang out with him or tell you off for clinging to him too much.

Maybe, it’s just Yoongi. It’s him who’s tricking your brain into thinking that has nothing changed with the way he keeps peeling fruits for you and telling you to be safe even if you’re only buying ice cream from the convenience store.

It’s only been a week and a half of almost normalcy, save for the fact that there are certain things and connections you can neither reverse nor rekindle.

You’re convinced, almost fully convinced that history is repeating itself except for the bitter, ugly parts of it that you never want to pop in your head again.

Like the past, Namjoon blocks you for whatever reason in his head but this time he does it to you while you’re on the way to your room, on the quest to retrieve your charger for your phone that you barely even used for work purposes.

“It’s my room. Why can’t I go in my room?” you furrow your brows at him, your amusement turning into annoyance the more that Namjoon pushed you with actual strength instead of playfulness.

“Are you hungry? Let’s go out for dinner,” he changes the subject quickly, turning you towards the stairs.

You shouldn’t have questioned him further — you should’ve left it at that.

“I guess? I’ll just get my purse,” you concede, dodging his attempts to haul you downstairs.

“I’ll pay,” Namjoon insists and although it’s not out of the blue for him, his franticness is what keeps you on edge.

“I still need my-…” you counter, being interrupted when he holds you firmly as you attempt to walk towards your door. Namjoon grips you with a silent plead, one that you can’t even decipher. “What the fuck is going on with you?”

You finally break off his grip at once, walking into your room with a renowned determination.

It’s not only your routine that falls back into place, but it’s your whole worldview that does.

Love is terribly human. It’s a loose thread on your shirt that gets snagged on your doorknob. It’s a coat in your closet waiting to be worn for the supposed perfect time, and when you do, you realize that it no longer fits you.

Love is terribly human, and it is terribly Yoongi, Hyewon, and Haneul.

Love is terribly human and fragile, and it’s Yoongi, Hyewon, and their son sleeping on your bed.

[taliesin-the-bored]

Tag game: tag nine people you’d like to know better.

Tagged by: @oneshoulderangel (Thank you for tagging me!)

Last song: At the moment, I have "Losing Your Memory" by Alan Star stuck in my head, which I suppose makes it my current song, not my last song. Hm. I get songs stuck in my head very easily, but the last one I had there for a significant amount of time was a mashup of different language versions of "Les Rois du Monde" for about a week. "Lehetsz Király", the Magyar version, is probably my favorite of them. It's worth a listen.

Currently watching: Normally, the answer would be "random mostly terrible old movies/shows" or "nothing much", but I currently have a hyperfixation on the musical Roméo et Juliette and have been watching it in multiple languages. (Thus, the song).

Three ships: This is hard. Maybe as a result of being on the ace and aro spectrums, I'm more likely to care about which characters are interacting than whether it's romantic or platonic. Here goes:

Kedivere/Bedikay. It can be romantic, platonic, or queerplatonic, but whichever way, I'm here for it. I probably spend too much time thinking about how in Cullwch and Olwen, when Cai gets mad at Arthur and marches out, Bedwyr stays behind, keeps acting like nothing's happened, and isn't the one to avenge Cai's death. The feeling of betrayal on both sides has a lot of unexplored potential. And the version where Bedivere dies and Kay fights to bring his body back safely while mortally wounded himself... And the version where Bedivere survives Camlann and Kay isn't said to fight in it, so they might be left together after their world has fallen apart...

Platonically or queerplatonically, Galahad and the Grail Heroine. I really like the tragic Grail Quest friendships, but I like theirs most, maybe because there's something weird and otherworldly about them both. I like it when characters are strange and endearing and doomed by the narrative.

Ever since reading John Matthews' retelling, which I read before the original, I've had a soft spot for Caradoc and Guinier. The Story of Caradoc is very disturbing, and I have some major qualms with Caradoc over a detail Matthews cut out, but all the same, there's a reason these two have the best track record with magical fidelity tests. Each of them would go to the ends of the earth for the other, and together, they're stronger than any curse.

Favorite Color: Blue, particularly royal blue and some teals.

Currently consuming: Black licorice with chocolate.

First ship: This is a hard one, since through elementary and most of middle school, I tended to go along with whatever I thought the author's intentions were and was more likely to unship something. The first non-endgame ship I got invested in was Sonya/Nikolai in War and Peace. I didn't like Nikolai, but Sonya did, and she was my favorite character, so I wanted her to be happy. The first non-canon couple I thought was meant to be together was also in War and Peace: Marya Bolkonskaya and Julie Karagina. My eighth grade self did not think their letters could be interpreted platonically. I still don't.

Last movie: If the musical doesn't count, the last movie I watched was Quest for Camelot, which was awful. Though not Robot Monster-level bad, Robot Monster has an elegance to its simplicity which Quest for Camelot lacks.

Currently working on: Various fics, most of them Arthuriana or CotRK-related (I am woefully behind on the Badfic Bingo), and (theoretically) an epic-style poem, though I haven't gotten much of it written for quite a while now.

Tagging: @gawrkin, @emperorcandy, @wildbasil, @gorewound, @knightsofsomethingorother, @ladyminaofcamelot, @tasosotaso, @amashelle, @gingersnaptaff (I have no idea who's been tagged so far, apart from the people on @oneshoulderangel's post, so I apologize for any multi-tags)