#there are still quite a few blank spots I need to fill in hmm

[temtamtom]

is... is there a link to the playlist 👀

It’s still a work in progress but here you go <3 I always try organising my AU/Character playlists to tell a certain “story” or represent various moments in a character’s life, so the playlist is bound to change up over time!

I don’t feel like I have the most unique tastes in music but hopefully this gives y’all a glimpse into how I imagine my Feli (some songs may seem OOC as a result)

[sweetlittleneptune]

Paint me your love

Pairing: Vincent and Reader

Word count: 1595

Genre: fluff fluff fluff

⚠️little warning before we start! This is the first fanfic I've written in a WHILE, it'll only get better the more I write❤️⚠️

After a while of working at Le Comte's mansion, you had learned to love those little moments of peace and relaxation. Being a housekeeper, even if you had the help of Sebastian, was quite demanding. Making sure that everything was clean, that everyone were brought what they needed or wanted. It wasn't unusual for you to spend all your day running from room to room, and it was more tiring than you would have liked to admit.

So when Le Comte offered you to take a day off, you didn't hesitate before saying yes and thanking him. You would cherish every second of this little vacation. He smiled at you and pointed to the door.

"Go on," He said. "The day is all yours, have fun Y/N."

So many possibilities! You could go back to bed, read a book, take a walk, tag along with Arthur in one of his little mysteries, anything was possible today!

You thought about all of that as you went to change into a more comfortable dress than your uniform. While the soft white of your dress would be easier to stain, it was a gift from Le Comte, and you found it incredibly pretty. As you passed a window on your way to your room, you spotted a blond man painting the gorgeous flowers of the garden.

Vincent!

Nevermind going back to sleep or spending the day in the library, you much prefered to spend time and chat with your favorite resident of the mansion. So you picked up your copy of Pride and Prejudice and made your way to the garden.

From the looks of it, Vincent had not been painting for long. Only the sides of the canvas were filled with colours. The middle stayed blank, with only a few pencil marks to mark where would be the "pièce de résistance" if you would. You wondered what he would paint in the center, but whatever it was, there was no doubt it would be absolutealy magnificent.

As he heard you coming, Vincent turned around and smiled before greeting you like he did every morning.

"Good morning Y/N. You're not in uniform, do you have a day off?"

"I do, finally! I love helping out and working for Comte, but days off are quite nice to have every once in a while." You said as you sat on the bench besides the young man.

"They must be," Vincent said, resuming his painting. "That's the fun part about what I do. Days off are whenever I want them to be."

"I envy you for that." You laughed. And he joined in your laughter.

You chatted for a bit, until slowly silence and quietness made it's way back to your little spot in the garden. You read your book, lying on the bench, and Vincent painted the sky on his canvas. All was peaceful and pleasant, the soft breeze that ruffled the leaves, the birds that sang their sweet little songs. This is a good way to spend a day off, you thought.

After some time, Vincent stopped painting. The center of his canvas was still empty, except for the sky above. He looked pensive as he stared at the missing part of his project. every once in a while he would scribble something with his pencil, but he'd erase it just as fast as he'd drawn it. You didn't notice his frustration until he let out a 'hmm' of discontent.

"What is it? Are you having troubles with your painting?"

"I am. I can't find what to paint in the middle and it's getting quite frustrating."

You closed your book and got up to look at the progress Vincent had made. It was already beautiful, but he was right, something was missing in the middle.

"You should paint someone." You said. "It would be pretty with the flowers."

"Hmmm, you're right." Vincent agreed. " I should paint you!"

Your eyes widened at his words. Me?? Not that you were ugly (by all means, you knew you were quite the pretty one), but being in a painting was a whole new level of flattery! And a Van Gogh painting at that!

Vincent seemed to notice your hesitation and wasted no time in encouraging you. After all, to him you were the prettiest woman he'd ever seen (even more so in your white dress), and it would be a shame to not prove it with a piece of art.

"You don't have to if you don't want to Y/N," the Van Gogh brother started. "But with a small parasol and a shawl around your arms, hair in the wind, you'd be the most perfect model I could ever ask for."

His pleading eyes only were enough to make you say yes on the spot.

"Alright, do you have a parasol? I can manage for the shawl, but parasol aren't a thing in the 21th century and I don't bring one with me usually..."

Vincent chuckled at your rambling. "Yes I do have a parasol I think, in my room. I'll go fetch it." He said as he put down the paintbrushes he had been holding.

A few minutes later he was back with a soft tulle shawl and a beautiful little parasol. He handed both to you and looked around for something to sit you on. Spotting a wooden bucket not to far, he went and took it, flipping it to make a simple seat for you.

"Now," He said, a hand to his chin as if he was picturing how he'd pose you. "Could you sit on the bucket with your legs a bit to the left? Good! And now place the shawl around your arms... just let it fall loosely, it'll be prettier that way. Perfect! You're a wonderful model Y/N... you're gorgeous."

Your cheeks flushed at his words and a shy smile made it's way to your face. How could he say such things so naturally? Without thinking you lowered your head, trying to hide the effect he had on you. But he didn't let you. With his thumb and index, Vincent brought your chin back up gently, forcing you to look at him as he gazed into your eyes. The man almost seemed in a trance.

His face got closer and closer to yours, until his lips were practically ghosting over yours. Your heart was racing, and you bet his was too. There had never been so little space between you and Vincent. For a moment you thought he would kiss you, but he instead gently placed your hair behind your ears before handing you the parasol and going back to his painting.

A part of you was disappointed that the Van Gogh brother didn't dare to press his lips onto yours, if you were being honest. But it was Vincent, if he was to do it, it would be much more romantic and planned.

You spent the next 30 minutes or so in your thoughts, as Vincent sketched your figure on his canvas. Every now and then you'd feel his eyes on you, almost like he thought you were the most beautiful thing on Earth. In those moments, you could feel the heat rising to your cheeks and a flutter in your heart. Did he know how he made you feel?

Lost in your thoughts, you didn't see the time go by. It was only when Vincent called your name that you seemed to come back to reality.

"I'm done with the painting Y/N," He said with the sweetest smile. "Do you want to see it?"

"Can I?" You asked, surprised that he would offer you the chance to be the first one to see his newest painting. Usually, that privilege was reserved to Theo.

"Of course you can, after all, you are in it aren't you?"

To say that the painting was beautiful would have been to put it to shame. It was truly magnificent. The lady in the picture seemed almost too gorgeous to be you. Did Vincent really see you that way? Your heart raced once again at the thought. And the question left your lips before you could think about it:

"Vincent it's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen... do you really see me that way?"

He didn't expect you to ask such a question. Of course he saw you that way! Didn't everybody else? Didn't you? He painted you the exact same way he saw you: as the most beautiful woman in his life. Turning to you, he took your hands in his and looked right into your eyes.

"Of course I do. I made sure that all your beauty was captured in my art. I told you: you are gorgeous, the perfect model... my muse."

Your heart was beating fast and loud in your chest. Vincent's words were too much to handle and you could almost feel yourself fall in love with him. Kiss him, your brain kept on telling you. And without realizing it, you found yourself getting closer and closer to the man standing before you.

"I think I love you," You whispered, before finally closing the gap between you and him.

The kiss was soft, and yet it seemed that everything that needed to be said was. Vincent didn't let go of your hands, but he held onto them a bit tighter.

When you both finally let go of each other, he sighed and smiled. It seemed he had wanted to do this for quite a long time, and he was relieved to know that you loved him just as much as he loved you.

"I think I love you too."

[egoludes]

satisfaction guaranteed.

summary: your super soldiers hear there’s a new contender in the bedroom; they intend to learn all about it.

pairing: stucky x reader.

notes: ok, i’ll admit it - this is so outrageously self-indulgent and fully inspired by a recent, um, purchase. i was hoping to get it out in time for valentine’s day, but then work kicked my ass - so consider it a delayed love letter to y’all heh. my apologies in advance to the manufacturers of the sex toy featured here; please don’t sue me? borders from deathlyrph!

warnings: nsfw / 18+, threesome, sex toy, implied & light overstimulation

He doesn’t mean to listen in - scout’s honor.

There just isn’t much that Bucky’s super soldier hearing misses and the raving of some very giddy --- and very drunk --- Avengers is nowhere near that list. He’s actually pleased to hear the way you, Natasha, and Wanda are carrying on when he rounds the corner. Missions have been taking a toll lately, keeping everyone on the team on edge and up late. You, in particular, have been distant, putting on a facade that never quite reaches your eyes, and he and Steve have been on wit’s end trying to perk you up.

The ladies, it seems, have it all figured out.  You’re laughing freely for the first time in weeks, and Bucky’s grateful that no one (particularly Sam) can see the way the sound makes him utterly lovesick. His adoration keeps him still a few seconds longer, basking in how free you seem, but he doesn’t intend to stay much past that. In fact, he’s a half-step into leaving when he hears it:

“So, wait -- have you tried it yet? The Satisfyer?” 

Confusion brings him to a full stop. Satisfyer? 

That feeling only grows, knitting his eyebrows, when you’re the one to answer with an emphatic, and damn near dreamy “Yes.”

Bucky’s an intelligent man and the name alone is a pretty effective context clue. Still, he doesn’t really put it together until Wanda squeals and Nat (who he can see in his mind’s eye, clear as day, leaning into you with that cheeky smirk) pushes you for more.

“It’s kind of...overwhelming,” you continue, pausing to refill your glass, “but in the best way. Like in a ‘How did I ever masturbate before this’ kind of way. My knees literally buckled when I got up after. Can you believe that? Buckled! I was fuckin’ woozy! ” He can tell you’re animated just by the way your volume starts to rise and whatever you’re doing must be endearing because even Natasha is chuckling.

Bucky still loves it, don’t get him wrong. In fact, he adores you excited like this, especially after all the darkness lately. But, there’s something genuinely puzzling about so much excitement around a sex toy. He hadn’t even known you’d bought something new. When had you tried it? Where were he and Steve?

His thoughts start to swirl, intrigue and curiosity mounting in a wave that he pushes past with a step, then another, as he reminds himself that he has somewhere to be.

No chance he’ll be forgetting about this, though. 

Steve hears about it from Bucky. 

Secondhand stories can be tricky; full of exaggerations and misunderstanding. But, that doesn’t mean he doesn’t believe it. He just doesn’t comprehend the implications of it until he experiences it for himself. 

That happens on a Saturday afternoon. 

You’d been tense in training, taking hits you’ve dodged a thousand times and fumbling moves you’ve done twice that. A bad bout typically doesn’t do you in, but Steve can tell by the way your attacks grow more and more stilted, that you’re overextending just to make blows meet. 

It gets so bad that he breaks one of his few cardinal rules -- never pulling rank with you or Bucky outside of missions -- to get you out of the spar, and your frustration with it is as clear as the exhaustion that sags your limbs. You’re out the door before he can apologize, or explain.

An hour later, he’s showered and changed, seeking you out in your corner of the compound with peace offerings at the ready. This time, they come in the form of your favorite snack and a promise to spar with you himself the next time you’re scheduled - no holds barred. 

But, when you pull open the door at his knock, he’s surprised to see that he may not need them.

You’re completely...sated. The tension you’d had in your shoulders when you left the gym is nowhere to be found and in its place is a sheen of satisfaction. It’s all over you: in a dopey smile, lidded eyes, and the faint whiff of your cunt he gets when he leans into you.

In an instant, he puts two and two together, and Steve feels his body warm at the realization that you’ve just finished touching yourself. And not just that: it had been so good that your entire mood’s flipped and you’re beaming at him, no walls or reservations.

He makes his apology all the same, though, and your smile widens as you reach for him and the snack in a tease: “Better not back out on that fight, Captain.”

He grins back, pleased you’re feeling better, but making a mental note to speak to Bucky as soon as you let him go.

I think we need to check out this ‘Satisfyer’.

They ask you about it on Valentine’s Day.

You’re running on the high of a beautiful evening: dinner in DUMBO and drinks in Brooklyn Heights. The latter -- a couple cocktails for you, white wine for your boys -- finds you buzzing as you let them into your room back at the compound. You feel eyes on your hips from behind, heavy gazes that sear the curves, and you sway pointedly, smiling at the sharp breaths that follow. 

You know where the night is going ---- know the way a good date makes them handsy. So the attention is no surprise. Neither is the cool press of metal to your back and the kiss to that spot under your ear. “Bed, pretty girl,” Bucky drawls against your skin, intent pressing -- and growing -- against your hip as he settles against you.

Steve rounds you from the other side, not touching but so close you can feel the rise of heat from his body. You look up just in time to catch him watching you back, blue eyes darkening with each step into your bedroom.

Your dress is easy work, pooling at your ankles with a few good pulls, But, Steve and Bucky take their time with everything else. You’re in something special, after all --- pretty lace and dewey colors that deserve an extra look, an extra touch. They’re on you the moment it’s revealed to them, thumbing the fabric with murmured praise through the lips all over your skin. 

The daze it sets follows you all the way to the mattress where you lay back against Steve’s chest (still clothed, to your chagrin) with his arms settled around you. His hands end up bracing your thighs, naturally at first, then deliberately as Bucky starts to kiss trails up and over your calf. With the latest string of missions, you can’t remember the last time you had their mouths on you and the anticipation as Bucky’s creeps closer is almost crippling. Your body tenses with each point of contact, eyes lidding as they watch him rise, inch by tortuous inch. 

“Sweetheart.” Steve’s voice pulls you out of your focus with a rumble you can feel in your back. “We wanna try something new with you tonight.” You turn just enough to watch him, answering with a hum to urge him on. “Can you tell Buck,” he continues, dipping to run his nose along yours. You feel tiny when he bears down on you like this, and he can see the way it affects you just in the flutter of your lashes. “--where you keep your ‘Satisfyer’?”

What?

In a split second, you’re sobered up, no hint of the lust or buzz that’d been following you for most of the night. Bringing toys to bed isn’t new by any means, but they have never, ever referred to one by name like that. Nor requested it specifically. It’s so startling that you don’t know what to say for a moment, mind utterly blank until you feel Bucky’s hand tighten around your thigh to bring you back.  “You -- my what?”

“Satisfyer,” Steve echoes, hand resting on your tummy. From below, you can feel Bucky’s eyes burning into the side of your face, expectant. “Buck’s heard you mention it before, and we’d like to know what all the fuss is about. ---- If you’re willing, that is.”

You look back and forth between them, mouth gaping for a second before you swallow your shock down whole. Two super soldiers can be a lot to manage on their own -- adding a toy that’s knocked you on your ass a few times over now seems like a very dangerous game. But, you can feel Steve hardening against your back and can’t deny the slick that’s seeping through your panties at the thought alone. So you nod, lip pulled between your teeth, and direct Bucky to the left side of your bottom drawer. 

When he’s back between your legs, it’s with the rose gold toy in hand. The mere sight of it makes you clench; something he doesn’t miss when he’s that close to your core. “Someone’s excited,” Bucky muses, brow arching before his gaze returns to his hand. The Satisfyer is unlike any toy he’s ever seen, shaped more like some alien gadget than a vibrator, and no amount of Google sleuthing could’ve prepared him for what it feels like in person. The smoothness of it in his hand, the unique curves along his palm. You bite back a giggle at how intently he inspects it, turning it over this way and that to get used to its weight.

“Hmm.. that’s definitely different,” Steve chimes in, as focused on the toy as Bucky is. It isn’t hard to work out how it’s used from the design alone, but what they’re still itching to know is what it does. How it unravels you so well, until your knees buckle even. And it doesn’t take long for that anticipation to trump their curiosity and you’re brought back to the moment when Steve ducks his head to your shoulder, pressing kisses to the skin there as he smooths hands down your inner thighs. He draws his palms back and forth a few times until they suddenly still, and he’s holding your legs -- and you -- wide open. “How about we give it a go, pal?” 

Bucky says nothing in return, but he probably doesn’t have to. The toy clicking to life is enough, a rhythm that fills the room with anticipation. Your tummy tightens at the sound -- another reaction neither man misses -- and the tension stays put, coiled tight until the Satisfyer closes over your clit.

The first pulse knocks air out of you that you hadn’t realized you were holding. The ones that follow unfurl you, melting your anticipation in favor of a soft, thrumming pleasure that coats you head to toe. It’s odd, having someone else use it on you, but in a good way. The best way. 

You surrender to it, relaxing into Steve’s hold as Bucky holds you open with two fingers.  So far, that’s no different than normal --- you’re always this pliant for them, putty beneath their fingers once they get to work. But, tonight, they’re greedy. Tonight, they want more from you; want whatever this toy has been able to draw out in their absence.

Bucky kicks things up a notch, turning the pulse up two speeds. The change is subtle to them, clicks coming just a smidgen faster and louder. For you, it seems to make all the difference. Immediately, you react, back arching up from its place against Steve’s chest with a sound that makes the Captain purr behind you.

“Mm...must feel good,” he notes, a hand gliding along your tummy until he can palm your breast. “Can you tell us, sweetheart?” He punctuates the question with fingers around your nipple, tweaking lightly.

Your lips part, but no words follow; not at first. It’s like your body and mind are disconnected, static in the places where they usually go together. The fuzziness is welcome, but hard to speak through, and it’s all you can do just to whine when Steve gives your nipple an urgent pinch. Bucky joins in with a cool finger pressing at your cunt, the light whirring from his arm giving you something concrete enough to focus on. ‘S good,” you finally pant, twisting to tuck your head into Steve, “so good.”

Bucky huffs out a chuckle and your entire body goes tight; with his face so close, you can feel every breath. “That mean you’re gonna let us finish you up, just like this?”

It’s a rhetorical question --- has to be, the way he presses the toy tighter to your clit. Still, you answer with an eager nod, legs widening some as if to give him the go ahead. “Please, Buck, ‘m close already, it -- right there, I-I’ll--” Your pleas are pretty, a desperate melody, and they appease every base instinct Bucky has. He’d wanted to keep you on edge a little longer to explore the toy more, but he’s a sucker for his girl; always has been. You win him over without even trying. 

Steve isn’t far behind, cock leaking in his dress pants seeing you so desperate. He hasn’t gotten his hand on the toy yet, but even he seems to feel its effect. The hand that isn’t cupping your breast spreads over your tummy, delighting in the way the flesh underneath tightens and spreads. You’re certainly close --- he knows your body as well as you do. And the thought of it makes him hungry, makes him press teeth into the skin behind your ear as he urges you on: “Go on, honey -- make a mess for us.”

Your peak comes fast after that, punching you in the gut with its intensity. The first wave of orgasm runs right through you, leaving a tremble in its wake, and your hips twist instinctively to escape the toy. Bucky, however, isn’t so forgiving, metal curling around your hip in a vice. Ride it out, he seems to say with a dark, lidded glance from between your legs. 

You whimper in response, head tipping back against Steve’s chest as you fumble for purchase in the warmth of Bucky’s free hand. 

Something tells you this will be a long night. 

Forty minutes later, you can’t see straight.

Your first orgasm had been gradual, as tentative as the men watching this new toy work you. But, after that, it’s like a flip switches in Bucky and Steve, making them greedy for as many more as they can get.

The second one isn’t long after the first. Bucky turns the Satisfyer up to the highest setting, the other end of the spectrum that you hadn’t even gotten a chance to try on your own yet. The first contact lights fire through your sensitive body and you’re on the brink in just minutes.  Toes stretching and curling into the sheets by Bucky’s hips, you’re practically squirming with need and it only takes one good twist of the toy for you to crumble all over again. They give you a break after that, but most of it is spent kissing you too long for you to catch your breath.

You don’t mind that too much, though.

The third orgasm is Steve’s fault. Ever the strategist, he starts thinking through the ways they can play with frequency and angle to make you cum again. You don’t notice it in your foggy comedown, but he’s fished his phone out and flicked through to a page he’s looked over more times that he cares to admit. And when Bucky settles between your legs to get you going again, he finally speaks up. “Buck, I found this review online---” Both you and Bucky turn to him, curiosity in the way you gape, but he’s making a face back that’s loud and clear:  ‘do not ask’. “---that said they were able to cum in a couple minutes with this alone. Had some interestin’ suggestions about how, too.” He grins around a Brooklyn drawl, that handsome face stirring something in you when it looks so devious. “You think we can get our girl finished faster than that?”

They pull it off -- embarrassingly easily at that -- and it’s in the pale of that third climax that they finally, finally press inside you. 

Your cunt is soaked, supple and warm around Steve as he sits you down over his cock. After so much play, the stretch is nothing, a pleasant burn in the pit of your belly that makes your eyes flutter closed. 

“Tell us how you feel,” Steve asks for the second time that night, his voice strained around the effort to keep from fucking you. Even if you’re taking him well -- easier than ever before, in fact -- he’s cautious not to lose his head, no matter how much he wants to. 

No matter how much the urge to plow you into your mattress dizzies him.

Your eyes are still closed when you respond, tongue over your dry lips as you part them with a needy sound. “S-Still good…,” you sigh, mind swimming. You want to move, start to move in a mindless search for some friction. But, the rocking doesn’t last long, stuttering to a stop when you hear the toy click to life  and try to focus through the haze of your pleasure with eyes darting for answers.

You find them in the smug grin on Bucky’s face as he palms the Satisfyer in one hand and works his cock out of his pants with the other. “What,” he purrs, voice lilted in a taunt, “you didn’t think we were done with this yet, did you?”

Oh yeah --- this’ll definitely be a long night.

[salemwritesxx]

↳ bottom bakugou x top m. reader

request: Hii! Could I request a subby Bakugo getting fucked into a mating press with some breeding and feminization kink (like calling his ass a pussy and his pecs as tits), please? Maybe with some dacryphilia too? <3

w.count: 2.2k

content warning: smut, porn without plot, feminization (words like pussy, tits), virgin killer sweater, mating press, dacryphilia, breeding kink

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

“You better come home quickly or I’ll start without you🍑💗”, with a big grin on his lips, he wrote the little message before sending you a very raunchy picture – Katsuki in a virgin killer sweater and a very exposed position, showing off his back.

You hadn’t even been out for 10 minutes – a quick nightly errand to the convenient store for some snacks – but you didn’t think it would turn into this. As you were about to walk up to the register, your phone vibrated, hence you looked at the snap he had sent, not thinking much of it, only to hastily walk and pay the cashier before rushing outside.

Bakugou was only waiting for his chance, thus why he ask you if you could go to the convenient store and buy some snacks, he simply needed a little bit of time to prepare. And now, he was ready, sitting on the bed, legs crossed and waiting for his dear boyfriend to arrive again.

Thankfully, he definitely didn’t need to wait long as he heard the front door opening and closing in just a few minutes, before the thumping as you ran up the stairs got him all excited.

“Katsuki!”, you gasped for breath as you basically ran home as quickly as you could.

Bakugou couldn’t even really react in time had you already jumped onto the bed and hugged him from behind, his back immediately slightly arching to push out his chest more, just to whisper, “Welcome home, Y/n. You were really qui- Ahn!”

Interrupting himself with his moans, your hands snuck underneath his virgin killer sweater to cup his pecs, your “You are such… a tease, Baby. How dare… you.” still quite breathless. As you tried calming your heart and breathing you started massaging his chest, earning his cute little whine and also raspy laugh at the same time as he threw his head back against your shoulder.

“I-I… I don’t know what you… mean…”, though once you tweaked his nipples and rolled them between your fingers, he was already melting and moaning softly.

“Oh really? Of course not, you are so innocent.”, you sighed in a playful way, before leaning in and pressing your lips against his ears to purr, “At least your body is honest. Just look at your huge tits filling out that sweater. So lewd. And your nips are so hard, aren’t you embarrassed? Just look how much they show through the fabric.”

“Ahnh, d-don’t… fucking… say that- ah!”, he bit his bottom lip at last, trying to suppress his sounds, a little bit embarrassed that he moaned so blissfully just because you massaged his chest a little, but he simply was so sensitive it was hard to resist.

“Why? Isn’t it the truth? Your tits are so huge and sensitive, you cry just when I fondle them a bit, it’s so cute.”, the low voice so close to his ear truly made Bakugou violently shiver as he pressed his chest more against your massaging hands.

“I-I don’t cry- AHHnhHn!”, ironically, he interrupted himself just that moment with a desperate cry as you pulled on his erect, juicy nipples, basically confuting his argument the moment he uttered it out loud.

And then, as your hands slowly wandered down over his muscles and the bulge in the virgin killer sweater, you lowly whispered, “I wonder what your pussy has to say, hm? You are probably so wet and aching just from me playing with your tits, huh?”, to which he could only whine and approvingly nod, defeated and just willing to be loved, even though he was so smug just mere seconds ago.

Resting his head against your shoulder, Katsuki buried his hand inside your hair to pull you down, smacking his lips on yours and moaning into your mouth the moment you went ahead and pushed your tongue between his lips, igniting a lustful and sloppy kiss.

Hips jerking against your hand as you reached his cock, you, however, didn’t pay too much attention to it – yet – as you reached past it to his ass, being pleasantly surprised that he had already used lube, thus, you started circling his hole a little with your fingertip, rubbing the sensitive spot to hear him whine against your lips.

“Hmm, you really want to be bred so badly, hm? Your pussy is all ready to be taken. Want me to re-arrange your insides, huh?”, you purred against his lips while pecking them over and over again, Katsuki getting high just from your words as he nodded so vigorously and moaned a “Yes, yes ah! Fuck me, Y/n. Breed my pussy until I’m full with your cum!”

“Ah!”, a surprised gasp paired with a moan, you flipped him so effortlessly, which sadly meant your hands were away from his hot, aching body. Though, it didn’t take long for him to writhe in pleasure underneath your hot touches once you basically ripped the virgin killer sweater from his body, leaving him naked and willing as he spread his legs almost immediately, showing off his ass and twitching hole, before reaching out his hands.

“Come on…”, he looked so desperate, so cute – nothing left from that potty-mouthed alpha he tried to be in public, he was only your cute Baby Boy now. Wanting nothing more but to be fucked into submission and bred properly.

“My, my, my your pussy really is desperate for my cock, isn’t it?”, you chuckled, your fingers back to rubbing against his slick ass, before you reached into the drawer with your other hand to get more lube, ignoring Bakugou’s pleading arms and hands, even when he whined and made grabby hand gestures, you still didn’t comply yet.

“Y/n! NghGHG!”, Bakugou started with an indignant gasp, before whining loudly and throwing his head back against the pillow when you drizzled more lube between his cheeks and started massaging it in, only for your digits to spread him open with ease as you thrusted them inside.

“Ahhnaah! Please… you are so… fucking ahh-“, interrupting himself once more as you started accurately stimulating his prostate, you simply laughed again and fuck… he knew you loved seeing him so desperate.

“Shhh, Baby Boy, take it easy, no?”

“Noooo…I can’t- Nghgh! P-Please…”, his ruby eyes were basically begging you, tears trickling down his cheeks and seeping into the pillow as he sobbed, “Please… fuck me silly already... I need you to… destroy my pussy…”

And that was the last thing he needed to say, your string of patience snapped as you pulled out your fingers and down your loose pants and underwear, just to climb over him and pin his arms above his head; smashing your lips together, almost bruising them a little while you deeply kissed him, Bakugou merely moaning into your mouth lewdly.

Slinging his legs around your hips immediately, he pressed you against him, grinding his cock against your own in a desperate attempt to get more friction, whining and moaning against your lips while trying to keep up with your hot little dance, tongues entwining and drool trickling from the corner of his mouth.

The deep purr and groans that escaped your own throat made his heart jump, knowing both of you enjoyed this so very much, hence rubbing himself a little harder against you, smearing his precum against your cock to get more slip.

“Pah!”, gasping for air once you pulled back, Katsuki was panting, his swollen, red lips glistening and those beautiful ruby eyes shimmering with tears – he looked so incredibly ravishing, you just wanted to devour him right then and there.

And so, he watched as you sat back. For a second, you gently caressed his legs, from his ankle to his knee, feeling the blonde hairs underneath your palm, before he hiccupped in delightful surprise when you grabbed him eventually, just to press his knees against his chest into a mating press.

“Come on, Baby, help me out a little, hm? Spread your tight pussy for me.”, you seductively purred and grinned while rubbing your cockhead against his hole.

Gulping a bit, he nodded as he reached out his shaking hands, one wrapped around your cock to give you a few strokes and earning your delightful hiss as you thrusted into his palm, the other spreading his ass. With his help, you then easily slipped in, listening to his lewd cry and sob as he threw his head back as you spread him, his “Ahhnh y-yes ahhnh~” only riling you up more – making you shove the last inches of your cock into him just to make him hiccup and cry in pleasure.

“Fuck! Oh shit. Baby… Fuck you feel so good.”, you moaned as well as you leaned in, Katsuki’s legs hanging in mid-air as you started ramming into him, breeding him properly and deeply, your boyfriend instantly almost screaming your name as you penetrated his prostate so mercilessly.

“Ahnh Yaahh B-Breed me ahh! Baby p-plea- ahh!”, Bakugou sobbed and hiccupped, nails digging into your arm, only to throw his head back once more when you leaned down to mark him, biting him roughly, yet he moaned even louder.

“I will, Kacchan.”, you pressed out between moaning, your hands grabbing his chest and squeezing his pecs as you said, “Your tits will be even bigger once you’re pregnant. You will be leaking all over the place.”

Hearing those words, Katsuki was embarrassed and so turned on at the same time, pushing his chest more against your massaging hands and crying your name when you roughly tweaked his buds and pulled on them, just how he liked it.

Both of you were panting and moaning, Bakugou desperately holding on to you while you shoved your big cock into his little hole effortlessly, making sure he was only seeing blinking little stars.

“Y/n! Y/n! AhHHn!”, he didn’t care about anything anymore, his mind was blank, Katsuki only knew pleasure and your name, taking everything you gave him like the good boy he was.

“Tell me… does your pussy feel good, huh?”, you moaned, your voice shaking and your hips slapping against his skin.

“Y-Yeeshh ahh my- my pussy… feels shooo good!”, he slurred and cried, sobbing your name in the end as well.

His chest and cock were bouncing due to the vigorous movements, his nipples bright red from being overstimulated by you, the way you twisted them sending pleasurable jolts through his body – he was so close at this point.

“I-I’m gon- Ahhhnn Y/n! Gonna!”, Bakugou tried to tell you how close to the edge he was, though you didn’t listen.

For a moment, you got slower, barely grinding as you regained your own strength, Katsuki’s ass pulsating and sucking you in so greedily as you rubbed against his sweet spot, his tear-stained, red face looking so delighted.

“You’re gonna cum, Baby, hm?”

“Y-Yes- ah! Please…”, he begged and pushed his ass against your cock, swallowing it balls-deep. The chuckle that escaped your lips made him shiver and whine.

“Then cum, Kacchan. Don’t hold back. Cum with just your pussy!”, and then, you pulled out almost completely, earning his indignant gasp, just to shove your cock back inside, his ear-piercing pleasurable cry spurring you on even more.

It only took a few more thrusts and your hands fondling his tits for Bakugou to completely lose himself in the pleasure, crying so pitifully, his usually raspy voice so high-pitched and cute as it broke due to his loud sounds.

“Ahhn breed me! Breed me! Y/n!”, were his last desperate moans before his whole body spasmed when he reached his orgasm, cum squirting all over his belly, his cock bouncing so pitifully, though you didn’t stop. Fucking him through his orgasm, he was so overstimulated and overwhelmed, eyes slightly rolled back and his nails almost drawing blood with how hard he clawed at your arm as you breed him properly.

In the end, you rammed your cock in wholly one last time, your own body shaking as you wrapped your arms around him while pumping your seed into his ass, Bakugou moaning and slurring an “Ahh Yesh fi-fill myy pusshy… Nhh!” as his toe curled and his teeth sinking in his bottom lip due to feeling your hot cum stuffing him full.

His ass was overflowing with your seed when you pulled out and started lightly thrusting again, both of you moaning almost in synch due to the overstimulating friction as you softly grinded for a few more moments, letting your seed drip between Bakugou’s ass and into the sheets.

“Y/n…”, he barely breathed when you eventually sat back and softly placed his quivering legs onto the sheets to slowly pull out eventually, more cum dripping out of his used hole the moment his ass released your cock with a quiet plop.

“Hmhmh, that’s what I call a nicely bred pussy.”, you smirked and Katsuki grunted.

“Come here… I’m cold.”, reaching out his hands, he gestured you to come closer again, hence you immediately crawled on top of him to flop down, hugging him tightly and kissing all over his pretty face.

“Let’s do reverse cowgirl next.”, he barely croaked, thus clearing his throat to try and get his voice back.

Katsuki knew how much you liked his back view and watching him bounce on top of you and your purred “Hmmm a nice view awaits me.” only confirmed it.

Though for now, as you both recovered a bit of your strengths, he pulled you down to meet his lips, making himself hum delightfully as they melted into each other, tongues softly entwining – no rush this time as you had the whole night for yourselves after all.

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

@salemwritesxx || do not repost, edit, modify or translate my works

writer’s note: that was one nice story to write (¬‿¬) after finally having my tooth pulled last week, I finally feel better and it’s not hurting anymore! the last 14 days were hell on earth, but I am back, I am not high on pain meds anymore and well.. my teeth are trash so know I have 4 new appointments to get them all drilled and filled and idk what else – with 19… l o v e my life lmfao one more thing to be self-conscious about, having a missing tooth with 19 YAY great👌🏼 and even tho I brush and floss and rinse every day… like why? what did I do to deserve trash teeth even tho I take good care of them? anyways, if you’ve read until here, I hope you have a good day! And know you are amazing and bomb!💕

[imagineansuta]

hi there!!! i would like a scenario with a very short (and usually too shy to initiate but affection-loving) producer struggling to reach Rei, Arashi and Madara and kiss them on the cheek, then getting tired/a little pouty and giving them a hug instead? thanks<3!!!

this!!!!! is such a cute ask!!!!!!

REI SAKUMA

“you did -- you did that on purpose!”

“i haven’t the faintest clue what you’re talking about,” rei hums, half-lidded eyes staring down your figure. as you try to reach up again, he cranes his head further from you with a smile, leaving the red on your face a shade darker.

work-related activities have left both of you with little time for each other, and admittedly you had missed the way he’d pester you. what felt like days of waiting had filled you with a newfound boost of confidence, prompting you to attempt to lean over for a quick peck on his cheek…. if only he would cooperate with you.

again, you lean over and again, he dodges your movement swiftly. the difference in your heights clearly doesn’t make this any easier for you. the glint in his eyes makes no effort to hide his amusement, and he has the nerve to feign (or not, considering it’s rei) a bored yawn. “have your eyes gone bad too? hmm, to think that old age would creep on even you so easily…”

with a huff, you allow the tips of your toes to rest, burying your face into his chest and wrapping your arms around his waist. you feel his body shake as he chuckles and sets a hand atop your head, smoothing out your hair. the other one finds its way on your waist, pulling you closer to him. no, this isn’t so bad either. you shouldn’t be too needy, and surely he’s tired, and maybe he doesn’t even want to --

-- “won’t you look up at me again?”

you shake your head against his chest, he laughs again. now it’s your turn to be difficult.

“i won’t run away from you any longer. this, i promise.”

eyebrows furrowed and cheeks all puffed up, you glance up at him with a faux pout. rei freezes for a quick moment to map out your face with his eyes, only to indeed learn down to your height, his hair tickling your face as he leans in closer. you take this chance to brush your lips against his cheek, and he repays the favour with no hesitation, peppering kisses from your nose to the side of your cheek.

“how i’ve missed you, love.”

ARASHI NARUKAMI 

walk up to arashi. give her a quick kiss on the cheek. compliment her.

it’s simple enough, really. since you had extra time on your hands, you had decided to join her with her modelling photoshoot. it’s definitely to broaden your horizons as a producer, of course. it’s not as if it’s half an excuse to watch her fully dressed up with not a single hair out of place. to you, she’s ethereal, and no photo can even compare to seeing her beauty up close.

with a nervous expression and bated breath, you prepare yourself to execute your perfect, totally-not-impulsive foolproof plan. the photographer gives a nod and the crew scatters to take a short break. you watch as arashi walks over to the camera, reviewing a set of shots before smiling and making her way towards you.

“hi,” you whisper as she slips her fingers between yours. “how are they?”

“perfect, of course. we shouldn’t need to stay much longer, so i can spend the rest of the day with you ♪”

she gives your hands a reassuring squeeze, yet you still feel a lump build up in your throat. would...would now be an appropriate time to do it?  you get on your tiptoes to boost yourself up, but the realization dawns on you that you’re still nowhere close to her height, especially not when she’s also in heels. your brain comes to a blank and all you can do is give her a sheepish look, and perhaps you’re quite obvious with your staring too, because her smile drops upon scanning your face.

“heeey, is something the matter?”

you blink silently for a few seconds before flushing red — in an attempt to hide your expression, you pull her into a hug. “it’s not fair, naru, wearing heels when you’re already that much taller than me…”

“there, there ~” she sings, returning your hug before bending down until you’re both face level. “i think your height is totally cute, though?”

with a hand cupping your cheek, arashi gently runs a thumb over your face. your own hands trembling, you gently grab onto her clothes and lean in ... only to be interrupted by a sharp cough from behind. the photographer crosses his arms, motioning for his model back, and you both shoot him an apologetic smile.

“awww, let’s save the rest for later, shall we?”

MADARA MIKEJIMA

your boyfriend’s running full speed ahead towards you, arms wide open and footsteps thundering, and you think you can’t possibly be more in love. 

with a quick swoop, he easily sweeps you off your feet and spins you around. you squeal out in surprise, clutching onto the fabric of his shirt and burying your face in the crook of his neck -- you do know that it’s unnecessary though, since he’d never let you fall from his grip.

“i didn’t expect to see you here!” you gasp, leaning back to smile at him. your legs wrap around his torso when you realize he has no intentions of setting you down, his arms supporting your weight with ease. madara beams at you, his chest shaking with each laugh.

“hahaha! it really is a small world, huh? were you walking back home? you could’ve called on me, you know!”

“i can’t always rely on you...” resting on his shoulder, you let out a sigh.

in any other case, sticking onto your boyfriend like a koala wouldn’t be something you’d prefer to do in public, but producer work had left you drained. what could be a better battery charger than your very own madara mikejima?

he lets out a grunt, resting his cheek against your head before turning to plant a kiss on your face. “you’ve been working hard, right? as an idol and as your partner, let me take care of you every now and then, kaaay? i’ll walk you back!”

madara lets you back onto the ground with another kiss to the same spot. he moves back up before you can reply with your own kiss, however, leaving you frozen on the spot. as he turns around to lead you home, you rush over to give him another tight hug, lower lip stuck out in a fake pout. this earns a laugh from him -- fingers messing up your hair in a messy ruffle.

“whaaat? you want mama to pick you up again?”

[harrypotter-imaginess]

Part 2 Here!

Commission info for a Love Letter from you favorite character here!

- You’re probably someone on his morning routine, or who could easily become apart of his daily routine

- Maybe a friendly barista at a café he’s curious about on the way to the his store

- But I like to think you’re someone that works at the local flower shop

- He catches you on his way to work one morning, choosing to walk that day to stretch his legs

- Apparating is convenient, but if he’s not careful he’ll get out of shape pretty fast.

- He see’s you across the street, watering the plants you keep outside the shop, talking to each of them, a smile across your face as you do

- The morning light hits you just right, the golden glow spreading across your face

- “Well aren’t they quite cute?”

- He starts walking to work everyday from then on

- It’s on the fourth or fifth day you notice him-

- Well really you notice his hair, it’s such a rich red

- A livelier shade than any rose or hibiscus you could grow

- “I bet it’s hair dye.” Your co-worker tells you “you know how these city boys are-“

- Well your store is in the heart of the city, on the Jump Street, sandwiched between a book store and a boutique

- And yeah, most of the guys around here do seem impeccably dressed,

- one of your very handsome regular's who comes in to get flowers for his husband every Tuesday even admitted he has a running bi-monthly appointment at the spa, he gets a spray tan, dye job, eyebrows tweezed, the works.

- “It’s just what I have to do to compete, there’s so many young CEO’s now, you’ve got to keep up appearances.” 

- And you’re sure he’s not the only one

- Still.. you can’t help but believe that a shade of red that vibrant- that beautiful- can’t be from just hair dye

- “Maybe” you mumble, turning your attention to the peony’s

- You wonder if you’ll see him walk by at the end of the day when all the offices close

- But even though you keep your eyes glued to the store front window, he never shows up

- You see him again the next morning, walking across the street

- This time you take a little more of him in

- He’s pretty tall, though you can’t make out much of his build when he’s wearing that rust colored coat

- And a splatter of freckles across his face, almost like constellations

- He’s got a long nose, but it works with his face

- He’s pretty handsome

- What comes next shouldn’t surprise you, but it does

- Perhaps he felt your eyes on him, silently assessing him- studying him

- Because his eyes lift up to meet yours

- They’re the deepest brown you’ve ever seen, especially when the morning light hits them just so

- Oh sh*t, he caught you staring

- Sh*t. Sh*t. Sh*t. Sh*t. Sh*t. Sh*t.

- Okay, it’s fine

- Just okay- Just play it cool

- So, you pretend like you weren’t just staring at this handsome stranger admiring his features

- And shamelessly offer your best smile and a wave

- To your surprise he grins, smile spreading across his face

- A light pink dusting his face as he waves back

- And so you become waving friends

- Waving to each other every morning

- Which slowly evolves into trading morning greetings

- “How’s your morning going?” He asks from across the street

- Miffed commuters give him disgruntled looks as they walk around him rushing to work, but he stays rooted to the spot

- “It’s alright can’t complain!” You shout back from your spot by the gardenia bush, earning several looks as well

- “How about you?”

- He gives a teasing look to all the angry passerby’s and gives a “so-so” hand motion

- You almost laugh so hard you cry

- This goes on for a few more days, and your co-workers take notice

- “Flirting with the red head (Y/N)? On company time?” Your co-worker mock gasps and you roll your eyes

- “Oh hush, I’m just being friendly to a neighbor.”

- Your co-worker doesn’t look like they’re buying it, but they don’t say anything else

- It’s late in the afternoon when the shop bell rings

- You’re up to your elbows trimming and re-potting the hydrangeas

- You figure one of the others will get

- You hear some footsteps but ignore it, 

- This part is tricky, if you damage any of the roots the plant might not be able to make it

- “Um excuse me, I was wondering if you might help me with something?”

- Ugh, don’t they see you’re in the middle of something

- You’re about to turn around and tell them that customers aren’t supposed to be in back room-

- When you catch a glimmer of vivid red in the corner of your eye

- No that can’t be right, he doesn’t even walk back this way in the afternoon

- Your heart stutters in your chest, face growing hot

- Your crush is getting out of control-

- When you look up, there he is

- His adorable freckles face in all its glory

- Here in the homely, rather dirty, back-plant room at your flower store

- A hesitant smile curled on to his lips

- “I’m sorry, it looks like I’m interrupting, the clerk in the front said you would be back here-“

- Of course they did

- So well what’s he here for?

- Is he here to ask you in a date??

- You might just combust from joy at the thought

- Or maybe he’s here to order a large bouquet for his lover, and the rest of your co-workers think it’s time you get yourself out of this little crush of yours

- The thought fills you with both embarrassment and despair

- Only extreme highs and lows with you, it seems

- “- I’m a business owner a few streets over, and I thought some flowers might add some atmosphere, they said you’re the expert”

- He gives you a boyish grin, his hands shoved into his pockets

- So somewhere in the middle then

- Aright you can work with that

- “Do you have an idea of what kind of flowers you might want?” You’re already moving towards the sink, washing the fertilizer off your arms.

- George blanks, he hasn’t really thought that far

- “Not particularly, do you have any recommendations?”

- You nod, lips pursed as you grab the order form

- “Well what kind of store do you have? Peonys’ and orchids’ are always good with boutiques”

- You figure he owns an upscale boutique or maybe a restaurant, those tend to be the places that do the best in this area.

- And by the looks of his taupe coat, his store is doing very well

- “Hmm well-“ his hand rubs his chin

- Technically it’s a joke shop, but it’s grown to be more than that isn’t it?

- He sells potions, charms, stationary, prank goods (of course), muggle novelty’s- it makes sense to him- but his store has grown to be quite eclectic over the years

- Besides he doubts he can explain it you

- He’s still on the fence whether you’re a muggle or from magic like him

- You’re plants have him suspicious, no way a muggle could grow a gardenia that would put Neville Longbottom to shame-

- Still, if you were a witch there’s no way you wouldn’t have recognized him by now

- The Weasleys have all become some sort of warrior clan war hero, he’s even on a chocolate frog card now.

- Well, he would rather not risk it

- He’s always been the cautious one

- “It’s sort of a hobby store? Well it started out as one, but now we’ve been expanding and we sell a bit of everything.”

- “So kind of like a department store?”

- Department stores are a bit more tricky, each room has a different vibe, but the overall tone has to be neutral

- Hmmmm

- “Maybe some white roses? Orchids might be nice too, and if you’ve got a bit of a green thumb I might recommend succulents or some devils ivy?”

- This is all going straight over George’s head, he never did pay much attention in herbology

- But you’re talking to him as if he’s an equal and he doesn’t want the cutie who works at the local flower shop think any less of him because he doesn’t know a d*mn about plants

- “Those sound lovely”

- He’s not entirely sure how it happens, but by the time he’s left he’s got an armful of plants, and a rolling order at your store to pick up plants every Tuesday

- “Are you sure you’re alright? We deliver for free you know?”

- “No no it’s fine-“

- The tall leafy plant shakes every time he shakes his head

- “Besides I wouldn’t want to miss the chance to see you again” he winks before turning to leave

- You feel your heart skip a beat

- “Did you ask if it was a dye job?” You co-worker yells from the other side of the store as soon as he’s gone

- “Of course I didn’t Ainsley! For one that’s awfully rude”

- They nod knowingly

- “Yeah that’s really fifth date talk”

- They laugh when you throw one of the cards at them

- And like clockwork George comes in every Monday afternoon, and leaves with a handful of arrangements and plants

- You still talk to each other on the street

- “How are the hydrangeas working out for you?” You ask and he gives a ‘ditto’ hand gesture

- “They’re class! I was wondering if I could get a few more?”

- You nod

- “We’ll have more ready for you on Monday, are you sure you don’t want delivery?”

- He manages to carry them off every time, but it sure makes you nervous, just one tumble and they would be ruined

- “We’ve been over this, how would I get to see you then?”

- He gives you a lopsided grin and you find yourself reflecting the expression

- “Oi! Would you two stop flirting in the middle of the street, you’re blocking traffic!” Someone shouts

- He just laughs and offers you a wave

- “What’s with all the plants?”

- They’re the first words out of Ron’s mouth when he steps inside the shop, he’s already shrugging off his coat making his way to where George is fiddling with a new contraption

- “I thought they would make the place livelier”

- False.

- He just wanted an excuse to talk to you.

- He does like the plants though. The white hydrangeas you recommended for the potions section are absolutely lovely

- Though he did use a few charms to make them larger, and stay fresher longer.

- He’s basically got a wall covered in hydrangeas now

- Still lovely though

- “It does look nice” Rob admits

- “So where are the products you need help fixing?”

- George groans waving towards a few oddly stacked boxes

- The packaging on his restock of the portable swamps came in the wrong color, not a big deal he can always change it with a spell

- But it is tedious work, especially when you have to do it one by one, otherwise it might upset the contents.

- And he does not want a swamp in his store

- Ron only nods, unpacking the box

- “You want purple right?”

- There’s a moment of silence between the two

- Purple was Fred’s favorite color

- He used to joke it was because that’s the color Snape turned when he was mad

- But George knows it’s because purple’s the color of the first fireworks they saw.

- He, Fred, Ron and Ginny had snuck away when they were younger to a muggle festival in the village, awestruck by the shapes the fireworks took.

- Fred would have carved that moment into his bones if he could.

- George clears his throat

- “Yeah, purple, same shade as the shop sign”

- Ron nods, pulling out a products wordlessly, motioning with his wand

- “So what’s really the deal with all these plant?” Ron asks, and George sighs

- “Nothing I just thought it might be good for business”

- “Did you get swindled by an attractive salesman?”

- “I wouldn’t say swindled” you gave him a pretty generous discount, and you were even offering free delivery

- That’s kind of a lot to give for a muggle shop

- “So they were attractive then?” Ron says with a grin, he’s only ribbing

- But George’s inquisitive look and the pink flush across his freckles nose makes Ron think he’s on the nose

- “(Y/N)’s fairly attractive”

- Fairly is putting it mildly though, George thinks your adorable

- Ron stutters halfway through the transfiguration spell

- “(Y/N)? Like hot (Y/N)? From the flower shop?”

- George is puzzled but nods

- “You went to hot (Y/N)‘s shop?!?!? WITHOUT ME?” Ron looks like he’s about to cry

- “How would Hermione feel is she heard you talking about another person like that?”

- Ron just gives him an incredulous look

- “She would say ‘I can’t believe George went to hot (Y/N)‘s shop and didn’t invite us’!”

- Apparently you’re quite popular in the shopping district. Your flowers have won the city award twice, before you opened your shop you won a contract as the city’s horticulturist.

- “Last Valentine’s Day Harry and I stood in line for two hours to pick up our bouquets” Ron tells him, he’s already done with the first box

- He figured business was good, it’s almost impossible to run a flower shop in the middle of the city if it isn’t.

- But he didn’t imagine you were award winning or anything

- He sighs so you are a muggle, and you’ve got no need for magic, you make up the difference in talent and skill

- He likes that, maybe he should get some shirts or art prints that say something like that

- He feels a small smile creep onto his face

- Oh well, probably for the best, he’s not sure he has time to date what with how busy things have been

- “Free for dinner? We can go wherever you want, my treat.” George says, slipping on his coat as they finish with the last of the products.

- “How about (Y/N)‘s flower shop?”

- George laughs

- “I’m pretty sure they close at 5....also they don’t have food Ron”

- Ron sighs like he’s just been told Christmas is just cancelled

- “The leaky cauldron is fine too I guess”

- But George can’t stop thinking about you for the rest of the weekend.

- It’s not really that big of a deal if you’re a muggle, but-

- Well how would that even work?

- The closest thing to a muggle he’s personally known is Hermione- who’s a witch and just muggle born

- He wouldn’t be able to tell you about being a wizard- not until you were married, or at least serious enough that he knew you both were going to get married. Which he doesn’t know how he feels about

- So he would have three full time jobs

- Taking care of the store, being your boyfriend, oh and hiding his magical powers from you

- Lovely

- But Merlin- wouldn’t his family love it if he brought you home?

- His Dad would be over the moon, and his Mum, well she’d be happy he found anyone at all. But she wouldn’t mind the pointers you gave her on how to get pinker roses.

- Percy wouldn’t really care either way. He might even like it, a muggle in the family might help his political agenda.

- Good for optics and all

- He already knows Ron likes you

- He and Hermione will be quite pleased they get to ogle you all they want at holiday dinners

- Ginny will like having another person in the family, she would personally give you a tour of the burrow

- Fleur will like having another in law in the family- and Bill will be happy that she’s happy

- Charlie would love it, asking you all about what kind of plants his dragons might like, and if you might plant a few for him, come visit in Romania- the port key’s always open for family-

- Actually he might have to watch out for Charlie, his older brother might legit steal you away from him

- .

- ...

- Fred would have loved you

- Fred would have never let it go on this long

- Fred would have seen George’s lovestruck expression the first time he saw you and said-

- “Well are you going to ask them out?”

- Fred always was the bold one, George was just following his lead most of the time.

- That fireworks thing in their last year was entirely Fred’s idea. 

- George would sputter and shrug in response

- ‘I was just lookin’, a man can look can’t he?’

- Fred would have given him one of his wicked grins and said:

- “Look if you don’t ask them out now, then I will”

- And pushed him across the street, holding him to it

- And then when he was halfway across the street towards you Fred would shout:

- “And see if they’ll give us a friends and family discount for the store!”

- George is grinning just imagining it

- Fred wouldn’t have cared at all that you were a muggle.

- All he would care about is that you would make his brother, his best friend, happy.

- “Honestly George, you get hung up over the dumbest things-“ Fred would have said

- “You like them don’t you? They make you feel good about the world and life?”

- And George would just dumbly nod

- “Then that’s all that matters doesn’t it? That you care about someone, and that you can see a future with them. All that other stuff- it’s just noise”

- Alright he’ll try then

- Not just for Fred, but for himself too.

- George strolls into your shop on Monday, an hour before you open-

- “Oh hello George! You’re a little early, I’ve got your hydrangeas trimmed I just need to get your potted plants ready and-“

- “Would you like to go out sometime?”

- “-then I’ll fix up the roses for y-“

- Huh?

- You freeze for a moment, almost dropping the plant in your hands

- Did he just ask you on a date?

- “If dinner is too much, maybe just tea- or coffee?”

- Maybe it’s not exciting enough for you

- Ugh! He knew he should have suggested something more fun like the zoo or maybe a botanical garden?

- But you’re around plants all day, he didn’t want to make you think he only knows one thing-

- “Friday?”

- His eyes shoot up to look at your face, he hadn’t even noticed he was staring at his shoes

- “What?”

- “Friday” you repeat, you’ve got a smile that seems lovelier than any of the flowers you grow.

- “Is Friday good for dinner? I close up at six”

- He grins so wide he’s afraid his face might break

- “Friday is perfect”

[kkaebsongtypo]

[7:24pm] “bobaeyes, thank you so much for the 5 gifted subs!” You smiled at the camera as you thanked one of your viewers. You crossed your legs in your chair and continued tapping away at your keyboard, planting strawberry seeds in your newly constructed Minecraft farm. You hummed along to your background music softly, harvesting your grown fruits and vegetables before hopping back to your house and putting your produce in the fridge.

“Hmm, I kind of want to build a… wait- like one of those spinny things- what are those called?? HELP I’m drawing a blank-” You laughed at yourself in disbelief and looked at your chat. The messages were quickly flooded with the word you were looking for.

“A windmill! Right, thank you! I want to build a windmill over by the flower garden.” You shook your head and looked back to your game. You dug through your chests for the materials you wanted, continuing to tell your chat about your plans. A highlighted message caught your eye when you glanced at chat. You recited it as you made your way to the flower garden.

“froggieteefs thank you for the sub, ‘Is donghyuck streaming also?’ Yes he is! He’s streaming Phasmophobia with Jeno and Che- OH MY GOSH!!!” You gasped mid-sentence after realizing you had forgotten something crucial. You paused your game and started standing up, quickly changing to your ‘be right back’ screen.

“I’ll be right back!! Just- give me a second!” You set your headphones down and rushed out the door. You hopped down the stairs towards where your boyfriend’s streaming setup was, shouting to him as you approached the door.

“Babe!!” You turned the handle and entered the room after he replied. He pulled his headphones off one of his ears and looked up at you from his chair; a bright smile on his lips. The sleeves of his hoodie were rolled up to his elbows and gold, round frames were perched on his nose. You smiled back at the sight of the bobby pins that still held his hair away from his face like you left it prior to beginning your stream.

“Say hi to the stream! What’s up?” You wrapped your arm around his shoulder and waved to his stream.

“Hello everyone~~ hey Jeno, Lele.” You bent down into frame and leaned closer to Donghyuck, hoping to hear the other boy's replies through his headset. You giggled softly at Jeno and Chenle’s loud greeting to you that caused Donghyuck to furrow his brows and quietly scold them for yelling in his ear.

“I just realized that we forgot our good luck kiss earlier.” You said, turning to face your boyfriend. His eyes widened as he gasped, quickly facing you as well.

“You’re right!” He exclaimed louder, before placing a soft peck to your lips. You smiled softly at him, the signature bright smile returning to his face as he spoke again.

“Good luck with your stream, baby. Have fun!” You swatted his hand away when he reached up and ruffled your hair. He chuckled and turned his head to the hand that rested on his shoulder, placing another quick kiss to your knuckles.

“You too, babes!” You placed his headphone back over his exposed ear and began straightening your back, about to head back to your own stream.

“Enjoy the rest of Hyuck’s stream everyone~ Try not to die to any ghosts, baby.” You pressed your lips to his cheek before waving goodbye to his stream. Donghyuck called your name and sent you a wink as you looked back at him on your way out. Without missing a beat, you winked back at him and blew him a kiss, giggling to yourself as you shut the door and running back up the stairs to your office.

“Alright, hey all! I’m back!” You placed your headphones back over your ears and pulled up your gameplay and facecam once more. As you readjusted yourself in your chair your read through chat and laughed quietly at a message caught your eye.

“Yes! Everything is okay haha, it’s just that- like- before either of us stream, Hyuck and I always give each other like a little ‘good luck, have fun!’ kiss and we just forgot today for some reason so I ran down to do that.” A wave of messages expressing how adorable they thought your little routine was made you smile, heat slowly rising to your cheeks. Certain comments about you and your boyfriend made your heart flutter as they appeared in chat.

“A lot of you are saying that you want more content of us together,” You giggled as you got back to your windmill building. You hummed softly.

“We were actually planning on doing an Animal Crossing update stream this weekend because I’ve been playing a lot of that in my spare time and my island has changed quite a bit since you last saw it. Hyuck also has yet to see some of the new stuff so we were thinking of doing a chill stream for that, it’s also winter time in the game so that’s very exciting!” Your eyes went back and forth between placing blocks and reading chat.

“meh77 thank you for the 100 bits! I see a lot of you saying you want to see us play Among Us together..hmm” You thought for a moment, continuing the outline of your windmill.

“Maybe I’ll send Hyuck and the crew a message and see if they’d want to play a few rounds later. But I do want to make some good windmill progress so hopefully they plan on playing Phasmophobia for a bit.” You smiled at all the excited messages that took over your chat and picked up your phone to text your group chat. You looked back into your chat as you typed the message into your phone and pressed send.

“Hey actually, are any of them in chat...?” You raised your eyebrows and checked through the messages, scanning for any of the mod icons. It didn’t take long for you to spot chats confirming two of your friends attendance.

“Sick, Jaem and Mark are here AND they’re down to play. Ooh I need more wood..” You sorted your inventory and went back to your house for more resources. You looked down at your phone screen when it lit up, reading the replies that just came in.

“Oh! Wow- Renjun and Jisung both already replied and are in! Looks like we’ll be playing some Among Us in a bit. And yes, I’m sure Hyuck will be joining. If you’ve never watched him play; he is very good. It would be awesome if we got imposter together tonight- this is going to be so fun!!” You clapped your hands before continuing back to the windmill. The chat filled with more enthusiastic messages as you changed the subject back to your Minecraft plans. A small smile found your lips when your phone lit up again, this time with a text from Donghyuck.

“Chat is looking forward to among us later, they really want to see us killing everyone together ;) talk to you in a bit, baby.”

streamer!hyuck mini m.l

unus annus m.l

[imnotwolverine]

A special request

Henry Cavill x reader oneshot

Word count: 1.566 (it was supposed to a drabble mkey?) 

Disclaimer: just fluff

Summary: One of your fanfiction stories has made it to the silver screen, starring Henry as your lead. During a talkshow the two of you meet for the first time and fluffy awkwardness ensues. 

Author’s note: I dreamed this last night and I swear I was still blushing by the time I woke up - woops. 

‘Welcome, welcome Henry! Do sit down.’ The applause slowly died down as Henry sat down, smiling at Graham.

‘Thank you. Thanks for having me Graham.’

‘Now. I’d like to kick in this door straight away. We have a little surprise for you.’

‘A surprise? Okay.. haha’ Henry smiled, raising an eyebrow at the audience.

‘Don’t worry, don’t worry. We’re not going to kidnap you or anything.’ The audience laughed. ‘Now! You’re currently touring for your newest film and we found something that probably would..eh..tickle your fancy.’

‘You did?’ Henry gave a hesitant look at Graham.

‘Before we bring out the surprise, I’m curious; you received the script, which was based on a fanfiction..about you. Did you ever get to read the original story? The fan written one?’

‘I..did..actually. Wait. Please don’t tell me you’ve managed to get her here.’

‘Well..’ Graham shrugged and snickered happily. ‘..time to see for yourself.’ Graham jumped up from his chair and gestured his team to bring in “the present”.

Squinting your eyes and laughing hesitantly you walked up the stage - near losing your footing as you were to occupied with the bright hot lights that shone at the red couch. Meanwhile Henry looked over his shoulder at his “present” and it was clear to anyone he was struck with confusion.

Wait. THIS was the writer?

Graham was first to shake hands with you, allowing Henry some time to quickly scramble up to his feet.

‘Hello dear! So good to have you here and welcome to the Graham Norton show!’ The audience applauded happily as you grinned, your eye soon to land on a slightly flabbergasted Henry.

‘Hi.’ You giggled.

‘Uh..hi.’ Henry outstretched both arms, pulling you in for an awkward hug, leaving you no time to even register what was happening.

Graham chuckled and sat back down, twisting in his chair while you and Henry quickly took your place on the couch, a blush on both your cheeks.

‘So! SURPRISE!’ Graham smiled, flailing out his hands and near throwing his cards in the excitement.

‘This is..a surprise for sure.’ Henry breathed, looking back over at you.

‘First impressions?’ Graham cooed, seeing the nervous but curious looks the two of you shared.

‘Eh…damn you are way bigger than I had expected.’ You blurted out, laughing giddily. ‘I guess pictures DO only tell half the story.’

Henry laughed shyly, looking at his knees for a short moment before he looked back up at you, intrigued by what he saw.

‘Thanks..I guess? And as for me..well..I’ve never seen a picture of you or anything. So I must admit my imagination had run a little wild on what ..you..would look like.’

You raised your eyebrows, slightly surprised: ‘But you have thought about it? Wow. So do you always do that when reading someone’s story?’ You turned slightly, folding your arm over the backrest and pulling up a leg to get more comfortable.

‘Eh…’ Henry’s mind blanked for a moment as his eyes quickly flicked back and forth between Graham and you.

‘Admittedly..no.’ He licked his lips, looking at the audience for a slight as he continued. ‘I..guess this is a good moment to admit that I have read your work. All of your work. And I read your stories WAY before my agent even sent me that script.’

‘Really? Oh…’ Your face flushed bright red at the thought - all those paper thin plot lines to indulge in pure Henry smut? Yes. He read all of them.

Henry smiled, also leaning back on the sofa and moving an arm over the back rest - near mirroring your pose.

‘I really liked them.’ He said matter of factly, searching for eye contact with you. You smiled awkwardly and the fact the audience was “awe”-ing right now, didn’t help much in making the situation any less awkward.

‘Ha..That’s..good. Good. Wow I hadn’t expected that.’ You resumed, sitting up a bit and looking at Henry. He smiled warmly.

‘Okay. Maybe for the audience: just to kind of …share a little intel here.’ You looked at the audience. ‘I write fanfiction that includes what you best can describe as ..porn? With him being one of my regular characters. So. Yes. This is.. strange.’

The audience let out a loud chuckle, some people wooing.

‘Yea..well I’m glad they picked the romcom story to be filmed. Otherwise I might have had to make a career switch.’ Henry shrugged, grinning at the thought. You laughed.

‘Yea..even movie magic would have a hard time translating that in a PG-13 kind of way.’

The two of you snickered and Graham finally leaned back in.

‘Now Henry. You HAVE read all of her material. And you say you DID have some ideas on what she’d look like. I am probably not the only curious about what it is you were expecting?!’ The audience agreed with Graham and you also shrugged, admitting the curiosity was there.

Henry gave an exasperated look at the audience, then directed his attention back at you.

‘Well. Let’s first of all say I definitely didn’t expect anything close to what you look like, so bear with me. From the stories you wrote I could distill that you were at least medium height, probably dark or red haired and I figured you’d have green eyes since your first stories included a lot of characters with green eyes.’

‘Well, you got that right.’ You shrugged, seeing Henry hesitate.

‘I however didn’t expect you to be this…pretty? Eh..goodness this really puts me in the spot now, doesn’t it?’ Henry smiled awkwardly, hoping you wouldn’t get mad.

You however didn’t mind. If anything this was pure gold for your smutty heart.

‘Thank you…Hmm..Gosh this makes the whole situation even more weird. But I guess I could have expected as much. A few weeks ago someone reached out through my DM’s, asking if I wanted to be part of this show. I initially thought someone was pulling my leg. But alas. I got curious. Asked for their contact info. Contacted them. And yes. This was REAL…and now I’m HERE. With you! Life is so weird.’ You rambled, shaking your head in slight disbelief.

‘Well I’m glad you accepted the offer. It’s ..truly nice to meet you. For real now. Not just by reading your work.’

You smiled. ‘It’s nice to meet you too…Henry’ He grinned and you finally, finally dared to take a real, close look at him.

‘You really are one handsome man. Yeeus. In my mind you had like..some medium okay skin, some hair out of place and perhaps a crooked tooth or something. You don’t however. And your eyes are SO much more blue than I had expected. And that heterochromia..’ You gawked in amazement. ‘..okay..now I’m really just babbling. Sorry.’ You sniffled and quickly reached for the glass of wine that stood forlorn on the table.

Henry smiled and followed your movements with quiet curiosity. What he was thinking? Nobody knew.

Graham had been uncharacteristically quiet for some time now and was leaning in to intervene, but decided against it, sitting back in his chair. There was something going on between the two of you that was close to actual real chemistry. Sparks flying and all.

You noticed Graham’s hesitance and gave him a questioning look.

‘Oh please continue.’ Graham smiled, folding his hands in his lap like an excited school kid.

‘Eh okay..’ You turned your attention back to Henry, his blue eyes studying you. A giddy smile tugged on both your lips.

‘So do you write from own experiences?’ He asked.

‘I guess I do. Pretty much everything I write does come from my perspective, my experiences. Though of course..I fill in a lot too. Like..characterising you.’

‘I thought you characterised me pretty well.’ Henry smiled, seeing another shy blush cross over your cheeks.

‘Really?’

‘So much so that I maybe..saved some of your stories on my phone just so I could read them when I need it. Like…’ Henry pulled a face. ‘..like when I am feeling a bit lonely I’ll read the romcom stuff. When I’m fed up or annoyed some of the short stories - love your Geralt work - and when I’m a bit horny..well….’ The audience laughed. ‘Yea. It’s quite unique to be able to read porn about..yourself.’

‘Oh gods.’ You shrunk away a bit as Henry offered you a cheeky smile.

‘It’s…really good.’ Henry gave you a warm, unapologetic smile as you quickly drew in a breath, calming your nerves.

‘Dearness me. In a way you are fanboying over my work and I am fangirling over your work. And that’s all fun and games till you actually meet each other. Are we like…each others fans?’ You asked.

Henry’s smile grew as he tilted his head.

‘I guess we are, hmmm.’ Henry smiled, thinking.

‘Yep.’ You nodded, also somewhat lost in thought.

A quiet moment snuck in as you both took on a pensive expression.

...

‘He—.’ ‘Heyy.’ You both spoke simultaneously.

‘Ladies first.’ Henry quickly added.

You smiled: ‘If you have any special requests…I mean..I’d gladly…write..for you.’ With every word you became more confused, seeing Henry burst out in laughter, shoulders shaking.

‘That was just what I was about to ask.’

‘Hmm? Really?’

‘Really.’ He smiled, leaning in slightly. ‘First request. How about ..a first date?’

[writefinch]

The Prince’s Offering, Pt.4

Between the strong wine, the strange tea, and the determined girls, he could not even mount a token resistance. He closed his eyes and allowed the sensations to overwhelm him, hoping that the playing of the miniature harp would mask his not-wholly-masculine gasps of appreciation. After rising a second time, Mido's technique changed from allowing him to luxuriate in her throat to something more rhythmic, bobbing her head up and down, her hand wrapping around his shaft wherever her mouth left it, lavishing attention on the tip, and mashing her lips against his pubic bone at the bottom of each stroke.

Davai felt something wet on his chin. He touched his hand to the spot and realized that he'd let a line of drool spill from his lips, and felt mortified. He looked up and hoped that nobody else had noticed it, and saw that both of the other men present were quite well distracted themselves.

Thom the Brigand had the wine girl sitting on his lap. For a moment it appeared as if her cock had burst free of its gilded cage, but Davai saw that it was actually Thom's cock sticking up through her thighs. It was monstrously, unpleasantly thick, thick enough that Davai would struggle to wrap his hand around it, and from the way it jutted up out of Ehsan's legs it was at least eight inches in length. The girl had coated her thighs in olive oil and was crossing her ankles to create a tight fit, and from below Thom thrust up and into it, treating the gap as he would a cunt. He was nuzzling her hair from the back, and she stroked the tip of his knob with her fingertips as he fucked her.

Karim was indulging in a pleasure far simpler; Tabitha had mounted him and rolled her hips up and down as he fucked her. She moaned wantonly and without shame as his cock pumped in and out of her sex, caressing his face and lavishing him with kisses. His eyes were squeezed shut and his face was a mask of concentration, only slowing his thrusts to return a particularly passionate kiss.

"Close your eyes," Bahar whispered.

He obeyed. The two girls shifted ever so slightly without stopping their attentions, and something subtly changed. While they certainly hadn't been fighting against each other before, now it felt as if they were working as one mind, each stroke of his chest and lick of his shaft working in harmony, and their actions were now building to a crescendo. His hips flicked up almost of their own accord, and he knew he could not hold out much longer.

Bahar turned his head to the side and kissed him forcefully, slipping her tongue between his lips. He had been kissed like this once before in his life as a young man whose voice had barely broken, at a noble gathering a hundred miles west of his own lands with a knight's maiden daughter. Apart from the kiss they had done little more than paw at each other in a darkened hallway of the estate, but he still thought of that girl in his lonelier moments, and the lust-induced guilt brought on by it had driven him to confession more times than he cared to count.

There certainly hadn't been a second girl giving suck to him at the same time, back then.

He threw himself into the kiss, ripping off Bahar's veil, grabbing her hair, and pushing his tongue into her mouth in return. It spurred her on and seemed to spur Mido on, but he could go no further. He broke the kiss, biting his bottom lip as he came, filling Mido's mouth with his seed. Bahar pushed his face into her bosom as he rode out his climax.

Some time later, he felt the girl's lips leave his cock. Bahar disentangled herself, replaced her veil, and began to straighten Davai's effects—starting by tucking his half-hard and rather sensitive cock back into his stockings. Davai looked around in a daze. Thom and Karim had apparently finished already and were now half-dozing on their pillows with their lovers curled up next to them. He saw Mido holding a wooden cup, her cheeks bulging out—embarrassment and a strange pride mixed within him as he saw how thoroughly he had filled her mouth—before turning away from him to spit his seed into the cup.

With nothing else apparent to do, he joined the others and rested in Bahar's arms for a short while. He did not fall asleep, and after a few minutes all three men had composed themselves somewhat. Tabitha looked at Davai, looked at Karim with a devilish grin, and whispered something into Karim's ear.

Karim chided her gently. "Tabitha, you broody vixen, do not talk of our guest as if he is not in front of us!"

Davai looked at him intending to say something, but his mind was utterly blank. Karim only chuckled in return.

"Tabitha and I wish to know what you think of our hospitality, so far," he said, a look of sheepish amusement on his face.

"Unusual." Davai blinked. "Invigorating, pleasurable, perhaps a little... confusing to my provincial mind, but thoroughly delightful. As exciting as anything I have experienced without a sword in my hand in a score of years, and I do not know if anything from my own lands will surpass it in another score."

Karim beamed, and seemed genuinely happy at his words. "It warms my heart to hear it. My people's peculiar forms of hospitality have not always been to the taste of Western peoples, or certain peoples in the Near East for that matter, though the Mughals always did appreciate them."

Davai chuckled softly. "If I am honest—and I pray that I do not stray into impertinence—I am surprised to be found worthy of the impressions. I am here to give gifts and tribute after all, not to receive them, and I have a far greater need to impress well upon you than the Great Empire does to impress well upon me."

Thom did a half-snicker-snort that Davai found irritating, but Karim listened and nodded, and for a moment he seemed contemplative. "If I am truly honest I had not considered such a view," he said, "but I can see how such a view would arise."

"It is of no real consequence, I think," said Davai.

Karim shook his head. "No, I think it is worth consideration, truly, and if you wish I could provide some perspective you may find enlightening."

"Certainly, I would be grateful."

"In this case I do not aim to provide my own perspective, or even the perspective of my people, but here I wish to outline the world in the way that the Great Empire—through its generals, its administrators, and perhaps even the Great Emperor himself—seems to view it." He paused. “Hmm. Pray tell, do you know how many men were slain in the Great Emperor's first conquest?"

"I confess I do not. Four thousand, perhaps?"

"A few men fewer than that," said Karim with a smile. "Just under a dozen."

"Truly?" Davai's eyebrows shot up. "Was it a hamlet he conquered?"

"That is not far from the truth. The Great Emperor's first conquest was that of a band of the Yurchid, a rival tribe of nomads on the endless steppes. When a fifth of their fighting men had fallen, they surrendered. Do you know what happened to the women and children of the Yurchid after their surrender?"

"Nothing pleasant, I'd wager," he answered, recalling the tales of the serving girls.

"You would lose that wager, Lord Davai. The surviving Yurchid men were married off to Mughal women, the Yurchid women were married off to Mughal men, every child was given a place in the combined tribe, and a portion of loot from every raid was set aside for provision of the widows and orphans."

Davai blinked. "That does... not match the tales I have heard of Imperial conquest, if I am honest."

"No, no it does not. There are reasons for this." Karim looked pensive, even weary. "The Great Emperor was not a title our ruler inherited, and if he was born into it in the theological sense it was not a title anyone acknowledged until many years into his life. The Brilliant Horde and the Mughal Nation did not exist as recently as when I still knew the taste of mother's milk. They were scores upon scores of nomadic bands drawn from the eight tribes of the steppe, the larger ones numbering a dozen grosses, the smaller ones little more than moveable hamlets.

"The Great Emperor conquered that first Yurchid band not out of avarice or bloodlust, but because their raids and thefts threatened to drive his own people to privation. He had himself been raised by a widow and cruelly driven out of a conquered tribe as a child, and he had seen how the miserly treatment of all but the leader's most trusted men weakened a tribe as a crack weakens an anvil. It kindled within him a determination to never let such things come to his own people, and in doing this his people grew strong.

"The combined band caught the eye and ire of greater tribes on the steppes, and so his second, third and fourth conquests were necessary to prevent a more vicious attack from his rivals. As the Mughal tribe grew, their needs could no longer be satisfied through the mere raiding of caravans and redistribution of conquered wealth, and so they attacked the border towns of the Old Eastern Kingdoms. Where the old steppes tribes could chance a raid to steal some unguarded livestock and ungleaned crops before being turned away by well-armed militias, the Great Emperor's attacks took towns wholesale, looted everything in sight, and drove away refugees with nothing more than what they could carry in their arms.

"When the kings of those places caught word of this, they tried to bribe his rival nomads to destroy the Great Emperor, but their attempts were too late, and he soon had all of the tribes of the steppe united under one banner. That is when the conquest of the Old Eastern Kingdoms began." He paused to sip his tea. "Did you know of this tale?"

"I knew the Great Empire came from the steppes, but little else."

Karim nodded. "They learned much as they conquered the Old Eastern Kingdoms. Their enemies had only experienced Mughal tactics as robberies, never as a battle to the death, and on the open field none could resist the Brilliant Horde. Walled cities stymied them but for a brief time; they used the great administrative wonders of the kingdoms to their advantage and kidnapped engineers and architects with every raid. Cities found themselves withering under siege engines designed by the kingdom's own minds and built by the forced labour of fleeing refugees.

"Distance became a challenge. Though the Brilliant Horde had no vast supply trains and could live off the land almost indefinitely, it took longer and longer to return their loot to the felt tent cities of the Mughal steppes. It had become an inconvenience and a liability to leave razed and abandoned cities in their wake. What they required were obedient cities, not of the Mughal tribe, but loyal to their conquerors. The Great Emperor's most faithful general even suggested the manner of the cautious caravans who would preemptively give gifts to the tribes of the steppes to avert more determined raids.

"They surrounded a great and ancient city of the Old Eastern Kingdoms and told them to send forth their most eminent scholar, Sudong Po. In their fear the city's rulers rushed him out of the gates, where he was brought to the Great Emperor's tent. The Great Emperor explained his proposal to Sudong Po, and asked how he could make such a thing come to pass. Sudong Po replied that the Old Eastern Kingdoms knew the tribes of the steppes to be unlettered horsemen who squabbled over goats and barely venerated their ancestors, and would therefore never obey the spoken word of a Mughal chieftain.

"The Great Emperor was not satisfied with this answer, and so Sudong Po was rolled up in a rug and beaten with sticks until he could provide a better one. Chastened, Sudong Po told the Great Emperor that although many of the rulers of the kingdoms were weak and depraved, the strength of their rule derived from the administrative system of scribes and magistrates, and from respect for the written word of law.

"This answer was most satisfactory to the Great Emperor, who had Sudong Po concoct and write out the Mughal Law. From thereon out, any city which immediately surrendered to the Brilliant Horde was peaceably brought under Mughal Law and given the protection of empire in return for tithe. Any city which resisted was brought into the empire only after its rulers had been slain and replaced. This arrangement went well, for a time."

Davai nodded, listening intently. "The Brilliant Horde traveled to the Near East after that, I take it?"

"Yes, yes. The Near East presented a new problem. Like the Old Eastern Kingdoms, they knew of the nomads of the steppes and saw them as incapable of conquest—a notion they were soon disabused of—and as incapable of rule. This second notion proved harder to dispel. The Caliphs of the Near East did not derive law merely from the written word, but from true holy law as laid out by the Prophet, peace be upon him, and debated by clerics. You could replace a conquered ruler but you could not place in a new system of laws and have it wholly accepted; at best it would be seen as a supplement to holy law and at worst there were many wretched emirs and caliphs who paid no attention to their own laws let alone those of a foreign empire.

Karim opened his mouth and closed it. There seemed to be a touch of sorrow in his eyes. "There was... much was lost. Cities would surrender to the Great Empire only to withdraw tribute and attack imperial forces from the rear. Worse, some conquered cities whose rulers had been replaced saw their new rulers turn on the empire. Every city that did this was razed to the ground and had its people driven out with nothing. A city I had once visited on the Tigris had a grand library which was said to contain one million texts. One million! The Great Empire conquered the city once and were forced to conquer it a second time, and on the second occasion they cast every book in that library into the Tigris until it ran black with ink.

"Such rebellion ceased after the death of the Great Emperor's grandson at the hands of a traitor city. Not only was this city razed, but every living being within it was slain. For one hundred days the smell of burning corpses hung over the whole of the Near East, and the uprisings ended. The Near Eastern mind does not work solely on reverence and ceremony but on logic and true faith. Once consequences of their actions became apparent, their actions changed."

Karim paused again to sip his tea, then turned to one of the serving girls. "My dear, would you fetch another tray of sweetmeats."

"Of course, Master," the girl replied.

"Go and rouse the dog handlers also, it is almost time for their daily training," he added as she left. He turned back to Davai. "Now where was I... Ah, next they came to the West, and I must say, Lord Davai, that your people were an interesting puzzle for the Great Empire."

"In what manner?" Davai asked.

"In one sense, you are not a nomadic people who can be inducted into a conquering horde, you have no system of law that could match the thousands upon thousands of bureaucrats and scholars of the Far East, and your own internecine conflicts are as bloody as anything the Mughals did to the great cities of Persia and Arabia. What's more, you are not a land of ancient wonders or vast riches, and so each horseman of the Great Empire who falls in battle is a dearer loss."

"It hardly seems worth the effort, if I am honest."

Karim nodded. "Some in the Great Empire have argued that very point, yes. But there is another difference: apart from the farthest-flung borderlands of Rus, your people never knew the Mughals as anything other than an unstoppable force with fulminating powders and bizarre siege engines, whose emissaries travel on palanquins dressed in the wealth of a hundred nations, and who seem fated to conquer not only the known world but to discover and conquer the rest of the world too.

"You are a hard people to frighten and a hard people to persuade, but you are not a hard people to impress. The Great Empire's power does not appear cruel or mercurial—as many of your own rulers do—but it can be resisted little more than the will of Allah, and though its tithes seem dear, it provides a gateway to great riches should peace be made. This is why the Great Empire has placed such emphasis not on the unspeakable cruelties of a Catholic torturer or the reasoning of the ancient scholars in its domination of the West, but on submission: rulers who oppose us must be torn out at the root and have their bloodline rendered utterly inconsequential, and rulers who bow to us must demonstrate that the Great Emperor is feared and venerated more than any oath, king, or pope. The Great Empire does not aim to simply conquer the West, Davai. It seeks to awe you." Karim sat back on his cushion, smiling softly, with a strange look in his eye. The serving girl returned and placed a new tray of brightly-coloured candied squares on the table.

Davai thought for a moment. "I appreciate you telling me this, Sir Karim," he said, "though I wonder why you would explain these mysteries so comprehensively before impressing upon me the value of uncomprehending awe."

Before Karim could reply, Thom the Brigand burst out laughing. It was a hoarse, rough, ugly laugh that grated on Davai's ears. "But you haven't comprehended it, Young Lord!" Thom brayed. "You've yet to understand any of it."

Davai turned to him with genuine anger. "Explain it to me then, or keep your slobber-slicked lips shut," he snapped.

Thom's grin nauseated him. "I will explain later, lord, do not worry your pretty little head about it."

Before Davai could respond, they were interrupted by the entry of eight men into the room. They were Mughal soldiers, short and stocky with shaved heads, wide smiles and bow-legged gaits of a lifelong horse rider, but they carried no arms and wore no armor. They did not even wear the heavy fur deels that every Mughal dressed in, and were instead clad in thin linen gowns. Davai felt cold panic grip his innards, but the men did not approach him or even seem to notice him, instead making their way to the dais at the back of the room.

"Lord Davai, I honestly do not know of what your companion speaks," said Karim, catching his attention, "but I do have an example of what I spoke of before. You see, in my old life I held two jobs. I ran a brothel, a task I mostly enjoyed, and I worked as a torturer, a task I mostly did not. In my new life I combine these roles, providing lavish hospitality for those who appreciate it, and providing discipline for those who require it."

The Mughal men lit two standing torches at the back of the dais, bathing it in orange light. The throne and dog statues were clearly illuminated now, and it truly seemed as if the statues were twitching. Pasha stopped playing the harp, the low moaning of the wind returning, still audible over the bustle of the men. One of the Mughals crouched down next to a hound statue, took hold of its cast iron face, and removed it.

Davai blinked for a moment, frozen in place, unable to understand why the metal statue had a human face, flesh and blood under a metal mask. In quick succession the other seven men unmasked the other seven faces.

There were eight faces, human faces, with pale, clammy skin and pink cheeks. Their eyes were hidden under kidskin blindfolds, a thick metal hook attached to twine pulled their nostrils up into a porcine grimace, and their mouths were forced open with a metal ring wrapped in leather. Their chins were slick with their own spit, which dribbled out from their open mouths to form puddles on the floor below. The noise of the wind changed, and Davai realized with horror that it was never the wind at all, but instead the moans of these poor souls muffled through iron masks.

"What in God's name is this?" snapped Davai, his stomach twisting in disgust and fear.

"Oh, the daughter of a knight, a squire, one of the Old Duke's bastards, perhaps two but I can't recall, a merchant's heiress, some or other maiden..." Karim said offhandedly. He saw the expression on Davai's face and rolled his eyes. "Calm yourself, Lord Davai, I assure you that not one of these miscreants came to this keep willingly, and none even approach your station."

"A knight's daughter is still a noble, and a squire is not far off," Davai said through gritted teeth.

Karim shook his head. "You misunderstand, it is not your status as a lord I refer to now, but your role as an emissary. The harshest sanctions of Mughal law are reserved for those who harm the messenger or the diplomat; cities have been razed for less."

Davai settled down, but not by much. His gaze was fixed on the men, and though their backs were turned to him, it seemed as if they were removing metal plates from the rear of the hound-bound captives. "What is the purpose of this?" he asked, not even looking at Karim, all pretense of protocol and politesse forgotten.

"It is as I said, Lord Davai: the purpose is discipline. Each prisoner you see is being punished for crimes against the Great Empire, or are receiving punishment on behalf of another who has committed such crimes." Karim stroked his chin. "This particular selection is weighted heavily towards the latter. Perhaps their house tried to oppose the Great Empire, or their company swindled its merchants, or their uncle swore oaths unwisely. In the Near East they would have to be slain quickly and mercifully as a message to all others, and in the Far East their family would be murdered one generation above and one generation below to uphold respect for written law, but in this Western land a display of awe and submission is enough. Your people believe in the forgiveness of Christ, and in a similar manner your trespasses against the Great Empire may be forgiven as long as you are willing to roll over and show your belly.

Karim laughed to himself. "Not that these ones can roll over; they are restrained in a manner most strict, their arms and legs folded over and bound in silk bandages, resting on their knees and elbows, held quite still by the cast iron shell around them. They are let out to exercise often enough to stop cankers and bedsores—though they seem little more fond of their exercise than they do of their rest—and they otherwise remain bound and ready to serve. Right now they are about to be... well, 'fed' doesn't do it justice, truly. I implore you to watch."

Davai watched silently as the eight men parted their gowns. They wore nothing underneath and their rampant cocks jutted forth for all to see. Their cocks were not long, perhaps even Davai had a longer member than the shorter among the group, but they were imposingly thick, with plum-sized heads peeking out from their foreskins. All eight men knelt before their captives, and the captives moaned—even though they could not see them, they could surely smell the weapons raised an inch from their mouths.

As one the Mughal men thrust their dicks between their victims' ring-gagged lips, silencing their moans. The men pushed forward inch by inch with no mercy or regard for the prisoners' suffering until each one was hilted inside, balls flush against chins, noses pressed into pubic hair. The only audible noises were muffled retching and a clinking rattle—Davai deduced from the twitching of the closest prisoner that this noise was one of them struggling madly against their bonds to no avail.

The men held themselves in place for a time, and without realizing it Davai had held his breath in a mixture of sympathy and anticipation. He took a deep, dizzy breath once he realized he was holding it, and it was several moments later that all the Mughal men pulled out, resting the tips of their cocks on the edges of their prisoners' ring gags. All of the victims gasped for breath but one retched with startling loudness and spewed a mouthful of clear bile over the tip of their rapist's cock. A cheer went up across the Mughals for this, the perpetrator raising his hands in triumph as the two men nearest to him slapped his back in congratulation.

"To be truthful, the reason I say that 'fed' does not do this task justice," said Karim, devilishly, "is that our hounds tend to lose more food than they swallow."

Before Davai could say a word the men fell upon the hounds and fucked their throats, battering their tonsils with hard, sharp thrusts, leaning over their backs to grope and finger their now-exposed backsides. The prisoners were not silent about their treatment. Some sobbed, some whimpered, one seemed to scream with rage at their predicament, but they all made the *gyack-gyack-gyack* sound of a goose swallowing a too-large piece of bread. The puddles of slop beneath their chins were quickly turning to pools, and the stink of sweat and musk cut through the incense and heady wine that hung about the room.

Davai did not realise that his fists were clenched, though he would not have cared even if he had known. "This is senseless."

"No!" Karim raised his voice, and it broke through the haze of anger and revulsion that clouded Davai's mind sufficiently to make him look his way. "The third hound from the right is a knight's daughter whose father conspired to warn a foreign prince that his alliance of convenience with the Great Empire was no longer convenient, out of degenerate loyalties and a warped sense of honour. We gave the knight a choice, and he was free to walk down the senseless path—to be put to the sword along with his liege, his company, and his entire family to purge any others who might harbour such treasonous intentions. He instead chose the sensible path, and gave up his only daughter to suffer for his sins.

Karim speared a piece of brandy-soaked pear with a tiny silver fork, ate it in two bites, and continued. "Tonight, when she is allowed out of her prison to stretch her limbs and feast on water and stale bread, she will write her father a letter, as she does every week. The letter will tell of her misery, the terror of being enclosed in a space tighter than any casket, the aches that wrack her limbs, the stench of the soldiers who use her as a pleasure toy, the burning, splitting pain in her throat from having it cruelly ravaged every day and every night, the vile taste of her lovers' creamy seed, her longing to see her family and father once more, and her despair at the fate that has befallen her.

"A messenger takes each letter written in her own hand and stained with her own tears, carries it to her father, and reads every word aloud in a private audience to ensure the father knows the consequences that his crimes have wrought. He is the only one who knows of his daughter's fate—all others believe her dead in a tragic accident. We hold the father to a higher standard of loyalty now, and should he fail to meet it the private audience of each reading would become a public audience, and all who know him would see the extent to which he has become dishonoured.

"Two people suffer for a crime that could warrant the sacking of a town and the murder of hundreds," Karim sniffed. "I see nothing senseless in this at all."

Davai looked upon the depraved scene as he considered his host's words. The man using the knight's daughter had pulled out of her mouth and was stroking her cheek with a knuckle, whispering to her in a foreign language. If it was not clear from the way her face scrunched and shuddered, the damp spots soaking through her blindfold made it obvious that she was sobbing hysterically. Her rapist gave her cheek a gentle slap, and then he looked down, pursed his lips, and hocked a thick wad of spit onto the tip of his cock. He slipped his dick between her lips and spread the load all over her mouth, giving her a taste of his saliva before pushing back into her throat.

"...Is this to remain her fate until she expires?" he asked softly.

"Bismillah, no!" Karim seemed scandalized. "This is not a death sentence, it is a period of training. First, she must be broken, like any beast of burden. Once not even the dullest ember of resistance burns within her, she can be taught—both how to serve men, and how to service them. After she has been taught she will go through proving, and once she proves herself, she will become a full serving girl. We will then offer to sell her back to her father, although such relatives are often reticent to take back our poor graduates and reveal the truth of their fates, and if she is not bought, she will be put to work."

"I see." Davai's fingers played along his stockings, but he barely felt them, or anything in fact. His whole body felt as if it was filled with air. "And how, ah, how long is the period of breaking?"

Karim shrugged. "That one has been pledging her undying servitude and begging to be allowed to learn the ways of a harem girl for a month and a half, now. It is a good start, but I should imagine she shall need another month or so of seasoning before she's truly ready."

A serving girl approached Karim and knelt down beside him. Davai recognised her as the girl by the bookshelves who had taken the scroll of offering from him earlier. "Master, I have finished examining the offer of tribute from the Houses of the Amber Plains."

"Very good, Farah. Is it as expected?"

"Roughly so, Master. There are some small differences between the text in Latin and the text in Mongolian, but they seem to be difficulties in translation of little consequence. Would you like me to give you the translation, Master?"

"That would be delightful, thank you."

In the back of his mind, Davai knew that the conversation taking place between his host and his pet scrivener was of vital importance, that it was in fact the very crux of the task he had traveled here to complete, but he could tear neither his eyes nor his ears from the commotion on the dais. All sixteen creatures upon it had reached a fever pitch—mad, unthinking thrusting from the men and panicked wailing from the hounds below them. The men began to climax.

The man using the knight's daughter finished first, bellowing triumphantly as he blew his load deep in her mouth, hunching over her and pulling her head into his crotch until he was finished. With a muffled retch, a thick trail of sperm burst out from between her lips and his cock to run down her chin. He pulled out and for a moment she seemed unable to breathe before she gave a great shuddering cough and two lines of semen spewed out of her nostrils, streaked red from where his rough thrusts had ruptured something within her nose, as more seed burbled out from her mouth.

The next man along finished immediately after, pulling out of his hound's mouth. With one hand he stroked his cock and with the other he caught the splash of spit and bile that spewed from between his victim's lips and rubbed it in their face. As soon as he moved his hand away the first rope of cum hit the hound's forehead, dripping down in a straight line over his blindfold, down his nose, lips and chin and in his mouth. Nearly a dozen more spurts of seed flew forth, plastering the trapped squire's face in thin, slimy sperm, coating his cheeks and concealing his almost-imperceptible shadow of stubble—he had clearly been shaved today—with much landing directly in his mouth.

When the second man finished the remaining six Mughals climaxed more or less at the same time, splitting Davai's attention between them. He saw a couple of the hounds receive a mask of seed in the same manner as the squire, another forced to drink down their gift from a cock buried in their throat, one Mughal let his cum ooze directly onto his hound's tongue before clamping a hand over their mouth to force them to swallow. With horror he watched how one victim—the one who had struggled terribly within her bonds to no avail when the rape began—had her mouth stuffed with a rag before the man pressed the tip of his cock to her hook-stretched nostrils and spewed his seed directly into her nose. The man used his finger to push his molasses-thick semen back up into her nostrils as it threatened to run down her upper lip, forcing her to inhale and presumably swallow it lest she suffocate.

He heard a soft wailing, not muffled or wet enough to have come from one of the hounds, and he turned to see Justyna the woman-gift in her bonds, craning her neck to look at the perverse scene on the dais, tears streaming down her face as she saw her inevitable and fast-approaching fate. A cold weight settled in his stomach. He had delivered her to this, after all, and if there was truly a God who could survey a world with such horrors in it, he was not sure he would ever find forgiveness for such a callous act.

A cough from beside him brought Davai out of his trance-like observation. "Lord Davai," said Karim, "my scribe and I have perused the formal offer of tithe from the Houses of the Amber Plains, and as a representative of the Great Empire I find it appropriate and respectable."

Davai blinked. "Yes," he said, and swallowed. His palms were slick with sweat that did not wick away or dry no matter how much he fussed them along his stockings. "I see, yes. That is good. Thank you, Sir Karim, it is most appreciated."

"Appreciated, pah, it is a good and profitable deal for the Great Empire and an honourable one for the Houses of the Amber Plains. Such a thing is a cause for celebration!” Karim nodded, smiling broadly. “Ihsan, darling, fetch another jug of wine would you?"

Part 5 here: https://writefinch.tumblr.com/post/649559112232894464/the-princes-offering-pt5-noncon-bondage

[avengersassemble-fics]

You Again

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an: lmao LISTEN do i know its been two years since this was updated?? yes BUT ya know the people ask and the people shall receive lol feel free to catch up if ya want. also!! if you're invested in this pls bare with me on the links, my blog was changed in 2019, but I fixed the master list links so use that or search on the blog! be careful.. things aren’t always what they appear ;)

We’ve been together long enough for me to figure it out

The sentence flowed out of her red stained lips easily which threw everyone for a loop, surprised glances were tossed around the group. Barry’s mouth formed an O shape and Diana’s brows raised as she glanced between you and Bruce, whose angry eyes were locked on the smirking Selina Kyle. Bruce’s hand locked onto her arm and started pulling her away, leaving his team behind and Diana cleared her throat.

“Right then, let’s. . Get back.”

Her sympathetic eyes locked onto your face, which had a blank expression and led everyone back to the plane. It was strangely quiet, except for Barry who spoke quickly to Clark about something, “And I told him, all I did was push people over and run away, but he didn’t believe me! So..”

With Alfred’s help the plane almost completely piloted itself, Diana didn’t have to do much for it to return to the safe house. As it neared, she flipped a few switches to conceal the aircraft, and landed the plane just outside the familiar abandoned building. The engines slowed to a hummed noise, and everyone got up from their seats - everyone except for you. Barry passed you first but paused, which made Diana press her elbow into his back to make him move along. Clark stopped beside you, and placed a hand on your shoulder carefully, which caused you to look up from your pensive state, a small hmm leaving your lips.

“You wanna come inside?” He asked. You looked from his stare to your hands, and sighed.

“Don’t have much of a choice, do I?”

Clark smiled sadly at you, “Not too much of a choice.”

You laughed at his honesty. It wasn’t actual laughter, but he recognized the sarcasm laced in it. The half smile, the way you shook your head, and you finally stood. He let you walk off first and into the light drizzle of rain. Each step the pair took further from the ship, the ground beneath it began to descend. You didn’t even need to look behind you, Bruce was ever the brilliant man for that detail too.

Tonight you were learning quite a bit from him. Just like before.

When Clark and you joined the rest of the group, the chatter quieted. Barry was attempting to locate food in the kitchen, and Diana stood straighter from leaning against the wall near it. She smiled sheepishly at you, and Clark left from your side. You looked at the computer in the room, and was the one to ask the dreaded question.

“When is he going to be here?”

Diana glanced at Clark for a moment, who only shrugged his shoulders, “We’re. . . Not sure.”

You nodded, and found yourself drawn to the couch, and planted yourself there on one side. Tonight made everything much more clear for you about the breakup, about those last few months of your relationship with Bruce. It wasn’t the Batman revelation that made the split happen, no it was something much worse. Something that happened just a couple months after that.

Work had gotten busier for you. That wasn’t to say you weren’t successful during your relationship with Bruce, he didn’t play into that. You were successful before you met Bruce, but somehow in those last few weeks things had exploded for your business. You found yourself swamped in work but it was good, it was so good for you and your career. But with it, and with Bruce’s new found vigilantism, you began to see less and less of one another.

He stopped sending flowers, he stopped sending those cute emails like he would at random times in the day, you heard from him less and less. But it wasn’t all his fault, it fell on you as well. Some dinners were cancelled, calls were missed, and texts unsent. It wasn’t on purpose, it just happened. But you didn’t want it to. You never wanted it to.

One night, you remembered the rain and how hard it fell that night, you drove out to see him, in that house by the lake you often wanted to call home. You did, kind of, you stayed there for most nights during the week, but not so much anymore. It was hard to see past the sheet of rain as you pulled into the long waved driveway. But you did it. You parked behind his car and switched the engine off, and squinted into the glass windows. All the lights were on of course, but there was no sign of him.

You had to fling the door open and grab your purse and rush inside. You fumbled with your key and slid it into the lock and let yourself in, but it didn’t matter, you were completely drenched. As you shut the door behind you and wiped some of the water from your face, you heard the tap of feet come down the hallway. But it wasn’t Bruce’s, Alfred came around the corner, and looked shocked to see you.

“Hey Al,” you greeted, and smiled at him.

“I keep telling him to pull the car in if he’s expecting you,” he casually said. You set your purse down and removed your wet jacket, and Alfred was quick to grab it from you.

“Oh he wasn’t expecting me I just thought I’d surprise him,” you said, “is he..?”

“I’m afraid he is,” Alfred replied, already knowing the question. You nodded and started towards the bedroom you shared with Bruce. You didn’t know what you were going to find out that night.

You were pulled from your thoughts when the door opened, everyone looked to it and weren’t surprised to see Bruce enter the room. He looked nervous, everyone could see it, and you just kept your arms rested on your legs, and stared at him.

Bruce let the door close behind him as he took a couple steps into the room. He looked between Clark, Diana, and you. Barry was eating something behind the group in the kitchen, and wasn’t paying too much attention. Clark and Diana stood behind the couch, arms crossed in front of them, but Diana was the first to break the silence.

“Do you care to tell us what’s going on, Bruce?” she asked.

Bruce glanced your way again, but you had averted your gaze to the wall, “I’ve been in contact with Selina about what’s going on, after the Arkham break out,” he stated very carefully.

“Only after?” Clark asked. Bruce narrowed his eyes at him, but you sat there and your stomach turned.

“For this matter, yes,” he said honestly. But Clark knew this wasn’t the answer you had hoped for. He looked at your shoulders tense, as did Bruce. You just continued to rub your hands together.

“Well, what does she know?” Diana pressed.

“The mayor’s office has covered up the fact that all of Arkham’s inmates were broken out,” he said, “not escaped. Someone initiated it. She doesn’t know who this guy is, but he’s planning some kind of siege on the city,” he paused, “he’s only starting with Gotham. Metropolis, Central City, Star City, they’re all going to be targeted.”

Silence filled the room. Diana looked down at her feet and Clark up to the ceiling for a moment. Barry was fully paying attention at this point, and shifted his weight from one leg to another, “Shouldn’t we be getting more guys in on this then? Anyone?”

“I know a lead in Star City,” Bruce said, “but getting him in may be difficult.”

“It’s a start,” Clark said. There was a nodded agreement amongst them, and Diana looked to you once more. She motioned for Clark and Barry to follow her out of the room. Clark followed, pushing Barry along in front of him, who exclaimed his confusion.

That left Bruce and you alone in the open. He had his hands twisted in his jacket pockets and looked at his feet. You finally broke your stare from the wall and looked at him. You both didn’t say anything, and you could feel the sting in your eyes. It was funny, you had told yourself just 6 months ago you wouldn’t cry over Bruce Wayne ever again. Yet here you were.

“What did she mean by it,” you asked in almost a whisper. But he heard you. He just didn’t know how to reply. His silence though bothered you.

“What did she mean by it, Bruce,” you said a little stronger now. That made him finally look up and meet your gaze.

“We’ve been. . . Intimate a few times,” he said, “nothing more than that.”

You nodded, a hurt smirk on your face, “For how long.”

Bruce took a step forward, “(Y/N)-”

“Dont fucking gaslight me,” you said, standing from the couch and pointed at him, “tell me the truth. For how long.”

“Fine! You really wanna know?” He yelled, and put his hands on hips.

“Yes! I want to fucking know!”

“Over a year! There! Are you fucking happy?”

You blinked at him as your jaw dropped a little. Over a year. You broke up only 13 months ago. That could only mean. . . You couldn’t even finish the thought, but his face gave you the answer you never wanted to hear.

“Is that why you pushed me away,” you whispered, “because-”

“Yes,” he breathed, “I. . . Couldn’t bear the thought that I had done it. And I couldn’t admit it to you.”

A single tear fell down your cheek. You shook your head as you focused on a spot on the floor, “Did you. .  In the house did you-”

“Yes,” he mumbled, “a couple of times, yes.”

“A couple,” you stopped yourself, “in the bed that. . . that we would-”

“Yes,” he finished for you. Silence fell over you both as you two began to process what he was sharing, every gruesome detail. Tears were on the brim of your eyes, and Bruce looked on sadly. He tried to take a step closer to you, and you moved away to the end of the couch.

“What do you think-”

“I’m sorry,” he pleaded, “I’m so sorry. I loved you, I still love you-”

“No,” you cut him off this time, “you don’t do that to someone you love.”

“Please just let me explain-”

“No,” you cut him off again, and took another step back, “no you don’t get to explain anything to me.”

Bruce stopped in his tracks, and watched you glance over him one time, and then you turned away from him. And in that moment, he felt like he lost you all over again. He watched you walk away, just like he did over a year ago. And it still broke his heart.

You made it to your room and shut the door very softly. You had managed to hold the tears in but couldn’t any longer. They slid down your cheeks and neck and you stared at the bed before you. The thought of last night came into your mind and something in you snapped. You practically tore the clothing off your body and threw it into a corner of the room, it would go forgotten for awhile. You took your time picking out shorts and a basic tee to throw on when you looked over at the bed. Your skin burned just looking at the sheets and covers on it.

Frantically, you tore every piece of bedding off of it and threw it in the same pile as the clothes. Tears clouded your vision as you worked on peeling each dirty memory from the bed, until it was bare. And you were bare. A quiet sob left your body and you covered your mouth with your hand, and eased yourself onto the ground. You pulled your legs to your chest and leaned against the bed. Tears just slid down your cheeks, and you sat there. Alone. Quiet.

There was a soft knock at the door, but you didn’t bother to acknowledge it. However, that didn’t stop the person from pushing your door open. From the corner of your eye, you saw the tall figure, who tried to look for some kind of sign they could come in. The best you could offer was a glance, and your face scrunching up in another cry. A plea.

Clark entered your room and shut the door behind him. He hurried over to you and sat beside you and that’s when you started to cry once more. His right arm wrapped around your shoulder and you leaned into his side. Your body shook from the cries, and he wrapped his left arm around you to soften the gasps. His chin rested above your head as you burrowed yourself more and more into him.

He sat there with you until you started to calm down. Until the gasps stopped, until your sniffles disappeared, and until you released your legs from your grasp. He tilted his head to get a look at you, and all he could see were those (e/c/l) pensive eyes staring at the wall.

“Stay here,” we whispered. You nodded in response and he carefully detached himself from you. As he stood, you watched as he entered your bathroom and entered the closet in there. He was gone for just a few moments before he reappeared with a fresh set of sheets, and new comforter. He didn’t say anything as he worked around you to fit the sheets on, dress the pillows in new covers, and smooth the comforter over the bed. You didn’t make eye contact with him again until he kneeled before you, and rested his arms on his legs.

“Come on,” he whispered, and held a hand out for you. You looked from his face to his hand, and hesitated only for a moment to take it. Clark pulled you up from the floor, and with his strong arms he helped you climb into bed, and under the covers.

He offered a small smile, and you still gripped his hand. He turned as if to leave, but the fact you didn’t let go of his hand pulled his attention back to you.

“Can you stay for a bit longer, Kent?” You whispered it to him, but he heard you.

He would always hear you.

He nodded and crawled over you so he sat beside you. You sat there quietly for a few moments before you spoke again.

“Did you hear?”

You played with the blanket covering you, and Clark sighed, “I did. . . I’m sorry.”

You shrugged, “I know you can’t help it,” you smiled sadly to yourself, “I just,” you laughed a bit, but this time he could hear that hurt, “Bruce he was the first one that I let into my life, after..”

You trailed off, and Clark frowned, but you didn’t look at him. You just kept playing with the fabric of the blanket.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

You glanced over your shoulder a bit, and then focused back on the blanket you played with. You moved a bit, shimmied down the bed and Clark couldn’t help but smile at your movements. You proceeded to lay your head in his lap, and he carefully moved his arm so it rested behind your back. You were positioned so that you stared ahead at the door, and Clark instinctively started to gently run his fingers over your hair.

He remembered vividly the last time he did this with you. Before you went off for college, before he disappeared from your life. He sat in this same position, and you rested your head in his lap and fell asleep. It would be the last time you saw him for years. But not the last time he would see you.

“Clark,” you suddenly called out.

“Yes?” he asked. You twisted a bit so your head laid straight up in his lap and you could meet his gaze.

You bit your lip a bit as you wondered about your question, “After you left. . . Did you ever come back?”

There was something in your still wet eyes, and they looked at him in a way he hadn’t seen himself in years. You were looking for the truth, it was something you needed to know. Clark cleared his throat and shifted a bit back towards the headboard.

“I did,” he admitted, “a couple of times, but. . . You were gone by then. And your mom she wouldn’t-”

“She never told me,” you said quietly.

Clark nodded, “I saw you once,” he paused and you looked at him in shock, “in Metropolis. Sitting outside a restaurant.”

That was enough to get you back sitting up, and facing him completely now, “You saw me?”

He nodded, “You were reading Jane Eyre, your favorite, the same copy your father gave you. You had this blue dress on and I saw you from the other side of the street, couldn’t miss you,” he smiled a bit to himself, and you looked at him with sad eyes, “I was going to go over, but then I saw Bruce join you, and you two kissed and I thought. . . You’d be better off not knowing I was there.”

You smiled sadly at him and then suddenly you had moved to lay down. Clark’s arm wrapped down your back as you cushioned yourself into his side. You didn’t say anything and neither did he. Why you felt the need to hug onto his side was beyond him, but Clark didn’t budge the rest of that night. You needed someone there with you, and if you needed it to be him then he would be there.

----------

this is the old tag list y’all I cannot believe im doing this to you, if you wanna be removed just let me know im cackling im so sorry

@panic-angel3314 @dutifullyfuriousnerd @mrsemmaevanswriting @fourtristattoos @offlikeadirty-shirt@barrel-racing-lover @sexyvixen7 @bless-my-demons @sarcastic-ohohoh @whovianayesha@neohhetric @my-dccomic-dreams @hellomistressj @avengersgirllorianna @spunky-89@dammitkyloben @topthis808 @theboldandthebootyful @andtheytoldustotellyouhello @amandakwoodstock @brooke-supernatural16 @kissingwintergoodbye @missthang2734 @random-fandom-lady @supernaturaldean67 @crimesolversherlock​ @lunaticgurly @sweetiele-ash

[sara-scribbles]

Here is a scenario, if you feel like it: Byleth is having a hard time in the marriage because she feels Seteth can't let go the memories of his wife, she time travels and meets Seteth's first wife. How it goes?

Promise

Fandom: Fire Emblem Seteth/F!Byleth Note: Contains spoilers.

A yawn escaped her mouth as she stood from her desk. Spending a long evening going over reports was a tedious process. Who knew being archbishop meant dealing with piles of paperwork. Every document, missive or note had to be read, reviewed, and approved or declined. Seteth had drilled into her that she was not allowed to skim over them; he still took his job seriously.

A smile played on her lips as she thought of her husband. They had been married for almost a year after the war had ended. It still felt new to her. However that smile dropped as she thought about the past few months. He had become distant from her. Mornings were filled with half hearted greetings before he went to work. She didn’t see him until lunch, and even then he didn’t have much to say. At night she would wait for him to retire to their bed, but she would fall asleep alone.

Byleth didn’t understand what was going on with him. Flayn was acting her usual sunny self around her. She wanted to ask him what was bothering him, but had decided her straight forward approach may not work. Whatever was bothering Seteth was a personal matter, and she needed to tread as lightly as possible.

Leaving her office, she made her way through the monastery. She stopped a few times to feed the stray cats and dogs treats she carried around. Most people greeted her warmly as they were now used to seeing the archbishop playing with the animals. She wandered near the docks and spotted an all too familiar figure.

Standing at the edge of the dock, Seteth stared out past the water. Arms behind his back, he looked like a statue. Walking over, she noted how he didn’t seem to hear her so lost in thought even when she called his name. Placing a gentle hand on his shoulder, she called to him again.

He startled and spun around. “B-Byleth!”

“I’m sorry if I scared you. I did call you…” She peered up at his face trying to find some answers.

“Hmm? Oh, my apologies. I was lost in thought. He smiled at her but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Did you need something, dear?”

She rocked on her heels. “I know you’ve been working hard, so I thought a break might help. Maybe we can go on a little trip?”

“I’m sorry, but I have a lot of work to finish tonight.” He frowned as he took her hand and placed a kiss on her palm. “I promise we can do something together later.”

“That’s okay, Seteth. I should get back to work as well.” Giving him a quick kiss on the cheek, she left him. The smile on her face fell once she was inside her office.

She let out a deep sigh. “...” Something was wrong, and he wasn’t going to share what it was with her. Twisting the ring on her finger, she stared down at it. Suddenly the ring felt heavier than normal.

---------

“Is everything okay, Byleth?” Flayn noticed the way she picked at her meal.

Poking at the smoked fish, Byleth’s frown deepened. “Is Seteth okay?”

Flayn’s eyes briefly glanced at the empty spot. “Father is a little sad right now. It’s the anniversary of my mother’s death.”

“Oh…” She felt like a fool for being upset. “He didn’t tell me…” Of course he was upset. After all he was being reminded of his late wife.

“He doesn’t like to talk about her too much. It’s been years but he still gets upset around this time of year. He tries to act strong for me, but I think he takes it worse than I do.” She took a sip of water. “Don’t worry. He’ll be back to his old self in a few days.”

“And how about you? I’m sure this is also a difficult time. If you need to talk…” She offered her an encouraging smile.

Lowering her head, Flayn poked at her fish. “Thank you. I miss her a lot, but I think she’d be happy to know that we’re happy. I’ve come to accept that she’s gone physically but will remain in my memories. I think it’s harder on father though. He misses her dearly.”

Byleth studied Flayn for a moment. “She must have been wonderful.”

“Oh, yes! Mother was the best. She could make father laugh at the smallest things. We used to go fishing all the time…” Flayn sighed. “Those were happier times for all of us. Of course I am quite happy with you as well, Byleth! You make father happy too.”

“What did you do today?” Dinner continued with idle chatter on a different topic.

Once in her shared room with Seteth, Byleth sat at the edge of the bed. Her thoughts were filled with what Flayn had mentioned. Seteth was distant from her because he missed his late wife.

She understood how he must feel as she still felt an ache whenever she thought of her father. However a small part of her was sad that he couldn’t confide in her. Despite being married for almost a year, and knowing each other long, Seteth was still closed off.

As she readied for bed, she wondered what she could do to understand him better. If only she could ask his first wife…

Byleth quickly got redressed into traveling clothes. Throwing on a cloak, she rushed out to the stables. Her Pegasus perked up the moment she stepped near his stall.

“We’re going for a midnight fly,” she murmured to him as she led him out. After ensuring everything was set, she mounted her stead and took off into the night sky.

---------

Rhodos Coast came into view. The smell of the sea and sound of the waves reminded Byleth of the time she was here. That time Seteth told her the truth of his and Flayn’s true relationship.

Once her Pegasus was settled on the island, she walked over to the lone headstone. Flayn had prayed over her mother’s grave before they left. It was a simple headstone with no date and a name: Clíodna.

Byleth knew that what she was about to do wasn’t an appropriate use of her powers. She could almost hear Sothis reprimanding her. However she felt that this was the only way she might be able to understand Seteth on a deeper level. Hearing from the experience of the woman who loved him first.

Pulling out her sword, she focused her mind on what she wanted to do. The sand shifted under her feet. Raising her arm, she sliced the air in half. A tear in the fabric of space appeared and widened.

Without hesitation, she stepped into the tear and it closed. She was free falling into an abyss of stars. She could see a bright light coming closer and then it enveloped her.

Feet landing on solid ground, she opened her eyes. She was still on Rhodos Coast. Sheathing her sword, she glanced around. It was evening now as the sun was starting to set.

The headstone was gone and the beach was empty except a lone figure further down. Slowly making her way down the beach, she noticed the figure was of a woman. She was sitting with a child cradled in her arms.

She lifted her head as Byleth walked heavily on the sand. Light green hair shone in the setting sun, and bright, soft emeralds peered at her curiously. She stood up, gently brushing sand off her dress with one hand.

“Hello. I didn’t realize there was someone else here.” Her voice was soft with a calming quality.

Byleth’s gaze went to the sleeping child. “I was just…wandering. I apologize for intruding.”

“Oh don’t worry! This isn’t my land either. My husband just happened upon it and thought it would be a good place to rest. I’m Clíodna and this,” she smiled down at the sleeping baby “is Flayn.”

Baby Flayn slept peacefully as drool pooled at the corner of her mouth. Tufts of light green hair peeked out of the blanket.

“I’m Sitri.” The lie rolled off her tongue easily.

“What a lovely name. I’ve never seen you before. Are you new?” She brushed away a strand of hair, pointed ear poking out.

Swallowing her dry throat, Byleth shook her head. “I’m just traveling for a bit.”

Despite being a stranger Clíodna seemed at ease. She was welcoming and warm. No wonder Seteth had fallen in love with her. Byleth could see where Flayn got some of her personality from.

“...staying long?” Her voice broke through Byleth’s inner musings.

Keeping her face completely blank, she shook her head. “I prefer to travel from place to place.”

Clíodna gently rocked Flayn. “Sounds exciting. Does your lover go with you?” Her gaze darted to the ring on Byleth’s finger.

She glanced down at her own hand. “We...sometimes do. Not today though.” She twisted the band on her finger. Her whole reason for coming here was because of the man who had given it to her.

The older woman studied her for a bit. Her brows drew together in a small pinch. “Is everything alright? You seem lost…”

She brushed her own sea-foam colored hair out of her face. “I guess I am in a way. My husband has been...distant lately because he misses his late wife. I want to ask him but I don’t want to pry. I feel like he’s keeping me at a distant despite being married for almost a year. I want to be there when he’s having a hard time, but I don’t know what to do so he knows.”

Her inner thoughts tumbled out of her mouth without stop. Perhaps it was because Clíodna was a stranger she felt comfortable talking. Or perhaps it was because she had bottled up her feelings for so long. Byleth couldn’t bring herself to tell Flayn her worries about her father. There weren’t others she could talk to as her job as archbishop kept her occupied. And the few times she could socialize, she didn’t want to burden her friends with her marriage woes.

It was Clíodna’s chuckle that caught her attention. “Young love is so...cute. This reminds me of when Cichol and I were newlyweds. He’s the type to shoulder his burdens. He never wanted to tell me what was bothering him because he didn’t want to put stress on me.”

“How did you resolve that?” Seteth hadn’t changed much it seemed.

She met her gaze. “I reminded him that we were husband and wife. And part of that means we share each other’s burdens. No matter how heavy they may be, we carry the weight equally. It seems you’re willing to do the same for your love. So tell him how you really feel and go from there.”

She was right. Byleth needed to talk with Seteth instead of trying to figure it out on her own. His problems were her problems, and she wanted to help him. Perhaps they were both at fault as she had the bad habit of not expressing herself fully.

“Thank you.” A small, genuine smile formed on her lips.

Flayn started to stir. “A marriage takes time for both parties to understand each other fully. As long as you work on it, I think you’ll be fine.”

“Clíodna?” Both women turned toward the voice. Byleth felt her heart thump as she realized Seteth was coming. He was not her Seteth but his voice still caused her heart to pound.

“Oh! That’s my husband. Let me get him, and you two can meet.” Leaving Byleth, she rushed in his direction.

Byleth quickly ran off in the opposite direction. Coming back to where she first came, she quickly pulled her sword out. As much as she would like to meet a younger Seteth, she knew she shouldn’t. The laws of time could only be tampered with so much.

Stepping into the space tear, Byleth returned to her time.

---------

By the time she returned to the monastery, the sun was coming up. Though she hadn’t planned to be gone for so long, time traveling had taken a lot out of her.

The moment her feet had landed back in solid ground, her legs had given out and she had blacked out. It was only by the gentle nudging of her Pegasus did she wake up. By then she knew it was late and her absence was bound to be noticed.

Once her Pegasus was back in his stall, she snuck to her quarters. Having successfully avoided anyone, she firmly closed the door. Perhaps her absence had gone unnoticed.

“Byleth!” Spinning around, she was met with Seteth’s frazzled appearance. His eyes were wide and bloodshot. His usually pressed outfit was half unbuttoned and untucked.

He quickly strolled over to her in a few steps, and pulled her into a tight hug. Her face pressed against his chest as he released a ragged breath.

“Where have you been all night? I came to bed and you weren’t there? I searched the entire monastery but couldn’t find you!” He pulled her away at arms length and scanned her body. “Are you hurt?!”

Placing a hand on his chest, she used her other to comb back his messed hair. “I’m fine, Seteth. I just needed some air and decided to take a short flight with Speckle.”

He frowned and his brows pinched together. “I thought you had been kidnapped. I was about to call the guards for a search party. You had me scared half to death!”

“I know. And I’m sorry. I had a lot on my mind and I needed somewhere to think.” She couldn’t bring herself to tell him what she did. He would be even more agitated if she did.

He cupped the sides of her face. Staring deep into her eyes, he let out a sigh. “Please, my dear, next time you decide to take an impromptu flight, at least leave a note.”

“I will if you promise to tell me when something is bothering you,” she countered. She moved away from him to sit on their bed. Peeling her boots off, she watched as he slowly turned around.

His mouth opened and closed. “I...where is this coming from?”

One boot hit the floor. “Flayn told me that it’s the anniversary of your wife’s passing. Why didn’t you tell me?”

She watched as he tried to work out his thoughts. “I didn’t want to bother you with that. I’m a grown man, Byleth, I can handle my personal matters alone.”

The other boot dropped with a thud. “You shouldn’t have to do it alone. I am your wife, Seteth. I love you and I promised to always be by your side. I hate that you’ve kept me out. I thought...I thought I did something wrong with the way you were avoiding me.”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he stared up at the ceiling. “It was never my intention to cause you distress. I just thought that dealing with this alone was the best. I...I didn’t want you to think I love you any less.”

Tossing the cloak on a chair, she walked over to him. “I would never love you less for wanting to mourn your late wife. She was a big part of your life and I understand how much you must miss her. I just want to be able to help you carry these emotions. We’re in this together through good and bad.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck. His arms encircled her waist and pulled her closer. Pressing his forehead against hers, he let out a shaky breath. Eyes closed and face free of stress, he looked younger.

“I’ve forgotten what it means to be married. And I apologize for being distant. This time of year, I always find myself lost in thoughts of the past.” Eyes opened, he smiled. “I promise to share my burdens with you. And I hope you will share yours with me.”

She brushed her nose against his. “I promise.” Eyes falling shut, she closed the distance between their lips. Sealing the promise with a sweet, passionate kiss.

[lemonietrinket]

Traditions ||| Prince!Yeosang x Princess!Reader

Genre: Fluff, Fantasy, a bit of angst but a happy ending Warning(s): inferences to death (succession) and natural disaster tragedy  Word Count: 4005 AN: Happy Birthday Yeosang blessed elfin prince. Just thinking about how princely he appears was the only inspiration for this entirely. you can tell i find yeosang beautiful and i will not apologise for that. feminine-presenting Reader Royalty AU

~~~

Wind whistling outside the murky visage of dark stained glass, you made your way through the long corridors to the dining hall. The cold air that nipped at your cheeks was only rebuffed by the delicately carved firebrands that lined the walls, hooded by rouge. 

Even though you wished you had taken Beatrice up on her suggestion that you wear a dress that would match one of your several coats, you couldn’t say you entirely regretted your decision. The way the silver tresses that entwined across your waist was worth the goosebumps beneath long draping sleeves. The amaranthine shine gave you the firm yet free light that reflected in your eyes, gracing all who could see with not only your true colours but also a sight for sore eyes. You’d always suited the soft violet silk, for years having been a private signature that made you feel unique behind closed doors. It did not provide its own form of stability to the people, however, quite like the vermilion did. Knowing that in these times they needed it in every capacity, you garbed yourself in red for the world, while violet remained a treat.

Besides, you knew there was another benefit to the tremors of shiver that ran up your spine and pooled at your exposed shoulders.

Taking the last corner you could finally see the large oak doors that led into the hall in the dim light. They were closed, but a thin sliver of gold broke through their seal, its promise of food inviting you in. However, a few feet away from the corridor’s end, something else stole your attention entirely. A shimmer of auburn in the thick of the night.

Distracted you slowly made your way over to the nearest window, excitement pooling in your chest and fluttering like a bird wishing to be set free.

one pair of small but intricate heels that had been clicking against the rich wood behind you suddenly slowed. Peering back without hesitation, you saw your second lady in waiting’s grin glimmer in the auburn light as she skipped to the nearest window.  Forcing yourself to look beyond the hazy reflection of yourself, you chased the lucrative gold that pierced the night. Your eyes began in the wrong place, too high, where the road began to sink into the distance, but they quickly trailed down to the castle-side, where you spotted, far below, a carriage flickering beside firelight. A warm smile you’d come to know well warmed upon your lips.

“He’s early,” you announced to the air, feeling slightly guilty when the guard stood firmly by the door offered you a startled look

“Who is, Your Royal Highness?” he stuttered, a panicked undertone as he assumed that you’d been talking to him.

You chuckled, feeling relieved as he visibly relaxed, “Why, Graves, my husband of course!” It was clear that he tried to hide the surprise in his expression, not realising that he shared with you.

“I know, absurd right?” you said, sweeping over to the door as he returned your grin at last, before imploring to him in a whisper, “I won’t eat you, Graves, I promise. I’m not like my father.”

“Yes, Your Royal Highness.” He bowed in acknowledgement.

Praying that the interaction would dispel any residing fears, you passed through into the dining hall, tall and imposing. You hadn’t liked it all that much, it was too tall and grand, with chandeliers the size of sleeping quarters and columns whose cracks were filled with molten silver. It was a bit much, especially just for a place to eat, but you knew how much worse it could be. You’d seen your older sister’s, you’d seen the drapes of handwoven silk cast in bright crimson and the intricacies of the hand-carved floorboards, dictating the legends of the early days. As vulgar it was, it was how your father built castles for his kingdom, and it was no wonder that it would be the one you would inherit. 

Ignoring the painted ceiling you ran your eyes along the long mahogany table at the numerous platters dotted across its surface at both ends, lids retaining heat and disguising the beauty inside. You wondered why they always made so much for you when you never ate it anywhere near it all.  The firelight from the large hearth that filled the room with a homely scent of warmth and tranquil danced across the varnished floor, painting it with muffled shades of gold and pink. And there, on the other side of the hall was a shadow that disjointed said light.

Tilting your head up confidently, your fingers interlinking at your waist, you found the man who you had waited for every time, waiting for you.

Having shed his onyx coat and draped it across the back of his chair, you were blessed with just how well suited the deep azure of his kingdom. The satin across his back almost glittered in the light, adorning his neck that craned to let him look off to the left. His shirt was tucked neatly into black leather trousers, that you caught yourself staring at for way too long for the ‘checking for stains’ excuse to run even now (you were pretty sure he hadn’t believed the excuse in the first place anyway, but he hadn’t asked you to stop nor ever brought it up again, and you were pretty sure you’d caught him a few times staring at you so, who were you to complain?) that then slipped into comfortable laced boots. He had to have changed, he couldn’t have possibly worn them outside in such poor weather, and the thought just added to how your heart fluttered—he didn’t have to dress up at all, especially since he would have to go out again tomorrow.

His hand lifting from his hip, he removed his sword in its scabbard and leant it against the wall, before finally turning around.

Even at such a distance you were awestruck. Those gorgeous eyes that stared so knowingly at the world now gazed over at you, leaving you feeling a new shade of vulnerable that had taken a while to get used to, but now you weren’t sure you could live without. As with that vulnerability came his gentleness, the curve of his full lips that uttered sweet things despite his stoic nature, and the touch of his hand that rose to meet yours when you addressed the people. He had confused you at first, worried you the next as neither of you spoke. Now you understood his insecurities and threw any misinformed regrets to the side. Now you could see how his hair seemed to effortlessly curl to frame his face but also to carry a crown. 

His fringe then was mottled with damp, his hat adorning the chair with his coat having had only so much success protecting him from the rain. But he still looked ethereal as he always did, and sounded it too.

“Your Royal Highness,” he greeted as he was taught, a deep bow with his hand pressed to his heart. Even though the awkwardness had subsided between the two of you, you still greeted each other like this, despite what you’d discerned. 

“Your highness,” you returned, unable to hide your wince. Why couldn’t you greet each other like you wished you could? Ignore the rings on your fingers and the arrangements made by family and do it all properly.

He smiled at you and waited for you to take your seat, deep eyes following your every move. You sighed mentally, feeling the small doubts begin to regrow in your mind. Perhaps you’d misjudged entirely and your affections led you to just reach into the dark and cling to the first light that appeared.

Taking your seat, your eyes not leaving his, he at last drew his chair back at the opposite side of the table. You let him get comfortable before removing the closest lid to reveal a huge portion of neatly sliced venison seasoned with a variety of spices and coupled with copious vegetables—half of which you didn’t recognise. It smelt delicious and you took the cutlery into your hands, but with your mind preoccupied with another important matter you didn’t feel like eating at all.

While you ran the sharp edge of your knife across the tender flesh, Yeosang tucked straight in, not that you blamed him. His journey home had been long, sustained mostly on fish that would only remind him of home—that and your cooks being truly something special.

“So, dear husband,” you announced across the long table with a coy smile, timing your words just right so he would have his mouthful when he had to answer you, “how was your trip outside Cresciel’s borders?”

“Hmm...” He noticed the mischief in your lips, opting to take his time mulling your question over as he chewed even slower than before. It was moments like these, where he played along with you and teased in return, that questioned whether doubts should be sown. “It was long, mostly tedious. Earl of Blouze is an utter nightmare.”

“As usual,” you chuckled, the same mix of sympathy and humour bubbling in your chest as when you had found out who he would be travelling with. Yeosang hadn’t found it amusing and had sulked for the rest of the afternoon while the packing began. He looked adorable with a pout on his lips though, and you only cooed at him six times. “And Caillteo?”

He nodded. “Recovering well for how much damage was done. The mines are back up and running again, a good harvest this autumn and they’ll be back on their feet without aid. The people are still on edge but they seem hopeful, and you were right, Caillteoans are tough: they’ve leapt into construction and sharing resources between themselves fairly.”

“That’ll be Xena’s example,” you noted, taking a sip of your drink. Surprised at the sweet kick, you coughed before laughing at yourself, “they’re always leading by example—I’m fine Yeosang, really.”

You spotted the worry in his expression through how it turned blank. He’d explained it to you, bathed in the gold of the afternoon sun that did little to ease his mind. He didn’t want to panic the person in concern anymore than they perhaps already were. That had been the day where you’d run your fingers through his hair, locks smooth as silk and scented of the roses found on the mountainsides. He had softened in your embrace, letting you hold him delicately in the peace of the royal garden, closing his omniscient eyes that were cursed to catch too much. It had proven that just trying to be the stable option for the nation resulted in a chaos of the mind.  You wished he would rely on you more. You were used to it, your sister confided with you her plans to disappear, your mother on the will, your cousins when they visited. You didn’t get the choice in some of those circumstances, but you were willing to take on what Yeosang needed. 

You felt heat flush to your face. Since when had you become so attached to him? This hadn’t been what you had expected to happen at all.

“Yes, they truly are. I listened to their grievances, they were furious at how little respect they had received from Cruter, and extremely thankful for the aid we sent them. It was vital for them to get the waterways up and running again, otherwise it would have flooded the sewage system further and...” he came to an unexpected halt, as if a weight had rolled onto his tongue and forced it still. You placed your knife upon the plate quietly, inclining to listen to what finally followed. 

“Yeosang?” you murmured, though due to the distance you couldn’t be sure he even heard it.

“...Xena was glad to see where my allegiances laid, that seeing me gave them and Caillteoans hope. They wanted me to make it clear to you that their kingdom’s alliances are with you—us—alone.”

“They’ve turned away from your grandfather completely?” You couldn’t hide the surprise that filtered into your voice, but watched him carefully as you spoke in response to it. “He’s turned his most loyal—?”

“It’s what he deserves,” Yeosang interrupted, eyes turned towards his food. He’d paused eating, a cut of meat levied on his fork and he stared it down as if it were Cruter himself, “and I think they know how my father’s reign is going to go.”

He took the bite as if out of spite, digging in thoroughly once again. Meanwhile you were left frowning. “Have they managed to predict Idina too, do you think?” After he didn’t respond, you straightened your posture, worry beginning to sink in. “Yeosang? I don’t rule Cresciel yet, and if the plan falls apart I won’t have much power at all! A-as far as anyone else is aware, my sister is going to inherit the—”

“I don’t know,” he finally replied with the shake of his head, his frown mimicking yours, “that’s all they said.”

With eyes met across the vast mahogany dotted with silver and the firelight, silence seeped into the room, only dispelled momentarily by the crackle of flames. 

Your thoughts gathered in your brain, clustering and talking over one another, interjecting and splitting, producing more and more like a disease.  If others could work it out then it would only be a matter of time before your father would, and that would put both your sister and you in danger. Even being a beacon of calm for the future to the people and surrounding kingdoms wouldn’t be enough to hold your plans together, and if things went truly wrong, not only would you be at huge risk of losing your husband and all the arrangements your marriage made, but there would also be mayhem for the innocents you had subtly promised would be safe.

Your breath came out ragged and you swallowed it to steady. The situation was sticky, but you would pull through. You’d make it work. The King of Caillteo was on your side, and that strengthened what you had. Cruter could hardly have endeared himself to his subjects through his ignorance towards the tragedy—especially since word carried that the angered storm had affected the outer towns upon his Siyanirean borders too. With that in hand and your plan just in the waiting process, it wouldn’t be long before Yeosang was King in his grandfather and father’s stead and the kingdoms were united, working peacefully instead of warring like they always did.

Digging your nails into your palms, you wondered why your nerves wouldn’t simmer down. You’d gone over the plan hundreds of times, and things were moving in your favour—both should have eased the sudden attack of worry. But they didn’t, and you were left with bruise-purple divots in your palms, and quivering fingers. You wanted them to be held still, you didn’t like the sight of them fragile. You wanted to be held, by Yeosang—no other would do, as no one else understood it all. He was the only one who knew the details of the full plan, knew what the pressure was like. But he was on the other end of the table.

It seemed ridiculous that a table and a (comparatively) short distance was holding you back. There were no physical barricades, the grandiose chairs tucked in neatly, the food too cold to even eat and get you to stay. Yet, even though your feet twitched, your body didn’t move to go to his side and ask for comfort, like you’d given to him that golden afternoon before.

“Did you miss anything,” your mouth spoke out of the blue, “while you were gone?”

Had your husband looked up he would have noticed the disjoint between your calm tone and your stony expression. But he didn’t, not yet. 

“Not my ship if that’s what you’re asking,” he retorted, assuming you were teasing him once again. After finishing another bite you stared as his face softened, “Though I guess I missed some company.” When you didn’t speak up, voice trapped in your throat as your brain ticked over what he meant, he continued, “The nights were cold, so I thought I missed the warmth of here. They were also quiet, and so I thought I missed the sounds of here but... the more I thought about it, the more I realised that this castle is just as quiet as the other ones I stayed in, and when I added blankets it made no difference. 

“And then I had to speaks to others and, well... every time I met with the nobles, it felt as if they looked down on me, as if I wasn’t really one of them despite my claim. I knew it shouldn’t surprise me, as my grandfather is, well, my grandfather and no one knows just how poor my father’s health is but... even the people didn’t believe I was the real deal, and they were the nice ones. Others I’m sure couldn’t comprehend I was capable of making a difference at all.”

As he trailed off, with your eyes hazy you countered plainly. “And you wanted me there so they somehow wouldn’t? If I was there they wouldn’t look at you at all.” You would have winced at the harshness of your words, consoled him with an apology and the distraction of food or a change of scenery, but you didn’t. You cursed yourself for being selfish.

Yeosang however didn’t seem to take it to heart, trying to explain clearer. “No I mean... it’s easier to chase the doubts of my own abilities away with you at my side. Because you believe in me.”

After cleaning his plate his pretty eyes flicked up to take you in at last, only to become flecked with worry. “Why aren’t you eating?”

Debating and answer in your head you remained silent, gaze dropping to your lukewarm food without a single chunk missing. Clutching your hands together in your lap in an effort to control the quiver in them, you avoided his stare. “I really mean that much to you?”

Out of your peripheral you caught his nod. “Of course. You’re my closest friend, my rock, I don’t think I could have ever succeeded like this without you.”

You peered up at him at last, to catch the sincerity on his features. The apples of his cheeks had a blushed hue, so did the tips of his ears. But you couldn’t make out the etches upon his lips, or the birthmark adorning the corner of his eye. He was too far away, all because of stupid rules. “Then why are you so far away?” you poised.

There was a heavy silence that seemed to even mottle the crackling in the hearth. Your gaze trailed over to the dancing flames, warm and dynamic like the flushes of first love—like your heart.

“Because I didn’t think you wanted me any closer.”

Your head whipped up to him as soon as his words graced the air and the creak of wood scraping across wood resonated through the floor. Yeosang, with footfalls cautious, was making his way across the dining hall towards you. You straightened your back, mouth agape but with no words to fill the space.

Even though it felt like the journey took hours, he was suddenly at your side, brow creased with concern as he placed one hand tentatively on the back of your chair. 

“Y/N, I...”

“I missed you too.”

Chin tilted up you took in the sight of the man you had married properly. How his jaw curved, how his chest rose and fell as he breathed, how his hair slowly fell out of place to cover his eyes while he peered down at you. Months of past worry trickled through from your subconscious as you remembered the anxieties you’d had about your marriage. You trusted your mother’s decision, but that didn’t mean you didn’t interrogate yourself nightly on whether you could be happy being married to a man you didn’t love romantically, one that you didn’t desire sensually. 

You hadn’t slept the night before the castle doors opened to welcome in your chosen suitor. You’d been informed it was a tough and arduous selection process but you had blanked most of it out. With a stone-set face you had been helped into a dress of your sister’s—flowing scarlet with gold lace at the neck—before adorning your neck with an amethyst necklace despite the advice you were offered. Then you took those wide grand stairs down to where your soon-to-be fiance waited, arm interlinked with your sister’s. She had smiled and said something to you, but you hadn’t paid any attention—this time for a good reason.

After days on end of worrying, you were confronted with a meek young boy who could easily have been mistaken to be years younger than you. Garbed in rich navy, he stood prostrate at his father’s side, his posture displaying confidence as he was instructed while his stare flit upon the engraved ground.  When you had taken the final step and swept across the varnished pearl beneath your feet your families greeted heartily while you stared at the boy who eventually worked up the courage to stare back. ‘He isn’t real’, had been the first thought to flash in your mind. After all he had full cloudy cheeks and wide set dark eyes that made him look as if he was borne of another realm. You wondered if the pink blemish upon his temple was a sign of that: a deity’s way to prove that he was in fact human and not an angel. Eyeing him up and down you had found a body just out of proportion to be considered finished, but you guessed he would grow, and fit his elfin face one day in the future.  Overall, he had washed your worries away and replaced them with a newfound curiosity that you hadn’t mentioned to him before.

Of course, you had been right, he did grow. His shoulders broadened and chest filled out while his cheeks retained the majority of their softness. He grew then to become more open, a smile flourished on his lips and once that happened it was only a matter of time. Regardless, despite all his changes that young boy was still there, still watching carefully, even now.

Yeosang stood at your side quite like he had done all those years ago—back rigid, eyes trailing away from where he wanted to focus them. And it softened your heart, practically turned it to pulp, when he finally spoke in a voice completely different to the boy from your past, “I think I might be falling in love with you.”

You watched as he bit his lip disappointedly, as if he’d admitted something wrong. 

“Me too,” you breathed, dispelling his worry and turning it into a startled expression as you stood with him. Your fingers came up to his collar, straightening it out absentmindedly as you met his eyes properly this time. “Forget the rules, forget the traditions, Sangie?” you suggested in a whisper.

He nodded, a smile rising to his lips so bright that you couldn’t hold yourself back anymore.

Cupping his cheeks in your hands gently, he dipped in to let your lips finally meet, a hum bubbling through your chest in satisfaction. He was finally close to you, and he felt so different from what you’d imagined. His embrace pulling you close he radiated warmth. His lips tasted of the berries that he had drank and his touch was so fluid and soft across the skin of you back. You didn’t mind, you liked how wrong you were. 

Because he kissed you just like the tradition didn’t dictate, and though it had been the arrangements of others that brought your love to you, it was time to do it your way.

~~~

AN: I was going to make yn a duchess bc like princess is overdone and then i got confused and like shite just bc im british doesnt mean i understand the royal family one bit, let alone the hierarchy of titles

so yeah yn is a princess wbk

also this is much longer than the other presents only bc i got carried away i realise i like royal aus and this just wrote itself i promised myself i wouldnt do this with bday presents but oop

any names of the staff at the royal household were randomly generated place names were made using various words put into indifferentlanguages.com +  the word combiner on wordunscrambler.net (so any resemblance to rel places is unintentional)

(also none of yeosang’s relations are based on any of his real family of course, theyre just made up. i imagine yeosang loves his family very much and so this is just creative license)

~~~

Masterlist

[mygalfriday]

and i just want to love you, to love you, to love you well

{ao3}

Aziraphale is still getting used to being in his own body again when he and Crowley stumble into the demon’s flat somewhere well past one in the morning. While he’s very grateful for Madam Tracy’s hospitality, there’s nothing quite like being back in one’s own corporation, well-worn and comfortable after thousands of years of breaking it in — like a favorite pair of shoes. He’s still feeling a bit wrong-footed but after the day he and Crowley have had, it’s to be expected. Nothing a strong drink and a few chocolate biscuits won’t fix.

He sways on his feet, standing in the entryway to Crowley’s study and staring at the puddle of holy water and melted demon simmering on the floor. At the moment, he can’t be sure if his imbalance is from the stress of discorporation and an averted apocalypse or simply from the horrid images currently flashing in front of his eyes. He’d spent so long fretting over what might happen to Crowley once he was in possession of a heavenly weapon like holy water and now here he stands, staring at the evidence.

One wrong move and the puddle at Aziraphale’s feet could have been Crowley.

His stomach heaves and he shuts his eyes briefly, pressing his fingertips to his mouth in an effort to quell the sudden bout of nausea. From the other end of the flat, he can hear Crowley rummaging around in the kitchen fetching wine and glasses for them. Aziraphale clings to the sound of his voice as he mutters irritably to himself, drawing strength from the auditory proof that Crowley is perfectly safe. They both are. For now.

He evaporates the demonic remains and the holy water with a snap of his fingers. And then he sets about cleansing the whole study just in case, walking every inch of it and muttering incantations under his breath. He tidies up as he goes, gathering the papers strewn about on the floor like confetti. Strange, considering Crowley usually keeps all of his things in such pristine condition and frequently takes great joy in mocking Aziraphale’s magpie ways.

Tutting to himself, Aziraphale shuffles the papers neatly and drops them onto Crowley’s desk. His eyes fall absently to the page on top of the pile and he stops short, staring at the star system known as Alpha Centauri. We can run away together. Aziraphale goes cold, realizing with a pang that the uncharactertistic clutter is the result of Crowley searching frantically for an escape.

All this research and then he’d simply…stayed.

“Angel?”

He starts at the sound of Crowley’s voice, glancing up to find him lounging insouciantly in the doorway. Crowley holds a bottle of wine in one hand and two glasses in the other. Wedged beneath his arm is a package of Aziraphale’s favorite biscuits. He’d shed his jacket somewhere between the kitchen and the study, the sleeves of his henley pushed up his forearms. Wearing a slight frown, he peers at Aziraphale over the rim of his sunglasses.

“All right?”

Mustering up a weak smile, Aziraphale says, “Oh…dandy. Just tidying up.”

Crowley glances around, sniffing the air. “Smells like you in here now. All…holy.”

“Oh.”Aziraphale feels his cheeks heat. He hadn’t even thought about how the use of his magic in a demonic space might effect Crowley. “I do apologize-”

“No, s’fine.” Crowley makes a show of inspecting the floor where the puddle used to be, peering at the shiny floor grimly. “Doesn’t smell like melted demon anymore. I’d call that a step up.”

“Indeed.” Aziraphale drops his gaze to the page on Alpha Centauri once more, spotting a note scribbled in Crowley’s hand in the margin. Transport books?? His heart swells in his chest and he bites his lip, overcome with a wave of fondness strong enough to sway him on his feet again. He grips the edge of the desk to keep himself upright. When he looks up again, Crowley is watching him warily. “You said you were going to leave.”

If it had been anyone but Crowley — anyone Aziraphale had not spent six thousand years learning like a favorite book — then he might have missed the subtle stiffening of his spine or the flex of his fingers around the neck of the wine bottle. But Aziraphale knows Crowley backwards and forwards, the way an academic knows his life’s work. He sees everything — the tightening of his jaw, the slight lift of his brows, the muscle that ticks in his cheek. And so he isn’t surprised when Crowley affects a nonchalant shrug and asks, “When?”

Willing to let him pretend ignorance for now, Aziraphale says, “In the street. When we were-” He drops his gaze again, studying Crowley’s handwriting in the margin of the paper. Aziraphale had already refused to leave with him and he’d still been planning to have him along, making plans to bring all of his books too. “You said you were leaving.”

“Told you.” Crowley sniffs, glancing away. “Stuff happened.”

“Yes.” Aziraphale fidgets, tugging at the sleeve of his coat and smoothing out an imaginary wrinkle. “I remember.”

He hadn’t been able to see Crowley’s face but the anguish in his voice had been enough of a clue all on its own. It’s been hours since then and Crowley has certainly managed to pull himself together admirably but Aziraphale hasn’t forgotten what Crowley sounded like when the demon had thought him lost for good. He doesn’t think he ever will.

He lifts his chin, feeling unexpectedly brave at the memory. “But that didn’t really change things, did it? You were planning to go without me anyway.” With a blush, he amends, “That is, I assume you meant I was your best friend and not Ligur-”

Crowley makes a face, nose wrinkled and mouth exasperated as he snaps tiredly, “Ligur, seriously? Course I meant you, numpty.” Under his breath, he mutters, “Hell knows why sometimes.”

“Yes, I quite agree.” Aziraphale clasps his hands together, a futile attempt to still his fidgeting. “I was hardly behaving like a friend at the time. I wouldn’t have blamed you if you had gone.”

Crowley sighs, scrubbing a hand over his cheek. “I was never gonna leave without you, angel. Would’ve dragged you kicking and screaming if I had to. Fuck knows what those bastards would’ve done to you if they’d actually succeeded in bringing about Armageddon.”

Aziraphale wobbles again, dangerously unsteady on his feet, but this time he hasn’t the energy to cling to the nearest available surface until the world rights itself beneath him again. His knees buckle and he sinks down, right into the throne behind Crowley’s desk. His eyes sting and his face feels hot and it’s been so long that it takes him a moment to realize he’s about to cry. Swallowing past the lump in his throat, he whispers, “I don’t deserve you, Crowley.”

Crowley makes an alarmed noise and drops all his efforts at being aloof, crossing the space between them the way he always does when he knows Aziraphale needs him. What is a simple office space compared to the continents and oceans Crowley has crossed for him before? The wine glasses clatter as he deposits them on the desk, the bottle of wine thunks heavily against the wood, and the package of biscuits winds up somewhere by their feet. Neither of them pays any mind as Crowley drops to his knees in front of Aziraphale and curls his hand over the angel’s thigh.

“Hey,” he says, and his voice is gentle but slightly panicked. “Angel, it’s fine. We’re fine.”

He shakes his head, sniffling. “No, I was awful to you.”

Crowley’s grip on him tightens. “It was a stressful few days for everybody. Neither of us were at our best, yeah? It’s forgotten. Look at me.” He strokes his thumb soothingly over Aziraphale’s leg and waits for him to glance up warily. When he sees Aziraphale’s tear-filled eyes, he groans. “Don’t — don’t cry. You know I’m useless when you cry, angel.”

Aziraphale chokes out a wet laugh and says, “Yes, I know.” He sniffles. “You’re my best friend too, Crowley.”

With a tired smile, Crowley nods. “I know.” He looks away suddenly and Aziraphale blinks the tears from his eyes, watching with concern as that tiny smile fades. “I’ve always been able to feel you, angel. Out there in the world somewhere, doing your good deeds.” His lip curls and he shakes his head. When he speaks again, his voice is almost as unsteady as it had been in that pub. “And all of a sudden it just…disappeared. Like a light going out.” He sighs and it comes out more like a hiss as he grits his teeth. He looks up then, his mouth a grim, angry line. “You scared the heaven out of me, Aziraphale. Don’t ever let me catch you with those fucking candles again, got it?”

Lips pursed tightly together, Aziraphale nods and blinks back another wave of tears. “Yes, darling.”

Crowley’s eyes widen at the endearment and Aziraphale can see it even through his dark lenses. His mouth goes slack for a moment before he snaps it shut again and firms it into a tight line. He sniffs and when he speaks, his voice is a soft rasp. “Did you know, Hastur’s trademark is setting fire to things. Regular pyromaniac, he is. S’like his calling card.”

Aziraphale frowns, puzzled by the sudden change in subject but willing to go with it. “Oh?”

“Hmm.” Crowley doesn’t look at him, staring somewhere far off and to the right. His face betrays nothing of his thoughts, a blank mask that does little to put Aziraphale at ease. “And right before I drove to the bookshop and found it in flames, I’d just succeeded in royally pissing him off.”

With a sharp inhale, Aziraphale feels his world tilt again and this time, there is nothing to hang onto. “You thought-”

Crowley finally looks up and his mouth quivers so dangerously that Aziraphale can only stare, longing to brush his thumb over his lips to quell their trembling. “Yeah. Thought I’d killed you.”

“Oh, my dear Crowley. Of course you didn’t.” He lifts a shaking hand and when Crowley nods hesitantly, he slips the sunglasses from his eyes. The fear and adoration shining in equal measure through Crowley’s naked gaze is breathtaking. Aziraphale swallows but the lump in his throat won’t leave this time. “Quite the opposite, really.” He breathes in deeply, forcing the confession past his numb lips. “With you I’ve always felt terribly…safe.”

Crowley doesn’t take the compliment in the spirit in which it was intended, sighing wretchedly instead. “You’ve never been safe with me, Aziraphale. That’s the bloody point. I was so busy pushing you I didn’t stop to think what might happen if anyone actually found out-”

“You were right to push me.” Aziraphale strokes a gentle hand over Crowley’s sharp cheekbone, watching fondly as he shudders at the contact. “In fact, I wish I’d listened to you centuries ago.”

Crowley shakes his head, swallowing. “I could’ve gotten you killed, angel. Or worse, disgraced.”

“It would have been worth it.” Aziraphale smiles tearfully when Crowley lifts his head to stare at him, lips parted in stunned silence. “Crowley, I-”

Crowley shakes his head again, squeezing his eyes shut tight. “Don’t,” he says, his voice strangled and desperate. “Not unless you mean it.”

“I always meant it, Crowley,” Aziraphale promises. “Even when I was too afraid to say it.”

Crowley breathes out shakily, a sigh that turns into a quiet, disbelieving laugh. His eyes crinkle at the corners and Aziraphale can see that elusive dimple in his cheek as he presses a gentle, reverent kiss to his palm. He pauses briefly to nose at Aziraphale’s fingertips, dragging his hot mouth over the angel’s palm and stopping at the inside of his wrist to press another lingering kiss just over the erratic pulse there. And when he turns his head and leans up on his knees, Aziraphale meets him halfway.

They sink into each other with ease, as though they’ve had thousands of years of practice instead of longing in silence and trying not to touch too often. Crowley is warm and trembling against him, his mouth carrying a searing heat the likes of which Aziraphale has never known in the stark coldness of heaven. He still smells faintly of brimstone and burning rubber and when Aziraphale lifts a hand to cradle his cheek, he feels stubble and the smudge of ash beneath his fingertips.

And it’s perfect. Better than any fantasy Aziraphale has managed to conjure over the years because it’s real and Crowley wants him and Crowley loves him. Crowley had sat in a pub determined to drink himself into oblivion instead of facing the end of the world without Aziraphale. Crowley had driven a burning car through the M25 because Aziraphale had asked him to. Crowley had stopped time because the idea of never talking to Aziraphale again had frightened him more than even Satan’s fury.

Still kneeling before him, Crowley curls his fingers tightly around the back of Aziraphale’s neck and arches closer as though terrified of losing him even now. Lost in his kiss, Aziraphale makes a silent promise. Before Crowley and the Almighty herself, he vows that with whatever time they have left, he’ll make certain Crowley feels every bit as loved and cared for as he has always made Aziraphale feel.

Without breaking their kiss, Crowley rises sinuously to his feet and almost slithers into the chair until he’s straddling Aziraphale’s lap. His lanky legs bracket Aziraphale in, knees digging into his hips. He barely weighs anything at all, a slight weight against Aziraphale’s thighs and oh, he adores it. Wants to cradle his fragile, darling demon in his arms and keep him safe and happy always.

“Crowley,” he breathes, trembling. “I love you. I love you so-”

“Shh.” Crowley strokes his knuckles tenderly over his cheek, his eyes half-lidded and gleaming golden in the soft light filtering in from the corridor. “I know, angel.”

Aziraphale huffs out a shaky laugh into the hollow of Crowley’s cheek. “Long before I did, I’m sure.”

“Nah. Figured it out eventually though.” Crowley licks his lips and Aziraphale stares, following the movement of his tongue with interest. “And…uh, you know, don’t you?”

Aziraphale blinks and it takes him a moment to stop staring at Crowley’s mouth and realize just what he’s referring to. And then he smiles brightly, thinking of a revelation in the middle of a ruined church. “It’s as you say, my dear. I figured it out eventually.”

Crowley laughs and when he leans in again, they’re both grinning like fools. Fools in love, Aziraphale thinks dizzily, and curls his fingers into the soft material of Crowley’s black shirt. Crowley drapes his arms over Aziraphale’s shoulders, leaning heavily into his chest — kissing him and kissing him and kissing him until Aziraphale feels like crying again.

They stay there, curled around one another and trading soft, wondrous kisses for a short eternity before Crowley finally drops his head to Aziraphale’s shoulder and shudders. “Been imagining this for thousands of years,” he grumbles, ignoring Aziraphale’s surprised little noise. “And when it finally happens, I’m too knackered to even take you to bed.” He groans, equal parts frustration and exhaustion. “Want to ravish you.”

A little thrill shoots down Aziraphale’s spine at the idea of Crowley leading him to bed. Of being ravished. He wriggles a bit in his seat, pressing a kiss to Crowley’s snake tattoo in apology when the demon whimpers miserably. He clears his throat, silently telling his corporation to behave itself.

“Not to worry,” he says, stroking a hand over Crowley’s back. He can feel the notches of his spine over his thin shirt and thinks fleetingly again of how fragile Crowley is beneath all that bluster and the prickly words. “Plenty of time.”

“Is there?” Crowley hides his face in the crook of Aziraphale’s neck, defeat in his tired voice. “You and I both know they’re coming for us, angel.”

Aziraphale thinks of the prophecy tucked away in his pocket and says with confidence, “Then we’ll be ready. Trust me, my dear.”

Though he would probably deny it to Satan himself, Crowley nuzzles at Aziraphale’s ear and mutters, “Always have.”

Wishing he could say the same but knowing deep down that there were very early days when he’d wondered when the demon Crawley would turn against him, Aziraphale doesn’t try to lie. He can only try to be better now, to trust Crowley as implicitly as he had always trusted Aziraphale. It isn’t much but at the moment, it’s all he has to offer.

Clearing his throat softly, he ventures, “We could… move somewhere more comfortable if you’d prefer to sleep.”

Instead of actually replying, Crowley makes a hissing noise Aziraphale assumes must mean move at your own risk.

He huffs, settling in as best he can in Crowley’s straight-backed throne. “Yes, yes,” he says, tutting. “All right. No need to be dramatic.”

Crowley mumbles something that might possibly be insulting and settles more firmly against him, his fingers stroking the hair at the nape of Aziraphale’s neck. And Aziraphale sits completely still beneath him, marveling at the feel of Crowley’s fingers in his hair and Crowley’s warm breath against his neck. This is happening. He is holding Crowley and unafraid of the consequences. If this truly is his last night alive, he must admit it’s a rather marvelous end to things.

“Crowley?”

“Hmm?”

“Earlier, you said…you said it smells like me in here.”

“Yeah…”

Aziraphale bites his lip, turning over the question that’s been on his mind since Crowley had mentioned it days ago. “What do I smell like to you?” Crowley had mentioned that he smelled holy and Aziraphale cannot help worrying that perhaps it pains Crowley, like stepping into that church in 1941 had burnt his poor feet. “Does it…hurt you?”

“Hm, course not.” Crowley slurs, a hiss slipping into his words. He must be nearly asleep by now. “S’just you. Sort of…bookish and soft. Like, dunno, sunshine in a dusty library. An’ cocoa.”

Knowing Crowley would never admit such a thing out loud if he were even a bit more awake at the moment, Aziraphale swallows back a radiant smile and closes his eyes. “Oh,” he breathes, inexplicably relieved. “Good.”

He wraps Crowley tighter in his embrace and as he settles in to wait for dawn, Crowley turns his face into his neck and breathes him in one last time. “Home,” he whispers. “You smell like home.”

Aziraphale feels his fragile human heart swell. “Sleep, darling.�� He smooths his palm over Crowley’s back, pressing a firm kiss into his fiery hair. “I’ll still be here when you wake.”

He holds vigil for the remaining hours until daybreak, a demon asleep in his lap and a scrap of ancient paper burning a hole in his pocket. By the time the sun rises over Mayfair, slanting in through the windows in warm yellow stripes, Crowley is just beginning to stir.

It’s the first day of the rest of their lives and as Crowley lifts his head to blink at him sleepily, Aziraphale is loathe to break the hush of dawn. But he’s been waiting hours for Crowley to wake up, sitting in the dark and missing him despite holding him as close as their human bodies will allow. In a giddy whisper, he says, “Good morning.” 

Crowley grunts.

Undeterred, he confides, “My dear, I do believe I have a plan. How do you feel about… Oh, what do the humans call it?” He beams. “Roleplay, I believe.”

Suddenly far more awake, Crowley offers him a slow smirk and drawls, “Got a safeword?”

Blinking, Aziraphale begins, “What-”

“I’ll explain later, angel.” Crowley slides gracefully from his lap, his swagger returned, but there’s no concealing the hint of pink in his cheeks. He stretches lazily, yawning. Aziraphale doesn’t bother trying not to stare. “Think I can manage some crepes if you’re hungry. Then you can tell me all about your clever plan.”

“Oh. Yes.” He’d been so wrapped up in the prophecy and well, Crowley that he’d entirely forgotten to eat a thing last night. “I am a bit peckish.”

“Right. I’ll just-” Crowley jerks a thumb over his shoulder, already beginning to retreat.

“Darling?”

Crowley pauses mid-step at the endearment and he lifts a hand to adjust his glasses, realizing belatedly that he had allowed Aziraphale to take them off last night. Right before they had kissed. Crowley stares and Aziraphale takes great delight in watching the previous night return to him all at once. Running a hand through his rumpled hair, Crowley mutters under his breath, “Not a dream, then.” He clears his throat, straightening from his usual slouch. Slowly, he says, “You and I - we…”

“Yes.”

“And you’re…” He squints at Aziraphale, possibly looking for some hint of angelic guilt. “All right?”

Aziraphale smiles serenely. “For the most part. Though there is one thing that could do with improving, if you’ll indulge me.”

Crowley’s reply is immediate. “Course. What?”

He arches an eyebrow expectantly. “I haven’t much experience in the matter, but I’ve come to understand most lovers exchange a certain type of greeting upon waking together.”

Mouth dropping open, Crowley stutters. “Ngk. Oh.”

And then he’s there, crouching in front of Aziraphale again and crushing those chocolate biscuits he’d dropped last night. For the second time in his very long life, Aziraphale couldn’t care less about the fate of a few biscuits because Crowley is wrapping his strong, slender hand around the back of his neck and swooping in to kiss him heatedly. He licks into Aziraphale’s mouth with that talented tongue and the angel is silently grateful he’s already sitting because his knees go utterly weak.

They part slowly, reluctantly. Their noses brush and when Aziraphale blinks open his eyes, Crowley’s gaze is fixed on him. In the morning light, his eyes are a soft amber and his red hair seems to glow. Voice a low murmur, he asks roughly, “Better?”

Overwhelmed and wanting, Aziraphale buries his face in Crowley’s neck. Lanky arms wrap tight around him. Recalling Crowley’s soft, sleepy confession the night before, he breathes in with a tremulous smile. Leather and brimstone and potting soil. “It’s very good to be home.”

[sparklyafterdark]

[08202019 Helping pissed off CEO Chris] 

You know that look all too well. His face is fixed in an expressionless mask, not frowning or scowling but just blank, and even underneath his suit you can tell how tensed his shoulders are.

This is why you hate these emergency meetings so early in the morning. The day just started and your CEO Chris is already so pissed. He probably hasn't even had his coffee yet when the damn meeting started.

Normally, watching your bosses and higher-ups fighting and spitting venom disguised in niceties and corporate bullshit in front of you would be amusing. This time, you notice how fuming Chris is. Sure, he looks calm and collected to everyone else. But working closely with him for so long, you know his body language better than everyone else in the room, you know the hidden meaning behind his words, and only you can pick up on how he doesn't slam his fingers on the keyboard of his laptop but you can tell from the slightly crunchier sound of the clicks alone that he has a lot of steam to blow. 

It was so hard to focus on the already senseless meeting when all you can think of is how good his hands will look digging into your hips and gripping you hard as he-

No. 

You can't let your mind go there. Seriously? Fantasizing about your hot boss while you're supposed to be working? You're probably even more stressed than him for having wet dreams in broad daylight. 

You watch him intently as you pretend to be busy typing things on your laptop. Your mind just can't help but wander with his newly dyed dark silver hair, sharp eyes that look so intense even when he's not glaring, and strong, solid arms.

Much to your relief, the meeting ended earlier than expected. Maybe they eventually realized how unproductive it actually is with so many things not ironed out before they began. Anyway, Chris is still pissed. He leaned back in his seat, his jaw tensed in a way only you can notice, and ordered everyone out of the room. 

"Need a coffee, Sir?" You stand up and start to unplug and turn off the speakers and TV used for the conference call, ready to head out. Even though you've been working together for quite some time now and you're one of the very few people who can actually approach him when he's mad, you're still very careful not to step on his toes and aggravate his mood. You know that during these situations it would be best to just leave him to cool down alone. After you get him his coffee, that is.

"I do, but there's something else I need more right now," He runs his fingers through his hair in frustration once then goes back to his cool facade.

"Alright then, let me get it for you?" 

He laughs softly, a smirk forming on his face. "Come here,"

You're confused by his request but you put down your laptop and tumbler, walking hesitantly to his end of the long rectangular conference table and grabbing a chair, pushing it closer to him. 

"You won't be needing that," Your brows furrowed in confusion when he grabbed your hand that's still gripping the backrest of the chair. His grip is soft and undemanding like he's giving you a chance to pull away but his eyes tell an entirely different story. "You have the best seat in the house,"

Chris pats his lap and lifts your hand from the chair, grabbing it gently like he's asking for your hand in a dance, but you know it's something else he wants. You're not sure if you're only hallucinating but his warm hands and hypnotizing eyes right in front of you pull you back to reality. Your feet have no control anymore and you give in to his wishes.

With a firm pull on your arm you find yourself sitting sideways on his lap. He licks his lips and looks up at you with a sly smile, reaching up to tuck your hair behind your ears.

"I guess you now know what I want, baby girl," He hums in a low voice, cupping your chin in his fingers. 

Is this even real? Your heart is racing at the thought of your wet dreams coming true. You couldn't count how many times you've fantasized about this moment, how many times you've gotten off at the thought of him, the man who you thought was totally unreachable now underneath you.

Words are totally lost on you and you could only nod in response. Instantly, Chris crashes his lips into yours and you melt under his touch. One of his hands finds its way to your thighs, stroking higher and higher until he reaches inside your skirt, while the unbuttons your shirt, and your hands pull him closer by the hair. Your soft sighs and your hips unconsciously grinding against his thighs in an attempt to get more friction make him kiss you even hungrier, swiping his tongue across your bottom lip and asking for entrance. 

You moan into the kiss when you feel him undoing your bra and slipping off your panties, throwing both pieces of underwear under the table. His kisses grow more desperate, pretty much shoving his tongue down your throat as he fondles your breasts, until he moves down your jaw to your chest, sucking angry purple bruises in the areas hidden by your shirt.

"S-Sir, I- I need-" You were shut up by his lips returning to yours, biting down on your bottom lip and making you whimper in pain and pleasure as he pries your thighs apart and pushes two fingers into your dripping wetness with no warning. You keen at the sudden pleasure, moaning a bit too loudly, your voice echoing through the soundproof walls.

"You don't get to tell me what to do baby girl…" He pulls away from your lips to look at the faces you make as he's finger-fucking you, curling his fingers to brush past your weak spot. "Look how wet you are for me… You've always wanted this, don't you? Do you think I don't notice how you look at me? Do you think I don't know how much you want me to use your tight little pussy? Hmm?" 

He asks but doesn't let you answer. He pulls his fingers out to let you suck on them instead just as your climax bubbles in your core, letting you taste yourself, the satisfied grin on his face growing wider as you feel his cock grow harder underneath you. 

"On your knees," Chris stands up to unbuckle his belt and pull his pants down and you watch the entire time, kneeling down on the carpet in front of him. "Let's put that pretty mouth to good use, will you? Will you let Sir fuck your mouth, baby girl?"

"Yes Sir, use me," Your voice is small and weak and you're surprised how you can still even make any sounds that aren't moans and whimpers. He guides his tip to your lips and you open up right away, lapping up the leaking pre-cum before he shoves his entire length into your mouth until his tip hits the back of your throat. You grow even wetter at the sound of his grunts and heavy breathing, his thrusts getting harder everytime you swallow around him and lick the base of his cock.

"That's it baby, fuck, so good," He loves it especially when you gag on his length and your eyes prickle with tears, a smirk forming on his lips as he admires your fucked out face. A few more rough thrusts of his hips and he pulls out, hissing and groaning as he tightly squeezes the base of his cock so he won't cum yet. Once he's fully sure he won't explode with another touch, he pulls you up by both arms and shrugs off his jacket, rolls up his sleeves and opens the buttons on his shirt revealing his perfectly sculpted abs, and kicks off his pants entirely. 

You swallow hard at the sight before you and you're probably already drooling. You've seen him shirtless before during past company trips but this is a whole new level of hot. Seeing him so feral and disheveled is a welcome change to his usually polished exterior. You've always known he had a wild streak but to actually experience it? Fuck, it felt like a dream. The veins on his arms look angrier than normal as he pushes you face down on the table and lifts your skirt, slamming his length into you and pounding hard without letting you adjust to his size. One hand gripping your waist so tight it's going to leave bruises and the other hand pulling on your hair, his pace is merciless the moment he entered, leaving you screaming his name in ways you never thought was possible. 

You truly are lucky. Chris is so, so good, you can only imagine how many girls are dying to have a taste of him wherever he goes yet here you are bent over on his conference room table, seeing stars everytime he sinks into you.

Soon enough his thrusts get even more relentless, filling the room with wet slapping sounds and the most obscene moans, the pressure building in your gut until you clench hard around him, your senses clouded in bliss as he pulls out and turns you around to release in your mouth. Trembling hands tilt your chin up so he can watch you choke on his cum. He watches you in delight as you swallow every last drop, swiping his thumb at the corner of your mouth to catch any drips. 

Still shaking from your high and looking like an absolute mess, you reach under the table to find your underwear but Chris pulls you back, pinning you down on the carpet. He hasn't gotten dressed yet, his crisp white shirt that was perfectly ironed barely an hour ago now hanging open and crumpled on his torso. 

"Where do you think you're going?" He positions himself between your legs and strokes his cock as it starts to stiffen again. 

"I thought you still needed coffee?" You chuckle as you completely unbutton your top. Chris laughs with you and reaches up the table to get your phone and hands it to you. 

"Fuck coffee, cancel my meeting at 10, tell them I have an emergency appointment."

[anne-white-star]

Young Jon pertwee x waitress!reader 

Notes: reader is a waitress jon saves her from a scary situation and more will happen read to find out😊

Please ignore any spelling mistakes thank you 😊

There are hystorical mistakes im sorry about that i tried my best

Warnings : cursing nothing bad or explisit

Words : 2067

It was 1947 2 years After the war of 1945 people wer trying to pick back up their lives. A lot of buildings were destroyed many people died, lots of people fled and fought the war it was a big chaos the last 5 years, but things were calm now.

Jon pertwee came back home from the war after serving as a marine in the navy on the HMS Hood also in the ww2 many of his men died one of the only survivers of his group was him and Ian Fleming. (I hope i got it corect if not my excuses)

"Hey jon! How are you doing mate?" Jon turnd around at the mention of his name.

"Oh hey ian, it has been a few years" jon grabed his hand and shook it "im doing fine how about you?".

"im doing alright, im just trying to pick my life back up you?" They started to walk next to echother.     

"Yes me to the past years have been really tough" as they both crossed the street jon his eyes fell on a bar/restaurant/pub "shall we go get a beer? Than we talk further".

"Sounds good im always if for a cold beer" ian laught

Walking in they were greated by lots of men sitting and drinking their fill, waitresses were serving food the bar tender was filling their beer mug. And there were a few cooks in the back prepairing some food. They sat down at a table and a women walked up to them.

"Hello welkom to the fox and hounds my name is y/n and i will be your waitress this afternoon would you like to eat or drink something?" She grabed a pen and note book out of her apron ready to Wright down their order. (The Fox & Hounds is locaded at 29 Passmore St, Belgravia, London SW1W 8HR, not far from jon his old home at 66 Chester Row it was build around 1960 but lets pretend its older)

"Umm yes" jon looked at the menu

"I'll take a pint" ian said

"I take one as wel"

Y/n looked up from her note book "anything ells?"

"No this is fine" jon smiled at the women

"Alright two pints coming up" she walked back to the bar to get them

"Are you starting to like her don't you?" Ian asked

"What?"

"I saw the way you looked at her"

"Oh be quiet you" jon punched his shoulder while grining  

"So here you go two pints that be 2s 4d"( its origanaly 1s 2d im not british i Googled it but i really don't know how this works it was after the war) she smiled and put them down on the table before them

"Here you go i pay for both of us" ian said to her and smiled

Y/n took the money from the table and put it in her apron

Jon started to drink his beer and they talked with echoter for about 30 minuts when

"Hey let me go aaahhh!!!"

They both turned around to look where the scream came from, when they turned around they saw y/n being hold back with a gun pointed to her head

"Give me all the money out the register or the pretty girl will pay with her life"   

"Please let me go" she asked while crying softly

Jon put his beer mug back down on the table and stood up "let the girl go"

"Hmpf" "what are you going to....." the man was caught of guard by jon punching him in the face "agh!! you fucking cunt!" the gun fell out of his hand and His hands flew to his nose. Jon grabed the gun from the ground and went to stand in between y/n and the man.

"Now put your hands up turn around and face the wall" jon pointed the gun in the back of the man "someone call the police"

Ian walked up to y/n and sat next to her on the ground "are you alright?"

"Yeah yeah im fine..... i just need a moment" *sigh*

About 30 minuts later Two police officers stept in "Good afternoon we got a call for a attempt of robbery and a hostage"

"Yes sirs here he is" jon said while still pointing his gun at the man.

"Alright we take it from here thank you so mutch for keeping him under controle" one of the police man took handcuffs and arested the man.

"Also here is his gun" jon gave it to the other officer

"Thank you sir, we will take care of all this".

After the police officers took the man away jon turned to y/n sitting on the ground with a blanked over her shoulders. "how are you feeling?"

"Im feeling better now thank you" *sigh* "i just feel a bit scared now to get home"

"Where do you life?"

"About 30 minuts away but i have to be at work tomorow"

"If you want you can stay at my home i don't live far from the restaurant"

"That would be Nice sir"

"Oh please don't be so formal just call me jon"

"Thank you jon" y/n smiled at him.

Ian had been gone for a few hours after the insedent, after y/n her shift they walked to jon's house

"So this is my place" jon unlocked the door and let her in. "Make yourself at home"

"Its quite lovely" she looked around, y/n put her bag down and hung her coat on the coat rack.

"You must be hugry" jon said while walking to the kitchen "what would you like?"

"Hmm is (favorite food) alright?"

Jon laught "sure but i don't know how to make that, perhaps you could help me?"

"Of course i will help you jon its the least i can do" she went to stand next to him.

After they were done preparing the food they both sat down and started to eat

"Hmm this tastes great"

"Im glad you like it jon"

When they were done with eating their food y/n went to prepare herself for bed "where can i sleep jon?"

"you can take the bed y/n i'll take the coutch"

"Are you sure?"

"Its fine don't worry, good night dear"

"Good night".

The next morning both jon and y/n had breakfast with echoter and talked about all kinds of stuff

"i can't thank you enough for helping me out yesterday"

"Oh its nothig i dealed with worse"

"You fought in the war din't you?"

"Unfortanetly yes" jon looked down sadly "so many died, i lost a lot of comerats in battle"

Y/n grabed his hand softly in hers "Im so sorry, that you had to go trough that jon"

Jon smiled at her "Its alright I only hope this never happens again"

Y/n looked at the clock "oh goodness i have to get ready my shift starts in an hour" she stood up and went to get ready for work.

The few days that y/n had to work she would sleep the nights at jon's house so that she could be at work on time when she had off from work y/n would go back to her own home. Jon had to admid the days when she wasn't there during the late afternoon and diner it was quite lonley, but the days she was at his house they enjoyed cooking, reading and playing games to pass the time.

6 months had passed sinds the incedent at the fox and hounds and y/n and jon got very close with echoter they became great Friends even to the point that they both fell in love with one another but both din't know it that they were.

"Hey jon in a few days there will be music at the fox and hounds and i was wondering if you would like to go with me?"

"Sure it sounds like fun"

The evening came around and people were dressed up formal y/n was wearing a long black dress with long white gloves and golden wristbands plus a pearl necklace around her nek her hair was in pretty waves down her back. They were enjoying them selfs when the bar tender came up to y/n

"Y/n can i talk to you for a moment"

"Alright sure, i be back in a few minuts jon" they both walked to the back of the restaurant "whats wrong?"

"Wel i got the news that the last person who was suposed to sing could't come because their car broke down"

"Oh no what are we going to do"

"Cant you go up there?"

"What me? Really?"

"Yes you, i have heared you sing something while being in the back your voice is very pretty y/n"

"Hmm... Alright i'll do it"

"Thank you y/n you are a life saver"

About 30 minuts later it was time for her to come one the stage

"Ladys and gentelmen may i have your atention for the last act y/n y/l/n"

(Play the song from here if you want)

🎶He was a famous trumpet man from old Chicago way

He had a boogie style that no one else could play

He was the top man at his craft

But then his number came up and he was gone with the draft

He's in the army now, a-blowin' Reveille

He's the boogie woogie bugle boy of Company B

A-toot, a-toot, a-toot-diddelyada🎶

Y/n looked over the crowd trying to find jon

🎶Ai, ai, ai, ai, ai

Have you ever danced in the tropics?

Well that girl's a fool

With the Gaucho?????

Of the South American way, hey!

Ai, ai, ai, ai. ai

Could you have ever kissed in the moon light

If you never kissed

Who knows what you've missed

In the South American Way🎶

Again looking around she still could't spot him

🎶Bei mir bist du schoen

Please let me explain

Bie mir bist du schoen means you're grand

Bei mir bist du schoen

Again I'll explain

It means you're the fairest in the land

I could say "bella, bella"

Even say "wunderbar"

Each language only helps me tell you

How grand you are

I'll try to explain

Bei mir bist du schoen

So kiss me and say you'll understand🎶

"Okay guys, grab your gal and hit the floor

'Cos here's that beat you've been waiting to swing to" said the bar tender to the crowd of people

🎶Who's the lovin' daddy with the beautiful eyes

What a pair o' lips, I'd like to try 'em for size

I'll just tell him, "Baby, won't you swing it with me"

Hope he tells me, "Baby, what a wing it will be"

So, I said politely "Darlin' may I intrude"

He said "Don't keep me waitin' when I'm in the mood"

In the mood

In the mood

In the mood

It didn't take me long to say "I'm in the mood now🎶

She finaly spoted him in the crowd he was looking at her with a dreamy look.

🎶If you ever go down Trinidad

They make you feel so very glad

Calypso sing and make up rhyme

Guarantee you one real good fine time

Drinkin' rum and Coca-Cola

Go down Point Koomahnah

Both mother and daughter

Workin' for the Yankee dollar🎶

🎶Oh, Tico Tico, tick

Oh, Tico Tico, tock

This Tico Tico, he's the cuckoo in my clock

And when he says "Cuckoo"

He means it's time to woo

It's Tico time for all the lovers in the block

I've got a heavy date

A tete-a-tete at eight

So speak, oh Tico, tell me is it getting late?

If I'm on time, cuckoo

But, if I'm late, woo woo

The one my heart is gone to may not want to wait🎶

🎶In Spain they say "Si, si"

In France you hear "Oui, oui"

Ev'ry little Dutch girl says "Ya, ya"

Ev'ry little Russian says "Da, da"

La-la-la-la-da-da-da-da

Da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da

Da-da-da-de-de-da-da

De-da-da-da-da-da-da-da🎶

When the song was over people clapped and cheered for her performance. Jon walked up the stairs of the podium.

"That was amazing y/n i din't know you could sing so wel"

"Thank you jon it means a lot" y/n smiled

"I want to ask you a question y/n"

"Yes jon go ahead"

"Would you like to be My girlfriend?"

"I would love to"

Jon kissed y/n a top of her head knowing that this women wil be a great joy in his live.

The end

I hope you all enjoyed reading 😊

[exoticarmyofcrowns]

first love | myg

pairing: none. this is a solo yoongi fic

summary: nothing is for certain. except yoongi’s love for his piano. or: first love in too many words

genre: song fic, angst

warnings: some mentions of depression and yucky thoughts, potentially triggering mention of a panic attack (i tried to be purposefully vague but just in case), potentially graphic depiction of a car accident

word count: ~5.5k

a/n: hello! so uh here i am making my debut! i am still reeling from the emotional rollercoaster that was bangbangcon and it kinda rallied me into wanting to publish this?? i adore first love, i think it is such a poignant, poetic representation of yoongi’s love and devotion to music and i really wanted to explore that relationship a little in story form. i’ve had this written for a while and i’ve always wanted to write stuff on here but never had the courage. but i figure we all collectively need some respite from our emotions so here is a small gift, if anyone would like to take a look. if you do, pls enjoy and let me know your thoughts! <3

(also, please keep in mind that artistic liberties were taken despite being based off of yoongi’s life.)

Yoongi is five years old.

He wanders out of his room, looking for his mom. He just has to show her this awesome drawing that he made. He knows that she’ll love it, that she will be proud of him. Smiling gleefully, he toddles off into the rest of the house to find her.

“Eomma!” he yells, hoping she’ll hear him and give him a clue as to where she is. Maybe she’s playing hide and seek! Yoongi giggles at the thought, determined now more than ever to find her.

He checks his parents room, frowning when he realizes it’s empty. It’s not bedtime, he reasons, she wouldn’t be in here. Closing the door, Yoongi sets off into the living room to check there. But there’s no sign of his mother there either. She’s not in the kitchen and the bathroom door is open so she’s not in there either. Frustrated, Yoongi turns to go back to his room.

On his way back, he spots a door at the end of the hall. His eyes narrow as he purses his lips. He hadn’t checked there yet. Maybe she really is hiding from him. Deciding it was worth a try, he stomps over to the door and reaches up to grab the handle. 

It takes a few tries but Yoongi manages to gather enough strength to push open the door. He whips his head around, checking every possible corner for signs of his mom. He’s about to let out a frustrated whine when his eyes catch on something on the far wall to his right.

A piano.

Yoongi had seen pictures of pianos before in the stories his mom would read to him before bed but he had never seen one up close. It’s massive, towering over his small frame in a way that should have been intimidating but only filled him with quiet wonder. 

Scrambling up on the tall bench--which should have tipped over with the force of his jump but it miraculously stayed put--Yoongi takes in the white and black keys, marveling at the way they shine in the light coming from the window. He sticks out a small, chubby finger and presses one of the keys. The note rings out around him and he giggles in delight. 

Pretty, he thinks. He begins pressing keys in earnest, playing around with different note combinations and laughing in pure joy when he finds a pair that he likes. He’s so enraptured by the piano that he hardly notices when the door creaks open.

“There you are, little one.” His mother’s voice has a playful lilt in it as she watches her son play the piano with unadulterated glee.

“Eomma!” Yoongi cries, excited to show her his discovery. “Look! A piano!”

“I see!” she laughs. “You’re quite the musician.”

“Musician,” he repeats, liking the way it feels on his tongue. “I feel so nice, mom.”

Yoongi’s mother cards her fingers through his hair fondly, chuckling at her precocious son. “Hmm, maybe the piano likes you. You two will grow up to be the best of friends.” She scoops the young child in her arms, heart warming at the squeals of laughter the action elicits.

“Come on now, my little Beethoven,” his mother says, setting Yoongi back down on the ground and taking his small hand in hers. “It’s time for lunch.”

As he follows his mother out of the room, Yoongi takes one last look at the piano. He smiles, already excited to play again.

Yoongi is fourteen years old. 

The last bell rings, signaling the end of the school day but Yoongi hardly hears it, pen scribbling furiously across his paper. Inspiration had struck in the middle of math class and he has to get the lyrics down before he leaves to go home. 

Finishing, he rereads through his work with a small smile. He’s quite proud of these lyrics, thinks they might be the best yet. He already has an idea for a backing beat swirling in his head, one that would really compliment the message of his rap and the new flow he’s been experimenting with. He feels giddy with excitement at the idea of playing around with some different sounds. Standing, Yoongi packs up his things, throwing his journal into his bag before heading out with the rest of his classmates. 

As he walks, Yoongi is, not for the first time, conscious of how alone he is. Girls walk in line with their arms interlocked while the guys are loud and boisterous, hanging off each other with wide grins on their faces. He has friends of course, if you could call the neighborhood kids he plays basketball with on occasion “friends,” but none that he would consider particularly close to him. The thought leaves him feeling strange so he shuts it out, shaking his head roughly as if to physically dispel it.

He makes his way to the school entrance, hanging a quick left past the convenience store to the bus stop. He catches a glimpse of a group of students talking and laughing, indulging in a hot bowl of ramen before heading home. Yoongi’s stomach rumbles at the sight and he pauses, calculating. His shoulders slump when he realizes he doesn’t quite have enough, the change burning a hole in his pocket just enough to cover his bus fare home and little else. He doesn’t get paid again until Friday. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he ignores the cramping in his stomach and continues on to catch his bus.

The bus ride home is, thankfully, uneventful. He trudges his way from the bus stop to his house. Like he does every day. As he climbs the steps, Yoongi thinks a little wryly to himself that the house that had seemed so huge to him as a child feels scarcely bigger than a prison cell. Maybe it’s the hunger talking.

Opening the front door, Yoongi sighs out a half-hearted I’m home! despite knowing the house is empty. He bends over to shuck off his shoes and place them in the cubby. A soft thud sounds behind him but he doesn’t notice.

Yoongi heads to the kitchen to down a glass of water in the hopes of dispelling the growing hunger pangs before shuffling to his room, tossing his backpack carelessly at the foot of his bed and flopping face-first onto the thin mattress. He knows he should probably get up and finish his homework but he still feels the residual exhaustion from his weekend shifts at the convenience store. Maybe he should ask Mr. Kim to lighten up on his hours. Yoongi would have to sell more songs to make up the income difference but he thinks it might be worth it to get some extra sleep.

He nods off for what he swears can’t be more than a few minutes but the sound of the front door shutting and the way his room has dimmed significantly suggest otherwise. Swearing, Yoongi turns on his bedside lamp and rubs a tired hand down his face. He stands, stretching his tight muscles, and moves to grab his bag from the floor. The house is eerily silent considering his parents have just come home but Yoongi brushes the thought away in favor of pulling out his textbook to get started on his homework.

Just as he’s about to sit down, a figure stops in front of his bedroom doorway. Yoongi looks up, a small smile and a greeting on his lips. They both wither at the sight before him.

There stands his father, holding his lyrics journal. Yoongi feels his mouth go dry.

They stare at each other for an immeasurable amount of time. Yoongi tries to think of something, anything, to say but his mind has blanked and his skin prickles in a cold sweat. His father recovers before he does.

“Min Yoongi,” he begin, voice deceptively calm. “What is this?”

“A-Appa,” Yoongi stutters. “I can explain--”

“I thought we talked about this, Yoongi.” He steps into Yoongi’s room and the younger boy fights the urge to cower where he stands. “You should be focusing on your studies. Not on these frivolous songs.”

Yoongi winces and tries to push down the flash of irritation. “Yes, appa. B-But I haven’t been letting it affect my grades. I get all my school work done and I try to help you and mom out by picking up extra shifts at Mr. Kim’s store--”

“And selling this drivel on street corners?” Yoongi freezes. His parents weren’t supposed to know about that. “Oh yes, I know all about your little escapades on the streets. Do you know how risky that is? What kind of danger you could be putting yourself in?”

“I…” Yoongi’s voice sounds incredibly small and he hates it. “It’s just to get my name out there. Get some experience.”

“You don’t need experience. This…nonsense--”

“It’s rap, appa. Hip hop.”

His father fixes him with a look but doesn’t comment. “This isn’t a real career, Yoongi.” 

“But I… I love it,” he whispers, trembling with repressed anguish. 

“Love is not enough to make a living.” His father closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose, sighing heavily. “Is there more?” 

Yoongi hesitates before nodding slowly.

“Give it to me.” He holds his hand out, frown set deeply on his forehead. “This ends now.”

Balking, Yoongi takes a step back, heart crawling into his throat and suffocating him. “A-Appa, no. You can’t--”

“I can and I will. Hand them over, Yoongi.”

The boy feels something akin to rage rush through his veins. He chances a glance at the doorway and sees his mother standing there uneasily.

“Eomma,” he cries thickly.

His mother looks equally as pained but her gaze flickers to her husband. “Your father is right, Yoongi-yah. This… Rap is a hobby, not a job. This could get you involved in the wrong circles. You need to focus on your school work.” She doesn’t meet his gaze.

Anger bubbles in his chest and stings at his eyes, but he chokes down the frustrated scream threatening to tear itself from his throat and moves mechanically to gather his other notebooks full of lyrics. Stiffly, he stands before his father and offers the notebooks.

His father’s expression softens minutely. “We’re doing this for your own good, Yoongi. Please do not doubt this.” With that, he leaves. A year’s worth of lyrics. Gone. His mother lingers at the door but ultimately leaves without another word.

Suddenly, his room feels too small, the faded walls of his old home closing in on him rapidly. Frustration and the anger swirl so violently in his stomach Yoongi thinks he’ll be sick. He can’t be here anymore but he also can’t leave. 

So he runs to the only place he can think of.

The piano room has remained largely untouched since his younger days. The air is stale and faintly musty but Yoongi doesn’t care, can’t bring himself to care as he flings himself onto the old piano bench, arms cradling his head atop the fallboard. Hot, angry tears fall in torrents down his cheeks and his fists clench so tightly he can feel the sharp sting of his nails on his palm. He muffles his cries into his arms, into the piano, unable to keep the sounds to himself any longer.

It takes a while for Yoongi to calm down. Eventually, his tears slow and his breath evens out, though it still hiccups slightly in his chest. He sits up gingerly and stares down at the piano. He hasn’t been here in years and yet… It felt so natural to come here for comfort. Like it was waiting for him.

Shakily, he moves to slide the fallboard back, revealing the shining keys. He straightens his back, falling into position. His fingers hover over the keys, supported lightly by his wrists. The angle is different now that he has grown, no longer dwarfed by the beautiful instrument. Hesitant, Yoongi tries to recall one of the songs his music teacher had taught him and begins to play stiltedly.

It’s awkward; his fingers can’t quite move the way they used to and his new height works against him as he tries to find a comfortable position to play. But the longer he sits, the more comfortable it becomes until he feels like he’s sat here his whole life--playing, listening, living. Yoongi feels a shiver travel down his spine, cleansing and fresh. The anguish and tension from earlier bleeds through his fingertips as he loses himself. 

Gradually, Yoongi stops playing, letting the resounding final notes of his song envelop him, but he doesn’t move. He stays, basking in the warmth, a sort of quiet acceptance, that seems to cradle his body as he sits. 

Caressing the keys almost reverently, Yoongi makes a promise to himself. Rap and writing lyrics and music--these things make up the complex tapestry that is him and he will never let that go ever again. It’s his life to live, his destiny to choose, and he will not let anyone make that decision for him. Not even his parents.

And as he sits there, the boy with his piano welcoming the dawn, he feels the weight on his heart lift just a bit.

Yoongi is nineteen years old.

The rumble of the small bike he uses to make deliveries is the only thing keeping him awake as he drives to his next customer. He’s been pulling more all-nighters as he and the other guys work toward debut, writing songs and going over choreographies. It’s an endless loop of meetings and practices and Yoongi can feel the strain on his frayed nerves. He knows he’s been moodier with his members, too.

His members, he thinks wryly. It wasn’t exactly what he had imagined when he accepted his position at Big Hit but he figures it’s the only way to get what he wants. Music is more important to him than anything. If it requires him to play nice with others for the time being then he can do that. 

Yoongi rolls to a stop at a traffic light and lets out a small sigh, foot coming down onto the pavement to steady himself. The roads are practically empty and it does nothing to quell the exhaustion weighing down his eyelids. It seems like no matter where he is, work will always be a constant in his life. He hadn’t even meant to get another job on top of his producer gig but he’d seen an ad looking for someone to make deliveries a few times a week. The pay was pretty decent and it would be a nice supplement to what he was receiving at Big Hit so he took it. 

It was, however, coming back to bite him in the ass now that things are starting to pick up for them. Just a little longer, he figures. Once they debut, he’ll probably have to quit anyway so might as well enjoy the little extra paycheck for now. Yoongi taps his foot impatiently on the ground as he waits for the light to change, sighing in relief when bright green washes over him and signals him to go.

He’s not quite sure how it happens. He remembers picking his foot up off the ground as he releases the clutch, crossing over the line into the intersection. He thinks he recalls the distant sound of a horn blaring, of a bright light flashing, but that’s overshadowed by the sudden force pushing him onto the ground. His head cracks back against the pavement and thankfully his helmet bears the brunt of the impact but Yoongi still feels the sharp pressure against his skull, a dull ringing sounding in his ears.

Yoongi’s eyes had closed when he was thrown back and he pries them open, vision fuzzy and unfocused, only to be met with the daunting image of a car wheel right in his face. Belatedly, he registers the sound of a bone-chilling scream. He tries to turn his head to find the source of the sound but he realizes with haunting clarity that it’s coming from him. 

Just as he makes the connection, Yoongi begins to hurt. White-hot pain radiates from his shoulder so potent it chokes him. He hears the sound of an engine revving and the wheel in front of his face starts to move away. It catches on his bike, sending it crashing into his shoulder, and another scream of agony scrapes his throat raw. Tears stream from his eyes, further obscuring his vision, but he can still make out the image of the car speeding away, tires screeching as exhaust spews from the pipe.

Yoongi is torn between the excruciating pain and the disbelief that someone just fucking hit him and drove off without even stepping out of the car. He wants to shout curses at the retreating vehicle but the throbbing in his shoulder has intensified even more, churning his stomach so violently it’s a wonder he doesn’t throw up right there. 

Hours pass, it feels like, before a strange sort of numbness begins to filter through his limbs. His body is heavy, and his eyes can no longer hold themselves open. He’s not sure how long he lays there, disoriented and unable to move before someone takes notice of him but he thinks he hears someone frantically calling 911. Soon he hears the sharp siren of an ambulance, lights blinding Yoongi even as he teeters between consciousness and unconsciousness.

The ride to the hospital is a blur. The paramedics had tried talking to him but he was just so tired and everything hurt so bad he could hardly focus long enough to force his lips to form words much less complete sentences. They must hook him to an IV because he feels a sharp prick on the inside of his arm and suddenly his muscles relax. He knows he can’t sleep though so he fights to keep himself awake.

He barely registers arriving at the hospital, the jostling of the stretcher the only indication that he’s moving. A doctor asks one of the paramedics for the report and Yoongi only hears bits of the diagnosis. He knows his shoulder is fucked but the way they’re talking about it unnerves him. He’s anxious now, heart rate spiking as he thinks of the implications this could have on the group. His breathing stutters, sending a shooting pain through his ribs, and he can feel the beginnings of a panic attack tightening in his chest. This catches the attention of the doctor and nurses and they’re suddenly focused on him.

“Yoongi-ssi,” the doctor begins, voice soft and cajoling. He vaguely wonders how he knows his name but then figures the paramedics must have found his license. “You’ve had quite the accident. I know you must be in a lot of pain but is there someone we can call to stay with you and sign some papers?”

Yoongi stares unseeingly at the doctor’s face and really tries to get his voice to cooperate. He knows he can’t call his parents, not yet at least, so he says the first name that comes to mind. 

“N-Namjoon. Kim Namjoon.” He rattles off what he hopes is his phone number before the effort becomes too great. He tries to fight it, he really does, but the events of the night begin to take its toll and his eyelids slip closed as he falls into the beckoning darkness.

When Yoongi comes to, he’s greeted with an annoying beeping somewhere off to his left. He squints, eyes blinking furiously to clear his vision from the blinding white of the hospital room. Moving to sit up, he winces and immediately stops trying to move. He feels like he’s been hit by a truck, which is not too far off, he thinks a little dryly.

A movement to his right makes him flick his gaze to the window where a figure he hadn’t noticed before jumps up from their position in a chair. It’s Namjoon.

“Hyung,” he cries, eyes wild as he practically sprints toward the bed. Yoongi would laugh if he weren’t sure he looked just as ridiculous. “What happened?”

Yoongi scoffs only to grimace when the small movement jerks his shoulder. “Oh, you know, just a casual Friday night.” He tries to joke but Namjoon just gives him a deadpan look so he clears his throat and looks away. “I was making deliveries and some asshole ran a light and hit me. Pretty sure they crushed my shoulder.”

Namjoon nods. He had heard as much from the doctor when he had come in. He seemed to be unimpressed with a barely legal kid coming as Yoongi’s “guardian” but Namjoon couldn’t have cared less in that moment. 

“Do you know who did it?”

“Nah, the bastard sped off as soon as I went down.” Yoongi watches as Namjoon’s face drops in horror, head tipping back in disbelief. 

“Goddammit.” He runs a tired hand through his hair before sliding it down his face.

“What time is it anyway?” 

Namjoon glances at his watch. “Almost eight.”

Yoongi releases a breath. “Fuck. There goes morning practice.” 

“Hyung.” Namjoon’s voice has deepened into his leader voice and Yoongi fights the urge to wince again. “Be serious.”

At his sides, Yoongi’s fists clench. “Does anyone else know?” He raises his gaze to look at the younger man. Namjoon shakes his head once, not breaking eye contact. “Good. Keep it that way.”

The leader balks at that. “What?!” he splutters. “You can’t be serious--”

“Joon.” Yoongi cuts him off with a look, voice softening into a desperate plea. “Please.”

This stops Namjoon short. Yoongi is so rarely vulnerable with him but they have been working and living together for two years now. They’re coworkers and, dare he think, friends. He doesn’t know the full story but he does know that Yoongi’s life has been anything but easy. He has his own reasons for doing the things he does and Namjoon has to understand and trust that Yoongi knows what he’s doing. 

Although it goes against everything his mind is screaming at him, Namjoon nods at the elder. “Okay, hyung. I won’t say anything.”

Yoongi relaxes then, thankful that the younger has decided to trust him.

The next few hours pass relatively quickly. The doctor comes in shortly after their talk and gives Yoongi a run-down of his injuries. His shoulder is practically nonfunctional and he has to keep it wrapped and in a sling for at least six weeks, possibly longer. He doesn’t have a concussion, thank goodness, but the doctor reminds him to come back if he experiences bouts of nausea and recurring headaches. He looks reluctant to say so but he tentatively tells Yoongi that he can leave the hospital but he strongly recommends that he stay at least a few days. Yoongi immediately refuses.

They discuss proper care of Yoongi’s injuries before he’s finally released downstairs to fill out his discharge papers. Namjoon sticks close to his side, listening attentively to the doctor’s explanations and helping Yoongi fill out the papers he can’t quite lift his arm high enough to sign. His ears burn hotly with embarrassment but he’s thankful for Namjoon’s presence nonetheless.

The trip back to the dorm is silent but not uncomfortably so. They hail a taxi from the hospital entrance and Namjoon helps the older into the back seat, opening the door and steadying him as he sits. Yoongi wants to protest that he’s not an invalid but he sort of is. Also, try as he might, he can’t quite stop the swell of affection that overtakes him as the younger fusses over him so he sits back, silent.

Yoongi doesn’t bother to try and hide it from the others. Can’t, really, since they’re all sitting in the living room waiting for them as soon as they step through the doors. Seokjin is the first to reach them, brow furrowed in concern as he takes in Yoongi’s haggard appearance and his sling. He places a hand on his good shoulder, squeezing gently and moving to cup the side of his neck in a tender gesture, before murmuring something about making something for him to eat. 

Jeongguk is next, doe eyes puffy and shining with tears, and he looks like he wants to launch himself at Yoongi but Hoseok has a strong grip on his forearm, other arm rubbing soothingly down his side. Yoongi reaches out and ruffles the youngest’s hair, lips quirked in a small smile to let him know that he’s alright. A small whimper escapes the boy but he valiantly keeps his tears at bay, returning a watery smile before retreating further into Hoseok’s hold. Hoseok looks deeply into his eyes, tense posture relaxing as he gives his hand a squeeze. Jimin and Taehyung stay back but look at him just as sadly as the others. Yoongi shakes his head and offers another smile he hopes is reassuring. He doesn’t think it works. 

The boys fuss over Yoongi well into the night and he tells himself that he’s too tired to be annoyed at their coddling. Namjoon basically moves into his and Seokjin’s room, insisting that he help take care of his injuries as per the doctor’s instructions. Showering proves to be a challenge and it takes both Namjoon and Seokjin to help him undress and cover his cast so that it doesn’t get wet. Yoongi practically dies from the mortification but he’s grateful for the two of them.

Yoongi resumes their regular schedule of activities, much to the disapproval of the rest. He hides his sling and cast under massive t-shirts and jackets that swallow his slender frame whole. Dance practices are hard but he forges ahead, pushing his shoulder to limits he probably shouldn’t but it gets the job done and keeps the suspicious eyes off of him. He pays for it later, though, in the confines of his room after Namjoon and Seokjin have fallen asleep, when he has to muffle his sobs of agony against his good arm.

He likes to think he’s been managing fairly well all things considered but one practice tips him over the edge. It’s been three months since the accident and his shoulder has healed almost entirely but it still acts up every so often. This morning had been particularly rough and no amount of pain-killers had been able to take the edge off. 

The choreographer had just left, leaving Hoseok in charge of the rest of practice. Yoongi sits heavily on the floor, chest heaving, and grabs his water bottle before guzzling the contents. They’ve been going at it for the better part of four hours now and there doesn’t seem to be an end in sight.

“Hoseok-hyung,” Jeongguk pants, flicking his t-shirt against his body in an effort to cool down. “Can we take a break? Please?”

“Soon, Guk. I just want us to do a few more run-throughs before we call it a day.” Hoseok’s eyes don’t leave the mirror as he completes a step and repeats it again.

Jeongguk pouts but doesn’t protest further. Namjoon flickers his gaze over to Yoongi before heading over to Hoseok, clapping a gentle hand on his shoulder. 

“Come on, Hoseok-ah. Why don’t we take fifteen and recuperate a little. Then we’ll get back into it.” He sends a pointed glance to where Yoongi sits near their things and the elder man bristles slightly at that.

“Namjoon. It’s fine, let’s just keep going.” He tries not to snap but he knows it comes out far more bitter than he means.

“Hyung, I just think--”

“I’m fine.” Yoongi launches himself from the ground and takes his position in front of the mirror. “From the top.”

Namjoon and Hoseok share a look as the others stare in silence but Yoongi ignores them in favor of analyzing his form in the mirror. His shoulder throbs insistently.

“From the top,” Hoseok repeats lifelessly, and everyone falls into position. 

They manage a few more rehearsals before Yoongi truly starts to feel the consequences. He’s sore and sweaty and his shoulder seems to have developed its own pulse, pounding painfully in time with the music. One move in particular sends a shooting pain down his arm so sharp he yelps in surprise, doubling over with the effort to breathe. The others are on him in an instant.

“Hyung, are you alright--”

“Yoongi-yah, why don’t you just sit--”

“Hyung, come on, let’s all just--”

“I said I’m fine!” Yoongi roars, irritation peaking. “Would everyone please just stop treating me like I’m made of fucking glass?”

No one answers, no one even dares to breathe. Five heads swivel to Namjoon who seems just about as bewildered about the outburst as everyone else.

Yoongi is breathing heavily now, part from pain and part from the force of his outrage. He knows he’s being irrational but he’s sick and tired of having them hover around him like he could collapse at any moment. He’s fine goddammit!

Another long moment passes and Yoongi can’t face them again, not when he feels so unstable. Frustration--at them, at no one, at himself--forms a heavy lump in his throat and he swallows thickly to dislodge it.

“I’m heading to the studio. Don’t wait up.” He grabs his bag and practically flies out the door, heading to the second floor. He flings his studio door open and quickly closes it behind him, breathing heavily. 

His head falls into his hands before they move into his hair and tug harshly. Hot tears prick at his eyes and Yoongi can’t stop the anguished cry from leaving his lips as he crumples in on himself. He’s just so tired and stressed and in so much pain. He knows the others mean well but he hates this, hates being reminded that this only happened because of his stupidity. He was the one with the second job, he was the one who got in that stupid accident, he was the one who forced them to keep it a secret. It’s hard on everyone and Yoongi has no one to blame but himself.

He shouts in frustration, throwing his bag down harshly onto the ground. The action seems to awaken a deeper desire to destroy, to hurt just as he is, and before he can think through it, he’s overturning the small armchair and coffee table with a yell. 

Red flashes behind his eyes and the emotions that have been simmering low in his stomach boil over, running hotly through his veins. Yoongi screams at the furniture as if they’re the cause of his suffering and he lands a violent kick to its surface, once, twice. His desk chair receives the same treatment and he turns to grab the baseball bat he keeps by the door. Stalking toward his electric piano, he raises the bat above his head to strike but he hesitates. Another harsh ripple of pain rushes through him and that’s all it takes. 

Dropping the bat, Yoongi falls to his knees just as the first tears fall. He cries and cries, clutching his shoulder as if it were the only thing anchoring him. He can’t do this anymore, he can’t. He’s not cut out for performing or music or any of it. 

Maybe his parents were right.

He stays there for a while, hiccuping in the silence of his studio. His breathing eventually slows but the heaviness in his heart remains. Looking up, Yoongi takes in the sight of his piano. It’s obviously different from the one he has at home but it’s still familiar, comforting. He rises slowly, taking care to mind his shoulder, and grabs the small bench from underneath the stand. Sitting, his body moves almost automatically into position. Yoongi’s shoulder twinges again but it’s more manageable this time. He takes a deep breath, centering himself, and plays.

He’s not sure what he’s playing, just letting his fingers glide across the keys as they see fit. He almost wishes he were recording himself so he could listen to it back but he doesn’t want to stop playing even for a moment to pull out his phone. So he doesn’t; just keeps playing. And playing. And playing.

It’s hours later when Yoongi finally stops. The last note lingers delicately in the air and he doesn’t breathe for fear of shattering the serenity that had settled around him. Only when it’s silent again does he exhale and he feels different. Still hurting, still heavy, but peaceful. 

Sighing, he stands up from the piano and goes to right the furniture he upended during his tantrum. Once everything is back in order, he looks around the room until his gaze lands on the piano. It just stands there, unmoving, unchanging, just as it always has, and an unnamed emotion tightens in his chest. He lingers, letting the feeling seep into him until he’s filled with it. He closes his eyes.

Yoongi knows he can’t guarantee his future. Hell, he can’t even guarantee the next five minutes. But, he thinks, as he picks up his things and leaves the studio, sending one last glance at the instrument, perhaps that’s alright, as long as he has this.

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