#yank your yarn

[wittolcreechar]

she looks so scraggly

i forgot to show it here OOPS

but!! this was me trying to learn how to draw karen 💔 i really want her to give off weird girl vibes 😭

she spends her time making bracelets w her favs names on them and drawing fanart on her math homework :)

[ktownshizzle]

Terms & Conditions | Chapter 4

Pairing: Min Yoongi x female reader

Summary: Managing Min Yoongi as one of your encoders during his alternative military service should’ve been simple. He is quiet, punctual—and can apparently type as fast as he can rap! Not to mention the fact that he is easy on the eyes and keeps wanting to help you. You’ve signed an iron-clad NDA, detailing the full terms and conditions of his temporary employment, so you’re supposed to keep things professional, but what happens if neither of you wants to?

Genre: Fluff, eventual smut, co-workers to lovers, office romance, idol!au

Warnings: Purely speculative regarding Yoongi’s alternative military service and how this is really done in SK, I might include scootergate in a future chapter but please know it will be written sensibly imo and with so much love for our Yoongi (I just wanna protecc him at all costs even thru this silly story!), some cursing, boss/employee relationship sorta but there's no power play involved, reader and Yoongi are within the same age range

Chapter Warnings: MC is actin’ a fool (she’s just a little conflicted guys, don't be mad), angst if you squint, second-hand embarrassment, if there are mistakes please ignore them I’m still editing, first kiss and it’s hawt and it's with this yoongi. jfc~!

Word count: 5.6k (approx. 20 mins to read)

Posting date: October 23, 2024

Notes: This would be my last quick update for a while. Next chapter will be out in 3 weeks time earliest. In the meantime, enjoy~

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Masterlist

Turns out, you actually did have ramen. 

It wasn’t supposed to go like this. The whole night had been building to something else. The tension between you and Yoongi had been thicc, simmering for weeks, magnified in every stolen glance, every knowing smile, every deliberate touch.

But all of that changed the moment you stepped inside your apartment. Let’s back track a bit.

You fumbled with your keys, taking at least three tries longer than usual to unlock the door. Your heart was racing, Yoongi’s presence behind you was like a furnace. He must’ve noticed your nerves because he placed his hands gently on your shoulders, trying to soothe you, but it only made you more conscious.

Finally, you made it inside.

Too flustered to even turn on the lights, the dim glow from the kitchen cast long shadows, making the space feel smaller, more intimate. Wordlessly, you both kicked off your shoes and hung up your coats.

“Ramen, huh?” Yoongi teased, his voice low, the smirk practically audible. He wasn’t fooled by the offer. You both knew what ‘ramen’ meant. But for some reason, you were acting like a complete idiot.

“Y-Yeah,” you stammered, bolting to the kitchen as if the pots and pans could save you. “We could actually eat ramen. I, uh... have some.”

Yoongi didn’t reply immediately, but you heard his slow, deliberate footsteps following behind. That sound alone made your pulse race faster. You yanked open cabinets with more force than necessary, the clattering of dishes betraying your current state of disarray. Grabbing the ramen packets, you held them up like a shield. “I have shin ramyeon, jin ramen, buldak—what’s your favorite?”

When you turned around, Yoongi was leaning against the counter, watching you with a quiet, amused smile. “You’re nervous,” he observed. No shit, Sherlock!

You shook your head, denying it, even though you weren’t fooling anyone—not even yourself. A pack of ramen just fell on your foot. You bend over to retrieve it, and when you stand back up, Yoongi is in front of you, hands outstretched to take the three other packets from your arms and place them on the counter.

The way he was looking at you sent shivers down your spine. You were a ball of yarn, slowly unraveling under this cat’s playful hands. You gulped, turning back to run the pot under the tap.

“Okay,” Yoongi said from behind you, clearly stifling a laugh. “Ramen it is, then.”

You exhaled deeply as you heard him make his way to the living room. You peeped from behind your shoulder. He’s checking out some of the photos from a low shelf, a small smile on his lips. 

Fuck the pot’s overflowing. Hastily, you closed the faucet,  poured out some of the water, and brought the pot to the stove.

“Where’s the bathroom?” he asked, his tone casual.

You waved a hand vaguely toward the hallway without even looking, trying to avoid eye contact with him as much as possible. “Just down there.”

And that’s when you messed up. Because after that, everything changed.

When he came back, something was off. He looked... discombobulated. His face caught somewhere between amusement and disbelief.

“What?” you asked, sprinkling dehydrated vegetables from the Shin Ramyun pack into the pot. “What happened?”

Yoongi tilted his head, biting back a grin. “Your room… it’s, uh, very...”

It took a second, but then it hit you. Hard.

“Oh no...” Your stomach dropped. You are the biggest idiot of all time.

He hadn’t gone to the bathroom. He went to Chae’s room. Chae, your BTS-obsessed best friend, whose room is practically a shrine to Yoongi and his bandmates. Posters, merch, plushies, framed photos—everything. Depending on her mood, Yoongi might even be the featured member on her duvet.

“Oh my God,” you breathed, horrified. “You didn’t—”

“I did,” Yoongi confirmed, voice full of barely contained laughter. He pulled out a barstool and sat down. “Didn’t know you were ARMY.”

“Okay, hang on.” You raised your palms in defense, scrambling to reason. How can you explain this without offending him? “No, I’m not ARMY. Don’t get me wrong. I like you—uh, I mean, I like BTS. But that’s not my room.”

Yoongi nodded, a finger lodged between his teeth to bite back his amusement at your rambling. “I’m just teasing. I saw the neon sign with Chae’s name. Couldn’t miss it.” He shrugs, “Just wasn’t expecting to see more of Jungkook-ah tonight. Chae really loves those Calvin Klein ads, huh?”

You buried your face in your hands, peeking through your fingers. “I’m so sorry.”

Yoongi shook his head, reaching for your wrists, gently pulling your hands away so he could see you. “Why are you apologizing?”

You stared at him meekly, voice tiny. “I dunno…”

“It’s not a crime. Besides…”

“Besides what?”

He grinned, resting his chin on his hand. “I got you to admit something, at least.”

You blinked, confused. “Admit what?”

His grin widened. “That you like me—I mean BTS, you like BTS,” he teased, repeating your earlier words. You were mortified all over again.

You groaned helplessly, turning your back to him.

His cute, throaty laugh somehow made you feel a little less embarrassed—but also made your heart race for an entirely different reason.

You heard the crinkle of ramen packets being opened, and when you turned back around, Yoongi was standing there, eyes glinting mischievously behind the steam of the boiling water.

“This ramen’s gonna be fuckin’ good. I can already tell.”

The evening takes on a different rhythm after that, the heat no longer crackling with the same intensity, but still simmering beneath the surface, like the hot broth you scooped into ceramics for you and Yoongi to enjoy. 

You both sit on the couch, soup bowls on hand, laughing about the absurdity of walking into Chae’s room, talking about anything that isn’t the weight you’ve both been carrying. Yoongi leans back, stretching one arm along the cushions behind you, the space between you narrowing with each quiet moment.

The conversation fades, and the silence that follows feels more like a prelude to another conversation that needs to be had. His fingers graze your shoulder before curling around it, pulling you gently toward him. You don’t pull away. Instead, you lean in, letting his warmth seep into you, feeling the quiet shift between you. 

It’s not the same moment you’d have expected earlier, but it feels real, steady. And maybe that’s better. Maybe this is what you actually need. For now.

“There’s something here, isn’t there?” he asks softly, like he’s testing the waters.

“Yeah,” you reply, the truth rolling out without hesitation. You inhale sharply, the reality of the moment catching up to you. “There is.” You exhale, saying the next phrase almost regrettably. “But there’s also the NDA. If anyone finds out... I could lose my job.”

Yoongi’s grip tightens, his thumb brushing slow circles on your shoulder. “I know,” he says gently, almost apologetically. “I don’t want you to get hurt. I’d never risk that.”

You look up at him, really look, and it’s all there—the restraint, the careful way he’s holding himself back, waiting for you to lead. You can see the desire in his vision, the way his body leans just slightly into yours, the way his focus lingers on your lips and stays there. He wants you, but he’s not going to push.

“I can’t think straight when you look at me like that,” you whisper, the words slipping out before you can stop them. Why did you say that? It feels dangerous, like you’ve just given up a secret you weren’t ready to share.

“You think I can?” he chuckles softly, tipping his head back toward the ceiling, exhaling a frustrated “shit” like he’s trying to release the tension hanging between you.

“Is this a bad idea, Yoongi?” you ask, looking down on your lap, scraping the dry bits of skin on one finger, just something else to focus on apart from his face.

Yoongi shifts closer, his body coaxing yours until you melt against him. His arms circle you, wrapping you in comfort, and you let him. Of course, you do. 'Cause it feels so damn good. He feels so damn good. You didn’t realize how touch-starved you are til this moment. Your arms quickly find your way around his body, too, and you revel in the satisfaction it brings.

“How about this,” he murmurs after a beat, his lips brushing the top of your head. “Let’s take some time to think about it. We don’t have to decide anything right now.”

You nod, resting your cheek against his chest, listening to the steady thump of his heartbeat beneath you. He means it. He’s giving you the space, the choice—and that’s enough for now.

When Yoongi finally stands to leave, the atmosphere is a little lighter, still buoyant with potential. He pauses at the door, holding your hand just a little longer than necessary, his thumb brushing over your skin before he speaks.

“I won’t be in the office next week. I’ve got some things to take care of. But, can I invite you over to my place next Saturday?”

“Yeah,” you answer without hesitation. It feels like the easiest answer you’ve ever given.

Yoongi reaches into his pocket, pulling out his phone, passing it to you without a word. You take it, knowing exactly what he wants—what’s long overdue—and type your number into it before giving it back.

Riding on a surge of courage, you rise up onto your tiptoes, and press a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. Your hands find each other again, and the soft squeeze he does grounds you both in the moment. The kiss—it was more like a peck—is gentle, brief, but it feels like a promise. Unspoken, but understood. You’re not ready to explore it fully, not yet, but it’s gonna come. 

You pull away and catch the moment when his eyes slowly open. “Good night,” he whispers.

“Good night,” you reply, your hand lingering in his until it naturally falls away as he steps back, walking backward into the hallway.

The door clicks shut, and you let out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding, feeling both lighter and heavier all at once. Whatever just happened between you—it’s real. And now, you decide where it leads.

Not a minute after he leaves, your phone pings.

Unknown: 📍[Address] Unknown: Can’t wait for Saturday. Good night, beautiful. 

“RISE AND SHINE, SLUT!!!”

Chae bursts into your apartment like a tornado, her voice echoing through the space as she strides in, bags of coffee and donuts in tow. It’s barely 9 a.m., and she’s already charged with energy. You glance up from the kitchen where you're unloading the dishwasher, the clatter of dishes nearly drowned out by her entrance.

She marches straight toward you, tossing the bags onto the counter. “Alright, spill. What happened? On a scale of one to ten: how good was the tongue technology?” She’s practically vibrating, eyebrows wiggling suggestively.

You roll your eyes but can’t help the grin that stretches on your lips. “The tongue technology was…” You pause dramatically, just to watch her lean in. “Nothing happened.”

Chae’s face drops, as she flops onto your couch. “What?! That’s impossible. Nothing?”

“Nothing,” you confirm, continuing to clear the dishes, the clang of silverware punctuating your words. “You kinda had something to do with it, actually.”

She bolts upright, brows raised. “Wait, what did I do?”

You shake your head, trying to hold back laughter. “Well, he needed to use the bathroom, but…”

The way she looks horror-stricken is hilarious as she pieces it together. “No!!! Shut the fuck up.”

“Yep,” you say, biting your lip to keep from laughing as you lean against the counter. “He went into your Magic Shop.”

“NOOOOOOO!!!” Chae wails, dramatically falling off the couch and onto the floor, writhing like she’s physically in pain. You can’t hold it in anymore and burst into laughter as she flails on your living room floor, her face scrunched in pure mortification.

You finish your story, shaking your head. “Yup. So, there he was, just trying to take a piss, and instead, he was greeted by all of his own face staring back at him. Honestly, the fact that he didn’t run screaming is a miracle. I for sure thought he would think we’re some psycho duo who lured him in our den to murder him and sell his body parts in the black market.”

Chae sits up, groaning. “Oh my god, I am so sorry. I can’t believe—fuck.”

You wave her off, still grinning. “It’s fine. We ended up eating ramen and just… hanging out.”

“Being the world’s worst cockblock was not in my 2024 bingo card. Did I fuck it all up?”

You wince, wiping your hands on a dish towel and tossing it onto the counter. “It was awkward for, like, five minutes. But no, not really.”

“But…” Chae tilts her head, zeroing in on the shift in your tone. “You’re low-key panicking, aren’t you?”

You sigh, crossing your arms and leaning against the counter. “God, I know it sounds ridiculous! I’ve been losing it, thinking I’m just, like, this weird work wife and he’s just stringing me along for shits. And now that I actually know he’s into me too, I thought I’d feel better, but I’m not–I’m still freaking out.”

Chae watches you, letting you get it all out.

“What are people going to say if they find out? That I seduced him—just like they thought I would? It’s insulting and mortifying! I don't want to be that girl. And more than just office gossip, there’s that NDA hanging over my head. I could actually get sued…”

“First of all, that whore Danbi can suck it,” Chae says bluntly, shrugging as she hops up from the floor and grabs a donut. “And honestly, babe, let Yoongi pay the fines even before shit hits the fan. He’s got enough money.”

“Be for real, Chae.”

“Girl, if he’s serious about you, he needs to handle it. Make it known to his company that you’re not some random hookup. He’s gotta deal with that shit.”

“It’s too early for ultimatums,” you argue. “We’re not even officially anything yet.”

Chae raises an eyebrow. “You’re something. I saw the way he was looking at you, all heart eyes. And don’t think I didn’t see you guys playing handsies under the table. You make me sick.”

Your lips form a straight line, trying to hold back a smile, but you can’t help it. “He’s so… ugh. I like him.”

Chae grins, sitting beside you. “I get it. You want it to be real, but you’re scared of the shitstorm that comes with it.”

Chae gets it. This is why she’s your bestfriend. “Exactly,” you sigh. “It’s just… complicated now.”

Chae reaches over, squeezing your hand gently. “Look, you’ll figure it out. Don’t let fear stop you from seeing where this goes. You’ll never know if you don’t try.”

“Yeah,” you murmur, nodding slightly. “Yeah… I guess.”

Chae stands, stretching dramatically before heading for her room. “And next time? I’ll make sure my room is locked.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Yeah, it’s a real boner killer.”

“Funny, I’ve never had any issues in there.”

“Get the fuck outta here.”

“Love you!” she sings, grinning as she enters her room.

“Love you too!”

You’ve been on edge for days, but now, standing in front of Yoongi’s apartment, that nervous energy shifts into something else—anticipation. The building’s lobby feels imposing, the security guard's request for two forms of ID more than enough to stir your nerves. Once they verify your information, you're ushered to the elevator and as you ascend there’s a buzz beneath your skin. 

The moment the doors slide open, Yoongi is already there, leaning casually against the doorway, waiting just for you. His smile is welcoming, but the hug he wraps you in says everything he doesn’t—soft, steady, and a little too tight, like he's been needing this as much as you have.

“Hi,” you say when he releases you, suddenly feeling all shades of shy.

“Hi,” he replies, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he pulls you inside. The door behind you slides shut with a quiet whirr, the lock clicking into place as if on cue.

Yoongi’s apartment in Hannam feels sleek and modern, but with a lived-in vibe. The couch is slightly disheveled, pillows piled at one end, and a throw blanket is casually tossed across the cushions, like he’d been napping before you arrived. The soft glow of a three-wick candle flickers from the console, its scent filling the space with something comforting, like freshly laundered sheets—a blend of clean cotton and subtle sweetness that wraps around you as you step inside.

He looks so hot, it should be a crime. He’s dressed comfortably, but he still looks effortlessly sexy. It’s kind of unfair, actually. The oversized black hoodie hangs loosely, and the faded jeans cling to his frame, the rips at the knees offering a glimpse of skin. Scandalous! 

What really catches your eye, though, are the silver hoops glinting in his ears��one thicker, hanging low, and the other daintier, nestled in his second lobe. You’ve never seen him wear jewelry before, and the sight of him in it now sends a thrill through you, a quiet gesture that he put thought into today.

You made an effort too, choosing a lacy purple top that peaks from under your white zip-up hoodie, paired with those jeans—the ones that always make you feel a little extra confident. Standing here, you hope it shows.

He ushers you to the kitchen where the comforting smell of suyuk simmering on the stove greets you.

“You can stay here, or chill at the couch,” he says, casually slinging a kitchen towel over his shoulder. “Might need a few more minutes with this.”

“I don’t mind. I think I want to stay here,” you do a tiny hop to sit on the counter, giving you a great view of the yummy meal prepared by this equally delicious man. Honestly, you’re still wondering how this became your life.

The pot of suyuk is covered to stew for minutes more. Yoongi pulls the sleeves of his black hoodie to his elbows and grins. “Wine?”

You nod.

“Rosé, ok?”

You nod again, watching the way his hand moves with practiced ease, filling a glass in one smooth motion. He passes you your glass and picks up his.

Yoongi leans against the counter opposite you. “You know,” he starts, a playful glint in his gaze, “you’re really annoying.”

The heck?! You quirk an eyebrow, bringing the glass to your lips. “Excuse me?”

“Yeah, seriously,” he continues, stepping just a little closer, “you’ve been stuck in my head all week, and it’s kind of a problem.”

A nervous laugh escapes you, but you try to keep it light. “Oh, I’m the annoying one? You’re the one who brought that loud-ass mechanical keyboard to work.”

He pouts, the playful edge you’re used to shining through. “Hey, you never said anything about that.” He moves again, this time standing directly in front of you. “But I’m serious.”

Your pulse quickens as he lowers his voice, glancing down to his wine glass, before he looks back up at you. “I’ve been thinking about you. A lot.”

The words hit you, sending a flurry of butterflies in your stomach. You set your glass down on the counter, beside where he sets his, feeling the energy shift between you. “You’re just saying that because I’m here, in your fancy apartment, drinking your fancy wine.”

Yoongi goes to step into the space between your legs, and they instinctively part to let him closer. “Nah, you know it’s more than that.”

Goddamn. Your knees brush against his hips as he inches closer, his hands coming to rest lightly by your thighs, squeezing it lightly.

“We… we probably shouldn’t,” you whisper, though your fingers are already resting on his arms, curling lightly around the sleeves of his hoodie, keeping him close. “Not until we’ve talked.”

“I know.” He pauses, searching your face, but instead of withdrawing, his hands slide up to cradle your waist fully. “But we both know we want to.”

You bite your lip, looking at him. “Yeah, and that’s exactly the problem, isn’t it? Why does this have to be complicated?”

Yoongi’s hands tighten slightly, firm but still careful, as if he’s waiting for you to tell him to stop. “Things are always complicated,” he says quietly, his voice softer now, almost vulnerable. “But that doesn’t mean it’s not worth trying.”

You exhale slowly, feeling his words settle over you. His forehead drops forward slightly, almost brushing yours. All you can focus on is him—how close he is, the feeling of his body, the steady rhythm of his breath.

“You’re so annoying, you know that?” you murmur, the corner of your mouth quirking up.

“Why?” His face is dangerously close to yours now, the question hanging in the air between you.

“Because I can’t get you out of my head either.”

Yoongi’s breath catches, a soft chuckle slipping out, but it’s not mocking—it’s almost relieved, like he’s been waiting for you to admit it. “Well, at least we’re on the same page.”

He leans in, his nose brushing lightly against yours, and for a moment, you think this is it—he’s going to kiss you. In fact, you could close the distance right now, but instead, you reach up, flicking his forehead with your fingers.

“Ow!” He jerks back, rubbing his forehead with a mock-offended expression. “What the hell was that for?”

“For making this complicated,” you smirk, the moment breaking just enough for you to breathe again.

“Right, blame me.”

“Well you’re the idol.” You laugh. The air feels less heavy now—more like a promise than a problem.

“We’ll figure it out,” he says after a moment, his voice low, serious again, palms going back on your legs, moving them like he is smoothing out the fabric.

“Yeah?” You thread the strings of his hoodie on your fingers.

He looks at you again, a soft grin tugging at his lips. “Yeah. But for now, I’m perfectly fine with being annoying if it means you’ll stick around.”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t hide the smile. “You know I will.”

His grin widens, playful again, but there’s something softer underneath. “Good,” he murmurs, leaning in just a little with a lopsided grin. “Me too.”

Dinner was amazing. The suyuk was cooked to perfection–soft, juicy, and subtly seasoned. Each slice melted in your mouth. Yoongi served it with four kinds of banchan, all prepared by his eomma and sent from Daegu that very morning. You don’t ask if it was specially because you were coming over, but you let yourself believe that for a while, even though it was presumptuous.

As he clears the table (refusing to let you help in any way), you wander to the window in his living room. Your mind wonders how Yoongi can be this perfect, really. First, he is handsome. Second, he is kind. Third, he smells wonderful. Fourth, he can cook. As you catalog all his wonderful traits in your brain to rival the Dewey Decimal system, his voice cuts through your thoughts.

“You ok?”

“Yeah,” you smile, though still a bit dazed. “Thank you for cooking.”

“My pleasure.”

Yoongi proffers you a glass of wine, and your fingers brush against his for just a moment—long enough to feel the spark that’s been igniting between you all night. 

The apartment feels spacious now, the soft, jazzy tune from the record player filling the room with a smoky, lazy rhythm.

You take a sip, admiring the view through the enormous window, the Han River stretching out beneath you like a sea of shimmering lights. The city skyline flickers, alive and distant, and for a moment, it’s as if the two of you are in your own world, above everything else.

Yoongi steps up beside you, the closeness between your bodies almost unbearable. He doesn’t say anything at first, just stands next to you as you both look out at the city. 

For a while, neither of you speaks, letting the silence stretch out. It’s not uncomfortable. If anything, it feels like the calm before something inevitable, something you both know is coming but aren’t quite ready to face.

“Beautiful view,” you murmur, more to fill the quiet than anything.

“Yeah,” Yoongi replies softly. “Gorgeous.”

“But you’ve seen it a hundred times.”

And then, you realize his gaze has been on you all along. “Not talking about the Han.”

You glance at him out of the corner of your eye, catching the subtle curve of his lips. Your heart skips, and you look back out at the lights, trying to focus on something else.

“You know,” you start, your voice quieter now, “it’s dangerous spending this much time together.”

Yoongi shrugs, face indifferent. “I’m not worried about it.”

He sets his glass down on the windowsill, taking yours, too as he steps closer. “Are you?”

You hesitate for just a second, your pulse quickening. “Maybe.”

The city lights shimmer beneath you, but all you can focus on is him—on the way his eyes linger on your face, the force between you growing with every second. You don’t know who moves first, but suddenly his hands are on your waist, guiding you gently closer.

You freeze for just a moment, your breath catching as his fingers move underneath your hoodie to brush against the fabric of your top. It’s soft, barely there, but the electricity it sends through you is anything but subtle.

He leans in, his lips dangerously close to your ear, “I’ve been thinking about this all night.”

You feel your resolve waver, your heart pounding in your chest. You feel yourself melting onto him, your back now flush against his chest. The soft melody from the record player wraps around you, and before you know it, you’re swaying, the two of you moving in a slow, lazy rhythm.

You rest your head against his shoulder. His arms tighten around you just slightly, his fingers splayed across your stomach in a way that sends shivers down your spine.

“Yoongi,” you murmur, your voice barely audible over the music.

He hums, his breath hot against your ear, and doesn’t let go. Neither of you does, and the two of you continue to move to the slow rhythm of the music.

After a beat, your slow dance stops, and Yoongi coaxes you to face him. You meet his stare, and the look in them is unmistakable—he’s holding back, the same way you are. The longing between you is palpable, every second stretching out like it could break at any moment.

Your fingers grip the fabric of his hoodie, your voice a whisper as you say, “This could be a bad idea.”

He nods, his forehead resting against yours now. “I know. But it could also be good.”

You swallow hard, mulling it over. He says it like it’s simple, like he already believes it. 

“We don’t have to do anything, ok?” he assures you. “But I want to hear what you’re afraid of. I want to ease your mind.” He plants a soft peck on your forehead, as if he can magically erase all your fears.

You hesitate but even the doubts are starting to fall away. Maybe you shouldn’t. The NDA, the complications, the fine line you’ve been walking—there’s every reason to step back. To keep this where it’s been. But your heart’s hammering too fast, his presence too overwhelming. You take a deep breath.

You glance at him, the dim light casting shadows across his face, softening his features but sharpening the attraction between you. Your thoughts are spinning. You’ve never felt like this about anyone before. Not this kind of heat—this slow, dangerous burn that’s been growing between you for months. And it’s not just about how he looks, or the chemistry—though, that’s undeniable—it’s him. 

Yoongi is solid. Kind. Real in a way that cuts through your usual hesitations, making you feel like you want to dive into whatever this is, no matter the risk.

“Speak to me…” he encourages, pushing a piece of hair back behind your ear. But the words don’t come. Because even though you're filled with dread on what could happen if you take this step with him, you’re also filled with want. So, so much of it. You want him so bad. And you don’t think you can wait any longer.

“What if…” you start, your voice barely above a whisper. His eyes are on you now, sharp and focused. “What if… just this once? I don’t want to think about anything else.”

Yoongi doesn’t move. For a second, you think maybe you’ve phrased it so abrasively. But then his gaze shifts—something raw, something unguarded flashes across his face.

“Are you sure?” he asks, his voice low, almost a rumble in the quiet.

Your pulse races, the words caught in your throat, but there’s no going back now. You nod, the answer clear in your head before you can stop yourself. “Just one kiss.” 

And before you can second-guess yourself more, his lips are on yours—firm, demanding, and everything you’ve been waiting for.

Yoongi’s hand cups the back of your neck, his fingers sliding through your hair as he pulls you to him, fast and deliberate. The kiss isn’t soft. It’s immediate, intense. His lips crash against yours, rougher than you expected, but it feels so fuckin’ right.

Your back hits the glass window behind you with a thud, the cold surface making you gasp into the kiss, but Yoongi doesn’t stop. He’s all heat and urgency, his body pressing into yours like he’s trying to make up for every moment you’ve spent pretending you didn’t want each other this desperately. His hands move to your waist, gripping it like he’s afraid to let go.

You tilt your head, deepening the kiss, letting yourself melt into him. His lips are firm, skilled, moving with a kind of intensity that has you dizzy, every thought slipping away except for him. He breaks the kiss only to drag his lips down your jaw, his breath hot against your skin as his mouth finds the sensitive spot beneath your ear. 

You let out a soft moan, your hands finding a place at the back of his neck, guiding him back to your lips. It’s not graceful—none of this is. Raw and messy and honestly, it’s everything you’ve been holding back for far too long.

Yoongi’s hands slide up your arms, pushing them over your head, pinning your wrists against the glass. His body pushes harder against yours, breath coming fast and ragged as he looks down at you, his lips swollen from the kiss. There’s a flicker of something dangerous in his eyes, like he’s holding himself back but barely. 

“One more, please?” he asks, voice pained, like it’s taking everything in him not to go further, as his nose nudges yours.

You can’t think. Your brain is empty. It’s all Yoongi, Yoongi, Yoongi. The only answer you have is the way your body arches into his, silently begging for more. “Ok,” you nod, “more.” And that’s all he needs.

He leans in again, kissing you deeper this time, more controlled but no less intense. His hands tighten around your wrists, holding you there, completely under his control, and you can’t help but surrender to it. The glass behind you is cold, but his body is so warm against yours. 

You don’t know how long you stay like that—lost in the fire of his kiss, the feel of his hands on your skin. It feels like time doesn’t exist, like the world outside these four walls has disappeared, leaving just the two of you.

Slowly, he releases your wrist and only then do you start to feel the pinpricks shooting along your arms as they descend limply along your sides. Gasping for breath, you tilt your head to the side, and Yoongi instantly claims the crook of your neck, murmuring your name in a raspy voice against your skin.

But even then, he’s still waiting, waiting for a sign that you want this to go further. After all, you only said one kiss. Knowing Yoongi he will not go beyond what you tell him to. If he only knew that you are so far gone at this point. Game fuckin’ over.

When he finally retreats, both of you breathing hard, he doesn’t say anything immediately, but the way his eyes search yours says everything.

“Tell me what you want,” he pleads, his ragged breath dancing along the moist parts of your skin. “Anything, jagi, it’s yours.”

“You,” you say, inhibitions long gone, the sweet name he uses ushering all the nagging thoughts away. “I want you.”

Nodding, he closes the gap between you and mumbles his assurance against your mouth, “You have me.”

So tonight, you’ll let yourself have him. 

And it’s gonna be so fuckin’ good you can already tell.

A/N: Alright, how about that first kiss??? 🥴 Honestly, it got me blushing while editing that whole sequence.

And before y’all burn me at the stake for blue-balling you yet again–I promise you the next chapter will pick up where we left off and it won’t be some weird time-skip. Promise! ✋ Hehe. You need to wait for it a little bit though because the next chapter is only at 10% right now and work is gonna be pretty hectic for the next three weeks.

For now, let your imagination go buck wild, and don’t forget to leave me an ask or shout at me in the comments if you want to see anything specifically in the next chapters.

Also y’all have to thank this one lovely anon who requested for more time before scootergate, because initially it was gonna happen the Monday after this night. The horror!!

Thank you again for reading this, you lovely human! 😘 See you in the comments. ⬇️

Chapter Five >

Taglist: @glossdebut @kam9404 @mar-lo-pap @nnybtitts08 @granataepfelchen

@perfectiondazesworld @wobblewobble822 @yoongznme @caressesurloceanlove @rinkud

@kayleefriedchicken @jajabro @tinytan-gerine @xxbibin1208 @forevercarpediem227

@yoongicatagenda @someshinesomedont @marnz1990 @iheartshopping @confidentjus

@queenbloody @whydoeyecare @sadroses98 @curlyquennn

@sexytholland @kiki-zb @hiddlestandom @babyarmybabbles

[shares-a-vest]

@steddiemas Day 2: Winter Sentence Starters (Sentence Starter Saturdays)

"Holy shit!" Eddie shrieks, his voice regrettably echoing around the small quarters of Family Video's storage room, "Your hands are freezing!"

He envelopes Steve's hands in his own, brings them to his mouth and starts blowing. Steve grimaces and attempts to yank his hands away, but Eddie only tightens his grasp.

"Don't you have any mittens!" he continues, frantic as they now tug back and forward.

"No way," Steve scoffs, "I'm not walking around with an ugly pair of mittens pinned to my jacket."

He cocks his chin and his eyes flit down to the set of navy-blue mittens joined by a length of matching yarn and attached to Eddie's worn parka jacket via two safety pins.

"Excuse me!" he defends, letting go as he brings his hands to his chest to shield his mittens from further insult.

Steve giggles, "You look like a kid going off to kindergarten."

Eddie holds up a warning finger and feels his jaw clench, "My mittens are pinned to my winter jacket so I know where they are at the beginning of winter when I need my winter coat and mittens! Then, when I enter a premises that is supposed to be warm – to seek out my boyfriend whose hands should be warm – I pin them straight back on my jacket for safekeeping. It makes perfect sense!"

"So this was Wayne's idea because you kept losing them?" Steve asks, raising a brow and smirking.

"... Yeah," Eddie admits, looking down at his mittens.

The embarrassment is fleeting (this is practical for god sake!) and Eddie moves to unpin them.

"Eddie, I'm not taking your mittens!"

"Take my mittens!"

"How am I supposed to work in them?"

"You can stack away returns in a pair of mittens," Eddie offers, twirling the mittens by their joined string.

"And how am I going to type or use the phone?"

Eddie pauses and bites the inside of his cheek.

Damn it, he always has a checkmate defence.

"Turn the AC up!" he says with a click of his fingers.

"Can't," Steve grumbles, folding his arms and leaning against the built-in shelf that was supposed to support their regularly scheduled make-out session, "The AC is broken."

"What!" Eddie looks around, waving his hand about, "Where's your customer complaint form? Suggestion box? Something like that?"

"Eddie, you are not filing a complaint to Keith."

"I sure am!" he nods, determined, "Complaint or my mittens. Your choice, babydoll."

[eldritch-spouse]

*holds up a pile of my drawings of my plushie designs to Tristalis*

"Could you make these please?"

There's a very stiff and challenging language barrier between you, but it's usually nothing a good game of charades can't fix, usually.

When you hold the drawings up to him, like a child presenting their parent with a brand new fridge-worthy drawing, long necks droop so three heads can examine them.

It takes Tristalis about .01 milliseconds to understand what they are.

" Ahh! " " Yes. " " Pattern? "

You're not given time to respond. Gloved fingers yank the top drawing from your hands as he swings his massive bag over to his front. He rummages around for more than a few seconds, yanking out a yarn skein, then another, and another. It takes a bit before you realize he's trying to match the colors of your drawing.

The lanky monster pulls you close to his side, patting you a few times so you understand you should stay put. Grabbing a silly pen, he starts scribbling numbers around every "piece" of your designs, rapidly chattering at you in a language you can't make heads or tails of.

All you do is nod, knowing there's a very high chance he'll have at least one of those plushies completed first thing next morning.

[squishi-bunni]

🧶💝As Special as You💝🧶

Reader who was in a past toxic relationship is shocked by Howl spoiling them.

Reader likes to crochet

Howl x Reader

tooth-rotting fluff , comfort , cheesy

The castle creaked and huffed as it crawled across the rolling green fields. I watched the bright blue rivers wind across the plains from the balcony. The Wastes were quite beautiful, despite their name.

In my lap sat a half finished crochet project -  one mitten out of a pair. The yarn was a bright fuscia, vibrant against my wooden crochet hook. I finished the last row of the mitten, cut the yarn, and sewed the ends in with a darning needle. I put the mitten on my hand and smiled at its perfect fit.

The flung open, startling me. I whipped around to see none-other than my love, standing proudly by the door and beaming at me with excitement.

"There you are!" he proclaimed."I've been looking for you!" He grabbed my arm and yanked me put of my chair before I could say a word. "Come downstairs my love -- I have something to show you."

I stumbled down the stairs as I was being not-so-gracefully dragged to the living room by the eccentric wizzard. I laughed at his antics. "Slow down there, Howl! I'm gonna trip if you're not careful!"

We reached the living room and Howl stood next to the center table, presenting to me a long wooden box and sealed black bag.

I cocked my head at him. "What's all this?" I asked, eyebrows raised with intrigue.

"It's a gift!" he said, "for you!"

I was stunned. I wasn't used to getting gifts, or just having anything done for me in general. Even a flower picked from the garden would shock me when Howl gifted one.

"Don't just stand there," he said, gesturing towards the gift. "Open it!"

He beamed at me as I carefully opened the wooden box. The hinges at the back creaked as I slowly lifted the lid.

I was presented with a set of gold plated metal crochet hooks of every size available. There was a hook small enough for a piece of sewing thread, a hook which took up the circumference of my hand, and every size in between. Howl's delighted chuckle is what indicated to me that my mouth was agape. I could feel my smile reach up to my eyes.

"I-- you-- Howl--" I stammered.

"You still need to open the bag!" he reminded me.

I looked over to the velvet back and opened it. There was assortment of yarns of all different colors, thicknesses, materials. I dipped my hand in the bag to feel the yarn, and it was like how I'd imagine shoving your hand in a cloud would feel. Each yarn was soft and somehow silky.

I felt the tears come to my eyes then. I choked on the built up air in my throat and broke out in sobs.

Howl's beaming smile turned into a concerned frown. He rushed towards me and held my shoulders gently. "What's wrong my love?" he asked, brows furrowed.

"I--I just," I choked out. "I haven't-- No one's ever gotten me something so nice." I hugged him and buried my face into his shirt. "This is the nicest thing anyone's ever done for me."

Howl wrapped his arms around me and pulled me into a tight embrace. "My love, you deserve every precious thing in the world," he said. "Only a fool would fail to make you feel as special as you are."

I looked up and gave him a chaste kiss through salty tears. "Thank you so much."

He smiled at me. "It's no problem love -- I'm happy to make you happy."

[babyspacebatclone]

Picked up a yarn project again today, immediately found a mistake, and it make me think about how some people complain about fan terms.

Like, the entire “Why do you think you’re so special you get to just make up words to mean things that have words already?”

Which is of course silly, ask anyone getting a Masters degree in any specialization and there’s a ton of field-specific terminology and phrases that mean something exceptionally specific to them but are confusing to others.

Me? I was giggling at the terms knitters and crocheters use, simply because we can.

Case in point? Frog and Tink, both verbs, both meaning something everyday but with specific meaning to people who know what they are.

“To Frog” is to yank on your yarn of a crochet or knit project and unravel however many stitches - you “rip it, rip it!!”

“To Tink” is a more controlled form of unraveling exclusive to knitting, which is literally knitting in reverse (k.n.i.t. -> t.i.n.k.).

“Well, why not just say rip it out or unravel?”

First of all, you tink and frog in different situations: tinking is safer but takes a ton of time and effort, while frogging runs the risk of ruining a work if you’re not careful but is the only practical way to undo multiple rows.

Secondly, these terms are fun! Going backwards in a project because you made a mistake is a pain no one actually wants to do, so croaking out “rip it, rip it!” while you watch an hour’s worth of work dissolve into a tangle of kinked yarn helps.

Thirdly, it’s a sign of community. You know someone has spent time in knitting or crocheting culture to have encountered these terms - a badge of honor, of having committed to a project enough to being willing to redo to that extent.

So have your slang. Have your fun little phrases that have nuance.

It’s literally English.

Unless you happen to think the terms “To hit someone” and “To hit on someone” mean the same thing.

Edit: Forgot to include this! A link to a page with instructions on how to best safely Frog and Tink, where I took those pictures.

[yuri-is-online]

Pas de Deux: A Fyuuture Kid au pt. 2 (Rook x Yuu)

Once upon a time there was a house in the woods. Three people lived inside it and they were very happy because soon there was going to be a fourth One day a man in a suit came and knocked on the door of the house, but he did not want to say hello. He was not interested in how happy the people in the house were or that that day was very important. The man was there because he had decided there should only be two people in the house, and because the world is not always kind, and not all houses are happy ones, the man in the suit got his way.

And now there was only one person in the house and he felt very alone.

notes: this will not make sense if you have not read pt.1, so please do. They/them used for Yuu, and the name Oliver is used interchangeably Yutu. This contains lengthy one shot parts, but does still have some hc bullet points. WARNING: major character death, body horror, angst with a bittersweet ending. This is part of the fyuuture kid au, more of which can be found on my masterlist here under the series section.

"Is Oli awake yet?" The new boy, Roland, is an absolute mess and if he didn't look so pitiful you would have told Rook to dry him off outside and not in your Lounge. Rook isn't deathly serious about much, but he is about this and you can't help but feel a bit out of the loop even if it is clear that it somehow revolves around you.

"Non, I'm afraid you gave your brother quite the fright." Rook gently says, carefully massaging Roland's head to dry his hair and try to soothe the tension currently shuddering across his body. "Focus on yourself for now and let our dear Trickster take care of Monsieur Caneton." He smiles at you and you break eye contact to catch your breath, coughing to excuse yourself up the stairs to Yutu's room and away from your personal problems, content to let Grim bother the pair about cleaning up their mess.

You aren't as observant as Rook, but seeing Yutu's face had sparked a strange dissonant feeling in you that you think was triggered by his appearance. The color of his hair, the fat of his cheeks, the way his nose wrinkled when Rook had laid him in his bed (and not so subtlety flexed his biceps while you were watching) felt familiar to you. Absent his hood, he looked like you had spun DNA from yourself into yarn and knit him into being, borrowing ever so slightly from another source to sew his eyes and nose in such a way that a sideways glace would send even the strongest of beasts running. Even before those eyes fluttered open you knew what color they would be, but still you laughed at the forest green that looked up at you.

"Sleep well?" Yutu scrambles away from you, yanks the covers over his head and turns frantically around looking for his hood and mask you know are tucked away downstairs well out of reach. He is stammering, saying a random assortment articles together but failing to describe anything as you try to stick what you had planned to say. "Is it just 'Oli' or is that short for something?" Yutu pauses his searching, but he keeps the sheet between you and his face.

"... it's Oliver. But Yutu is still fine if that's easier." There are a few ways you can go about this, you think as you lean back in your chair.

"I don't really care about what's easier." Because it's true, if you did you probably would have run away from this school the second Crowley turned his back. Damn crow probably wouldn't have gone looking for you either. "I care about what will make you comfortable, since I don't think you planned on ever having this conversation with me." You reach forward slowly, making sure to pause just before you reach the sheet counting on him to intuitively know you are asking for permission. He lets it down himself, allowing you to go back to crossing your arms as you look at him. Oliver mirrors you, holding the sheet around himself taking several breaths before clearly trying to collect some thread of a thought before the damn breaks.

"I'm from the future."

"I should hope so." You hum. "Not that I would put it past him, but Rook would have some explaining to do if you weren't." He coughs and you smile.

"Well- you. You aren't intimidated by that at all? Rook I mean, not... me." He's much quieter than any child you'd expected Rook to ever contribute too, much more jumpy but that's not as disturbing as him calling his father by his first name.

"I've accepted what I feel for him for a while now." The window is much more appealing than your son's face but you force yourself to maintain eye contact. "The idea of him reciprocating is- or well was given you're here, something I thought was never going to happen."

"But he writes you letters! I-" Oliver shouts before remembering said man is downstairs and undoubtedly listening for every breath he takes. "I used to read them." Now it is your turn to be embarrassed as you cough and think about the little box you have so carefully hidden upstairs. Not carefully enough it seems, but then again this isn't just your child.

"Well he didn't sign them. And besides..." It was perhaps a bit harsh to count against Rook's statement that he felt like he was fickle and his heart easily captured. No one had really wanted to propose to the ghost bride so it was natural of him to say something like that and it wasn't like he had known you particularly well back then either. He hadn't said he would never want to get married, just that it was too early to think about and if you were being practical that was the most reasonable position to take- "Look it doesn't really matter! What does is that you're here and not for fun right? And what's up with your brother? I clearly didn't raise you in barn so what gives with him?" It's obvious you're embarrassed and deflecting, but still it works as Yutu, or Oliver you now suppose, takes a deep breath and begins to tell you a story, the ending of which, in a way, you already know. ~~~~ Roland was ten when the changes started. Papa did not come home immediately when the night fell, which was not strange. He had been old enough not to worry. It was not strange for Papa to come home injured, it was not strange for there to be blood. But the blood had been dull that time, dull and Papa hadn't said much. He had held him though, hummed a song that felt like home. No matter where they had traveled he had never heard a song so wonderful, it had a name but Papa said it wouldn't help to find it. It was a yuusong, from "beyond the rift." Roland liked it a lot even if he could only remember a few strains of the words and understood none of their meaning

"Mon poussin, are you afraid of being alone?" It was a silly question of Papa to ask. "No matter where you go, your parent and I will always watch over you. So long as you live this world will be a beautiful place. I love you, so much more than my heart can give me words to describe." It was a scary thing to say. Such a silly and scary thing to ask and say that Papa forgot about it when he woke up the next morning, he would have forgotten about Roland too if he hadn't have yelled at him for it. Papa had said nothing at all that morning actually, not even a twitch of a smile or a laugh at his protest. Roland's mind must have painted over how there was no blood anymore, there was the ink- the blot he had been training so long to avoid instead. The Hunter had allowed him to follow and that allowed him to do all of the lying he might have needed to think things were fine to himself.

And on some level Roland knew that's what he had been doing all of this time but now that he was here, wherever here was, he was being forced to think about it.

"Are you hungry or somethin?" The racoon stares up at him, angry he thinks because its paws are on its hips. "Ya keep staring off into space and it's creepy!"

"Is it?" Roland tries to blink and the racoon jumps away from him so he moves closer so as not to miss anything it says.

"Y-yeah! It is! You're really creepy! And Rook's here so that's sayin something." The racoon mutters the last bit and Roland turns to look at Rook. He's too young, there are creases missing in his brow and a cruel bend to his gaze that isn't present when he looks at him. If anything Rook is looking at him in a way he thinks he should recognize, but doesn't remember the word for anymore.

"Are you hungry, Monsieur Poussin?" Rook smiles, the word that his mind supplies now is kind but it is still not the word he wants for the way Rook looks at him. Poussin... his focus breaks and Rook calls his name gently, fear is a word he remembers and holds onto. Most humans use that word when describing things so it grounds him somewhat.

"I guess." Turning down food is a bad idea even if the new sights and smells are almost too overwhelming to want to eat. When he looks back at Rook the fear has changed, he knows this look too but the humans he met never lived long enough to explain it to him. He thinks he still knows it though, but from where he doesn't want to remember. Not if there's actually going to be food. And thankfully Oliver comes down the stairs just in time to take the attention away from him.

"Roland?" He's still confused and Roland swallows the need to hug him, but he can't stop himself from shaking. "Where- how did you get here?"

"Where is here?" The strange person next to Oliver makes a noise like letting out a breath, and he thinks the racoon screams but he has never heard one do that before so he doesn't know. "Is this where you were? I've been looking for you, and for our parent too but if I've found you then they've got to be near." Roland hasn't thought about them much, dad always got so sad when he talked about them and after he stopped talking it was hard to get answers about anything. Talking about them always made him violent so he had tried his best not to do it. Oli sways a bit, almost like he's going to collapse again but the strange person moves to support him before Roland can.

"Thank you for doing that Roland, you sound like you've been a very good big brother." Something about their voice makes him want to cry, and he has to really work to remind himself that would be a waste of water when they smile at him. "But the answer to that is a bit complicated."

So. Roland. He has no real idea that the portal he went through was going to take him to the past, he just decided to race his "dad" for it and won. It's clear from talking to him that he's not the most educated or aware of things, he knows that he is "from" the Shaftlands, that he is a mage but he's not very practiced on how to use magic and says his dad "punishes" him when he tried to learn. He says he grew up traveling Twisted Wonderland looking for his parent and baby brother, but that his father was always present with him. He has memories of lots of places in Twisted Wonderland before the apocalypse began and while his descriptions are very child like, it gives Yutu some context for things he says will be useful in formulating a plan to stop the bad future.

In Roland's mind, Rook just got sick and became unable to talk after a while. It's clear he is aware on some level of what happened, he calls the phantom dad instead of papa, and while he plays off what were very clear attempts at murder as "games" the way he instinctively flinches at Rook's touch suggests his body knows even if his mind doesn't. His time following the phantom of his father around has clearly taken its toll on his body, his skin lacks the same level of pigmentation as his brother's, like someone has turned the saturation on his melanin up in a way that's clearly unnatural.

He's unused to actual food, he cries the first time you feed him even if it is just a cup noodle. Grim instantly forgives all of his weirdness when he agrees that canned tuna is the best thing he has ever tasted, he has a new favorite henchuman now (until he realizes this means he needs to share, then he demands Roland get a new favorite food). Rook insists on being the one to cook for him, he is genuinely terrified of the future that Roland and Oliver have described and he wants more than anything for his children to know he would never do anything like they experienced of his own free will. He is a hunter of love, not a practitioner of filicide.

There is of course, the small matter of how to explain all of this to Crowley, or if you even should given his suspicious absence in every story you just heard. Rook doesn't want either of his chicks out of sight, so he firmly rejects Yutu's suggestion to entrust Roland to his friends, something you second; you don't trust a bunch of random people with such a traumatized child, let alone one that's technically yours. Yutu suggests asking Idia for advice then, something you can't say you are surprised by given his glowing description of how the guy turns out in the future but still...

"So let me see if I understand this correctly." Idia has his head in his hands, not even bothering to use his tablet from just how done he is with this conversation, even though this marks his first participation in it. "Yutu is from the 'Bad Ending' timeline and he's come back here to make sure you get together with Rook."

"No!" You cough scream as Ortho dutifully pats you on your back in encouragement. "He's here because everyone overblots! Again! Except for you apparently. And Vil but that's only because of you?" He waves a single hand in the air.

"Yeah skill issue or whatevs- look." He finally looks up from his hands, if you didn't know any better you would say he's bored but it's clear from how he actually pauses and minimizes the game he was playing that's far from the case. "If Ortho didn't back up what you were saying about your hellspawn-" you take a deep breath and remind yourself said childrens' existence relies on this moron's help "then I wouldn't believe anything you just said, but it does kind of make sense."

"It does?" Idia pulls up some stills from what you assume are the school security systems of portals similar to what Rook described the one Roland appeared out of.

"The sentient blot phantoms isn't like anything S.T.Y.X. has recorded before, but if you assume monsters can experience evolution similar to how other species do it makes sense that it could happen. Especially if some sort of curse is involved, which it sounds like there has to be. Speaking of which, hellion 1." Idia doesn't bother to look at you so he misses the way your eye twitches.

"Roland?"

"Yeah. We're going to need to run some tests on him." Idia actually looks at you this time, which improves everything but your mood.

"Aren't you supposed to ask permission first?"

"If the world is going to end in roughly twenty years then no." Idia snorts. "I just don't want his parents showing up at S.T.Y.X. again demanding to see their favorite boy." "If his description of what his life was like is real, then he was raised by a phantom. If he's a mage, then it's miracle he hasn't overblotted and he's at real risk of hurting himself if he tries to learn to use magic at this point."

"Is there anyway you can do the tests here?" You don't like the thought of Roland hurting himself, but there have already been so many changes in his life in such a short period you are afraid one more might make him overblot anyway. "Or at least let Yutu go with him, he trusts him. I just- he's really skiddish."

"I can take some samples and send them for analysis, but if he's as fucked up as I think he is then he's going to need a detox that can't be done here." So Idia has the same set of thoughts that you do, that relaxes you somewhat even if you know very little is going to convince Rook to unwind.

"I can keep an eye on him." Ortho volunteers helpfully. "It would look weird if another student got added to Ramshackle out of nowhere, but transfers to Ignihyde aren't unheard of so we could have him stay with us!" Idia, surprisingly, doesn't shoot the idea down immediately, though he notices your confusion.

"What? Kid grew up in a blot infested forest, he'd probably be more at home here since it's so dark and gloomy. And besides he's going to need to learn how to use tech anyway if he wants to survive. Sides, it'll give us an excuse to keep him away from the other dorms."

You hate to say that Idia is right about anything, but he is about this. Roland really likes Ignihyde, tells you it doesn't smell as weird as Ramshackle (Rook has yet to introduce him to Pomefiore) and the Headmage accepts Idia's explanation of him being a S.T.Y.X. project ready for field testing easily enough. You suspect it might have something to do with him covering up all the overblots but wisely hold your tongue. He still comes to visit you and Yutu, but he's very slow to warm up to you. It's not that he doesn't love you, it's just that you were ripped away from him while he was still a baby so there's some trauma screaming at him that you don't really love him, otherwise you would have been there. The first time you really hug him, he breaks down ugly crying and holds on so tightly you swear he cracks some bones.

Roland is a mage, but his magic is weak from years of never practicing. He's very frustrated by this. Idia's surprised how willing he is to participate in the tests he wants to run on him, but not complaining. Roland tells him why quickly enough anyway, he's the oldest so he should be the one protecting his little brother and his parents but he can't if he's got something wrong with him. And just like that Idia regrets asking because he's feeling things like Rook Hunt's kid is being #relatable right now instead of a demon hellspwan from an overblotted future like he's supposed to be. Whatever he'll just take revenge by teaching him how to play video games. It'll be good enrichment for him probably, help him with that vocab.

And I mean it does. Roland certainly learns some new words. It's just that now you are having to explain to Vil that you are married to Rook in the future and yes, that child who talks like an mmo world chat is yours, you promise he's going to be better once the timeline gets fixed and you will have a chance to actually raise him. Vil is surprisingly supportive, both of Roland and Yutu. He already really liked Yutu, the magic of time travel must have made him remember how fond he was of the little sapling, and he is extremely proud to know he was in Pomefiore. Roland's life is a horror beyond his comprehension so he's determined to help teach him what it means to be human. Vil sees it as a test of his character development this far, sure he has an idea of what Roland should look like and how he should act, but what's the best way to introduce these things to him?

Epel is a huge help with Roland. He doesn't understand the gamer speak but he gets the rough and tumble phrases that come out when he's frustrated. He even surprises himself with how much he agrees with Vil on what Roland should do, and how his much of his advice is taken. It's such a beautiful sight Rook cries in pride every time he thinks about it. Roland wasn't super interested until Oliver told him about Vil being the reason he knew he had an older brother. He's still not 100% sold on what Vil tells him to do but if Epel reassures him and explains it then he'll do it.

The tests that Idia does prove that Roland isn't a danger to others, but he is very sick. Extended exposure to blot in its purest from has made him extremely sensitive to it, coming to this timeline has helped improve his chances somewhat but Idia doesn't think he would have lived more than two or three more years if he had stayed in the past. His magic is more or less killing him, so Ortho and Idia double down on teaching him how to use magical technologies. Idia makes sure to tell you and Rook this won't be a problem if you manage to create a good future, and that understanding this helps but still. Hearing your son only has a few years to live, and only if he stops actively using his magic hurts. No parent wants to hear that.

If Yutu has Rook's cunning and stealth, then Roland has his brutality and outgoing nature. He's very friendly, his only problem with speaking is that he lacks the vocabulary he needs to get his point across. Since he was raised by a phantom in the wilderness for a part of his life he has next to no problem hunting and killing., especially if it means he gets to keep his family. It's one of the things that allows him to connect with the real version of his father, Rook has a similar line of thinking, especially after hearing Roland's fate and the more he gets to spend time alone with you. He'd do anything to give his friends a happy future, but for you he would do anything. It's a disease, what is that poem you spoke to him about? Something about the poison from your lips being the deadliest of them all, he'll die if he has to live in a future without your kisses. It just will not happen, he won't let beauty leave this world forever.

Rook hates knowing you had to raise a child alone, he hates thinking that Oliver thought even for a second he abandons you. He hates knowing Roland thought you abandoned him and stole his brother, that he watched him die and refused to believe it. He hates seeing Roland run away from Trey holding onto his jaw, he loves all of Yutu's friends dearly and can't wait to meet their parents in the future. He loves sitting with you and hearing all of the thoughts you were too shy to tell him when you doubted his sincerity. He loves seeing Roland's efforts to adapt to his disability, he hates the fact his son is sick in the first place. He loves watching Yutu chase Azul around and he loves how Ace and Deuce fight about who would be the better Uncle even though it's clear Grim has already won the fight.

The future is always worth fighting for, and you will always be worth crying over. Has he mentioned he loves you yet today? Even when the day is won and the memories begin to fade, the compulsion to tell you remains. Rook knows you have no magic to speak of, but there is something about you when you hold him close that makes him think that can't be true, not really.

"Why Trickster?" Vil doesn't question his choice of nicknames ever, but now is as good a time as any Rook supposes. "I would have thought you would jump to something more romantic now that they've... accepted your invitation?"

"Non non beautiful Vil." Rook carefully sets aside his beaker, making sure that his project is in a place that he can pause before elaborating. "You do not understand, trickster is the most perfect description of my true love." Vil has a look that he makes sometimes that would make lesser men cease, a certain purse to the lips and blank look to the eyes that Rook never fails to ignore. "My true love is plain to the untrained eye, in our world power is thought to be strictly magical in nature but that isn't true. Just as the Fairest Queen was known for her unrelenting effort in the face of adversity so too does Yuu face down any and all that stands before them. Their determination is breathtaking, a magic all its own."

"You do seem quite powerless before it." Vil says dryly, but his smile betrays his true thoughts. Rook is eccentric, someone others only tolerate and, if Vil is as honest as he prides himself on being, the same could probably be said of you, the magicless prefect of a magic school. Of course Rook would love you, it gives him a few ideas for a movie, assuming he manages to hold onto them once time has been set right again.

But Vil will keep that to himself, it will make a lovely wedding gift for his dear hunter. He'll make sure to get you something much more practical.

[dullgecko]

(I feel like I send anons often enough that I can justify having like a tag so uh 🩰 anon here!)

Riz has a tendency to just grab and pull things to him with his tail whenever he’s tired and doesn’t want to move or make an effort

Which is fine whenever he’s just grabbing like his coffee mug or another string of yarn for the conspiracy board, however it is very not fine when he is having a movie night with Fabian and his instinctual response to Fabian getting up to go make popcorn is for his tail to wrap around Fabian’s waist and literally tug him back down

He is blushing so hard because while Fabian is just laughing it off thinking it’s just a Riz being Riz thing, for goblin standards doing that is very much a way of showing that the person is yours and he is like dying inside

This is like a week into their relationship but goblins tend to get really serious really fast (short lifespans and all that) and they’ve basically been doing this for like 3 years it just hasn’t morphed into an actual relationship until recently, so it’s not actually that weird for his goblin brain to be a little bit possessive, it’s just Riz is so worried about Fabian taking it the wrong way that he just does not tell him

(Fabian eventually figures it out on his own and he still thinks it’s really cute, he’s a Seacaster semi-possessive tendencies run in his blood this only makes Riz more attractive in his eyes)

Riz does try to keep his tail to himself more actively their next few hangouts, that is for like a month until Fabian one night just like gently grabs Riz’s tail and wraps it around his wrist (he had noticed it flicking restlessly and usually Riz would just let it wrap around whichever Bad Kid was closest so he presumed it would help)

After that it’s hard to find a time where the two of them are together and Riz’s tail isn’t wrapped around Fabian somewhere, it is in fact very often Fabian’s first sign that Riz is even there to begin with before he starts talking

Fabian’s still very proud of the time somebody had decided hitting on him at a party in front of Riz was a good idea and Riz’s response was to wrap his tail around Fabian’s waist and start a low growl in his throat (it was very quiet so only Fabian could hear it but the person got the hint), it’s 100% not that he doesn’t trust Fabian (he was usually fine with Fabian getting hit on considering Riz gets hit on just as often if not more) it’s just he was literally right there and the girl clearly knew Fabian was taken and his instincts just took over, he explains all this to Fabian later and Fabian just somehow falls in love a little bit more

Fabian has to be careful not to get up TOO quick, just in case Riz has him trapped and he hadn't noticed (little guy is stealthy, sometimes he'll have his tail looped around your ankle and you cant even feel it until you go to take a step). The half elf can easily lift Riz fully off the floor with minimal effort but the goblin cannot support his own body weight with his tail. If Fabian even feels the smallest bit of resistance when he stands he wont even fight Riz yanking him back down, he will not be the member of his party to accidentlly dislocate something in the goblins tail.

[love-bugsy]

the worst thing about love is… | jason todd (chapter 1)

you’re just trying to get through your surgical residency, but this masked vigilante keeps showing up half-dead on your fire escape and reminding you of your dead best friend. oh well, at least he's cute.

tw: stitches, mentions of blood and injuries, swearing, completely ooc Jason but he’s like my own lil character now and I’m protective, very inaccurate medical terminology and procedure lol

only jerks steal other people's writing (just don't repost, mate)

There’s a dead man on your fire escape.

Well. He’s not actually dead, but his pulse is weak when you drag him into your living room, out of the relentless Gotham rain. Pulling your hand away from under his mask, you crouch down, peeling off the worn leather jacket around his shoulders and unbuckling his pauldrons. You feel around his back, brows furrowed. You can’t feel anything through the padding in his rain soaked shirt.

Hands wandering down to where his front is flat on the floor, you press down on his side, eyes widening when your fingers come back slick with blood. You go into autopilot, flipping him onto his back and yanking up his compression shirt. You might’ve gasped at the knife wound if you weren’t working on instinct. It’s bad. 

Shoving away the doubt clawing at the base of your skull, you steady your trembling hands. You’ve been trained for this. 

Don’t feel, just do.

The cut is long and serrated, and deep as all hell. It slices through the middle of a jagged, Y-shaped scar that chains over his shoulders like a noose. Jesus. 

It’s like he was stabbed and then dragged across the floor, cutting diagonally across his torso. How is he even still alive? Your hands move faster than you can think, completing an internal checklist as you go.

Breathing? Fast and shallow through his modulator, no obstructions. Bleeding? Applied tourniquet to epigastric region - transfusion isn’t even an option… Your brain works overtime, sifting through diagnostics lectures - penetrating abdominal trauma, debrided of devitalised tissue, no visible debris… You trace the edges of the wound looking for inflammation or fluid buildup; signs of peritonitis, but the weapon seems to have missed any internal organs. Lucky. Even luckier that he landed on a surgical resident’s fire escape.

Reaching over to the lamp by your couch, you shift it so that it shines directly over his abdomen. A last check of his wound confirms that there are no external indications that you should conduct a laparotomy. You just have to sew him up and hope to god the knife didn’t puncture anything internal.

You keep a hand planted firmly over his tourniquet, applying constant pressure, reaching for your backpack. Dragging it over, you use your teeth to open your suture kit and your free hand to sterilise his cut with Betadine and alcohol, wiping gentle circles outward from the wound. You dip your needle like Achilles in the Styx, hand and all, into the sterilising liquid, tugging a glove on with your teeth. 

You grip the needle driver in your dominant hand, pickups clutched in the other and take a steadying breath. There’s a stillness to the room, quiet save for your heartbeat pounding in your ears. The wound is large - high tension - so… mattress sutures… horizontal so the tension is spread over the edge of the wound. 

You take your first bite, adrenaline driving your needle into a clean stitch. You reverse it, passing through his cut again, before tying it off with the practised motions of a thousand surgical knots tied on yarn and thread and fraying jeans. You settle back on your knees after the first suture, readying yourself for the stitching to come, and start the next one.

~

Hours later, you haul him onto your couch, sitting him up on the arm rest to take pressure off of his dressed stitches. Frowning deeply at how uncomfortable he looks - even unconscious, you tuck a throw pillow under his scuffed metal mask. 

Leaning close to check his breathing, you hear crackling slow and deep through the helmet’s voice modulator. Bone-deep relief floods your system, a little sigh leaving your mouth involuntarily. Sitting heavily against your coffee table, you press the heels of your hands into your weary eyes. 

He’s stable. For now at least. 

Head bumping against the edge of your couch, you breathe in deeply, fighting the anxiety twisting in your ribcage. The couch smells like rubbing alcohol, stinging your nose so badly your eyes water. It’s followed by something familiar - underneath the heady scent of petrol and metal - like… if you mixed Gotham up into a single smell; rain and smoke and wet pavement. He… he smells like-

“Jay!” 

The faulty fluorescent lights - courtesy of your parent's small family diner - seem to flicker in tandem with your strident yell.

Your best friend looks up at you through a mop of dark hair, collarbones poking out of his thin t-shirt, second-hand leather jacket chucked haphazardly on the other side of the booth. He’s stolen your copy of Jane Eyre, flattened with one hand next to a plate of old fries you’d scrounged for him.

You tug your book from his grasp, tucking your pen into the pocket on your apron. He looks up at you with a mouth full of fries, infuriating confusion written across his face.

“What? You promised I could read it.” You sigh in exasperation.

“When I’m finished! And-” A dramatic gasp rips from your mouth when you examine the book. “Are these- grease stains?” You take the book in both hands, swatting Jason with it.

“What so it’s okay to hit me with a book but not get grease- fuck, jesus, okay, okay!” You raise the book over your shoulder with both hands.

“Do you yield?” His mock-angry expression almost makes you laugh, a hand held up near his face to shield from your attack. There’s a soft twist to his frown, like he’s trying to stop his mouth from pulling into a grin. He raises his hands in surrender, and you relax your hold on the book.

Rookie mistake.

Jason darts forward, faster than you can blink, grasping your waist with both hands and dragging you towards him. He yanks the book from your hands and lets you go, grinning childishly at you with the book in his hands. The cat with the canary.

You throw your hands up in exasperation before planting them on your hips like a disappointed mother. The admonishment on the tip of your tongue turns into a weary sigh when you hear your parents calling for you from the diner kitchen. “Fine. But you actually have to try to not spoil it this time.”

Jason crosses his fingers over his chest, “Scout’s honour, birdie.” 

You try not to flush at the nickname, just like you do every time he says it. Still, you fold like a stack of cards.

(He spoils it the next day.)

~

When you wake two hours later for rounds (at the ass-crack of dawn), he’s already gone. You pad quietly around your kitchen making coffee from day-old grounds, cautious not to disturb the sanctity of the early morning (or the ghost of his presence).

The only evidence of him is alight in the dim light that spills over your kitchen counter and into your living room - the deep indents in your couch and the bloodstains on your carpet… The rain on your wood floors, from the fire escape window you’re sure you didn’t leave open.

hi, hello, uhh this is the first fic I've ever posted so bear with me. if anyone actually sees this, i do apologise for the inaccuracies and lengthy prose. also, this will be a series so stick around if you like slow updates, slowburn and second chances. thanks for reading my rambles.

with love, bugsy

[heartfullofleeches]

God I really need random blurb of Pin to quench my fluff thirst of him (and ideas). Speaking of Pin, can he eat? like, can he munch down the foods or just straight up swallow everything like a black hole

[They do have a mouth technically - how they eat will remain a mystery. Here's a blurb with my favorite Yan doll and reader who likes to bake/throw parties]

-

"Sorry... I can't make it."

"Maybe next time?"

"I'm sure others will show."

If only they had let you know sooner.... Or at all.

You always took the smallest thing into accountability when planning. Work schedules, events with family, the weather. You found the perfect day when all of your friends should have been free and sent the invites out a week in advance on the cutest little cards you found on your last trip the supply store. A couple of them had excitedly messaged you about the party, gifting hope soon to be crushed as you sat alone at the dinner table piled with cakes and cookies, and all the other treats you had prepped for their arrival.

You guessed not every adult wanted to visit what was essentially a glorified tea party with no real reason to celebrate, but it would've been nice if they just said that instead of wasting your time and effort. You wouldn't feel as bad if they texted you beforehand, but as always you were left in the dark. They only wanted your skills when it meant something. You were who they called to cater for birthdays and engagement parties - what was the harm in gathering just to see each other?

It sucked, but at least you weren't completely alone.

"At least I still have you, Pin."

The doll's round eyes point down at the large slice of cake on their place, hands posed on either sides of the table. You used the left over ribbon from decorating to make a bow tucked into their hair, keeping their yarn locks parted from their smiling face. Frosted stained their stitched grin from the first time they'd fallen over when you seated them in their chair. It was nice to know someone appreciated your baking - even if they were made of cotton and fabric.

The first to arrive and the only one who stuck around in the end. You found them at the same supply store you bought all of your decorations, but sometimes it felt like they were the one who found you. The oversized almost squashed you when it came tumbling from another prop you'd been checking out. When you couldn't find a price tag and the store owner claimed to never have seen them before, they gave you a fair estimate and you went about your day with a new friend and roommate. Pin had always been there when your friends weren't. You had an entire album full of pictures of your many celebrations together and costumes to match. If there was anyone you could depend on to brighten your day - it was them.

"I'll never leave you!"

Your first smile of the day - all because of the scripted lines of a giant doll. "Thanks, Pin. Glad I can always count on you."

Detangling your fingers from the cord attached to their back, the string pulls once more as you yank your hand away.

"I'm all you'll ever need!"

Your smile falls. "You just might you're right about that.... Well, it's getting pretty late. I should start cleaning up. Enjoy your cake while I do, okay?"

You gather the empty plates and cups on the table, returning them to the cabinets with a heavy heart. Next time will be different. It has to be. You leave Pin in their seat as you change into something more comfortable. Their button eyes follow you from the reflection of a mirror on the wall. While changing, you wonder what to do with the leftovers since there's far too much to eat alone before it all spoils. Reentering the dining room, it would seen that wouldn't be as much of a problem as you thought.

Sprinkles and crumbles coat Pin's face as they hang slumped in their chair. The fork that was once in their hands lies on the floor and their fingers were covered in just as much frosting as their shirt. There was even some on that zipper on their chest you were never able to get down even with pliers. Where an entire cake once sat was now the final envelope from the invite cards you picked up earlier that week. Your name was written in bold lettering on its back along with a little drawing of the missing cake.

"Y/n! Thank you so for always inviting me to your wonderful parties and making me feel like I belong. I wish we could talk more, but I'm a little shy. Your cakes are so delicious, and I'm really sorry your friends didn't come, but that just means more for me! I'm sure they'll come around someday, but if not you know I'll always be around to cheer you up. I love love love you, and appreciate everything you do so please don't ever stop doing what you love.

Sincerely, Pin."

[helluvaluvfics]

Hiii I loved ur pomni and jax fic!! Do you think you can write a lee pomni and ler ragatha fic? Maybe a pillow fight turned tickle fight :3

OH MY GOD I'm so so happy you liked it!!!! your request just made me smile so so hard I love Pomni and ragathaaa my hardcore tadc fixation is buzzing rn-- here you are!! I hope you love this one too!! :))

Feathers For Thought

It was a rather quiet evening at the circus, and Pomni and Ragatha were having a sleepover to bond after the jesters long and exhausting first week.

The two were laughing and joking while chatting about their thoughts on their adventures so far, clad in their regular outfits- accept they were made of a soft fuzzy PJ material, perfectly fit to rest in the night.

Ragatha was tucking her yarn curls gently into rollers for the night, and Pomni was sitting by her side on the sink by the mirror the doll was using, dangling her legs like a child.

"what about the one with the beach from yesterday? that was pretty nice right?" Ragatha spoke up, turning to the girl on her right

Pomni rolled her eyes and scoffed

"yeahhh but like? we couldn't even swim- we clipped through the ocean" the jester replied, sleepily rubbing her eyes, followed by a yawn.

Ragatha turned back to her mirror, contemplating her friends reply, giggling softly at her sleepy nature.

"you make a good point,,ah what I'd give to remember the real ocean" Ragatha added in .

Pomni was feeling rather down this eve. She was excited to spend time with Ragatha, but she couldn't stop thinking of how hopeless she felt.

Ragatha noticed Pomnis demeanor, hoping to help her cheer up. she swiftly finished her curls, turned the light down and headed to sit on her bed , patting it for Pomni to join her.

The jester turned at the sound of the soft cushion. hopping down off of the counter the two were sharing use of.

The jester slouched herself onto the cushiony bed flopping right onto her stomach, groaning and laying directly on her face.

Ragatha giggled to herself and patted the girl lovingly on her back, offering some comfort after the long week.

"oh you poor thing" she said softly, "we just gotta keep going!!"

Pomni groaned at her friends reply and rolled onto her back, the bells from her jesters hat ringing with her motions.

"I know,, but I can't he-"

Pomni was cut off by the sound of a pillow smacking her right in the face. The girl let out a yelp and sat up, yanking the pillow off.

"Rags!! what the-"

the doll got off the bed quickly and grabbed the pillow again, stancing up.

it clicked for the jester soon after. She smiled wide.

"oh you're on."

Ragatha tossed the pillow back at her friend, Pomni grabbing it and throwing it back.

the two ended up getting into a full on pillow fight- something neither of them had done in what seemed like forever.

After awhile of ongoing banter- Ragatha tried to steal back her friends "weapon of choice" although Pomni was playing hard to get.

"gimmie that!!" the doll yelled through laughter

"you're gonna have to fight me for it!"

The Jester held her pillow up high above her head, hoping her friend couldn't reach. Although in her greatest attempts, Ragatha went for a different approach.

"take-this!!" The doll shouted and went right to poke at her friends sides- earning a loud yelp from the shorter girl"

"wh-ahHH!!" Pomni gasped and yanked the pillow down to cover herself- while just trapping her friends hands at her sides.

"aww,, Jax was right!! is someone ticklish?" the taller girl cooed, completely forgetting the point of the attack to begin with

the doll began to scribble across her friends waist, exploring and getting distracted from the task at hand, only focusing on the girls cuteness.

"lehehet- leget goho!!" the poor girl squirmed about, too tired to fight back .

"not until you surrender, poms!"

Ragatha played around with her friend, trying different spots until her earned hysterics.

AH- wahait!!" Pomni shouted right as Ragatha went in for her neck, scrunching up her shoulder to cover herself, only once again trapping her hand at the spot.

"ooh- jackpot!!"

after what seemed like ages, the jester tapped out- literally. banging her fists on the soft carpet and wheezing.

"ahaha- fihine!! fihine you win!!" Pomni yelled through her laughter, tears welling in her eyes as she fell to her side, clutching her stomach.

Ragatha snatched the pillow from the ground and lifted her fist in triumph.

"haha!! I win!!" she taunted, smiling wide at her friend and joining her on the ground.

Pomni collected herself and sat upward, breathing heavily. "what- what was that even fohor?" she soke through the ghostly tickles she still felt.

Ragatha looked to her friend

"I wanted to see you smile"

[bubbles-for-all-of-us]

can you write Fenrys ×reader? The reader is Asterin sister (she's a witch) and Asterin and Manon doesn't really like Fenrys being with the reader and they threate him 😂

This is slightly different but still along similar lines

Blue blood

Captivated. Speechless. Motionless. Lifeless. Besides the heart that was beating so fast in Fenrys's chest. He was convinced that he had died. He had never seen a female more beautiful. The moment you stepped from behind Manon, Fenrys had lost his hearing abilities. All he could focus on was you.

You snow-white hair that fell in waves behind you. The way the wind reached to play with the ends of it. Fenrys felt jealous of the wind. Your skin put the finest porcelain to shame. The deep golden color of your eyes pierced anyone who they fell upon. Yet there was something different about you. While the other witches bore their teeth at the fealings. You just stood there. Partly captured by the wind, glancing at Abraxos.

"I'm happy you joined us", it was Aelin who spoke first. "Pity that this brings you joy. Tell me what was so eager?", Manon's sharp voice sliced through the wind. Rowan growled. That only made Asterin step forward. "There's no need for anger. We all have the same goal here", Aelin said firmly, "Let's go inside the weather is not the nicest", She pointed to the tiny cottage.

"You don't go anywhere", Asterin gripped your arm firmly, making you roll your eyes. "I'm serious. I'll...", "Don't bother with the threats, sister", you bit back. Yanking your hand from her grip. You knew this was her way of showing tough love but it didn't make you any less frustrated. You weren't a baby. You were powerful in your own ways now. They couldn't keep you wrapped up in blankets forever.

All this time Fenrys watched you. He knew this could easily be a magic charm that captured him. That the glamour would fall but there was not a single crack he could detect. He watched you lingering in the dark corners of the room. Barely a shadow. Quite and calm. And then with a blink of an eye, you were gone. Fenrys looked around the room. There was an odd emptiness that filled him. Mother, strike him. He was supposed to focus and yet he was yarning for a girl he had never even talked with.

"You own me. I expect no side-eye from you now", it's your voice that stopped Fenry's search. The fields were dark. The back garden is barely visible. But it was enough for Fenrys to make out Abraxo's head and you reached to hand him something. What was going on? Fenrys tried to be invisible as he moved. Watching as you looked up at the dragon. Palms full of flowers. A grunt in delight and a soft giggle. Fenrys smiled as well.

But a branch cracked beneath his feet and soon he was inches away from sharp teeth and claws. "No, Abraxos", you called out, "Move back", your hand pulled at the dragon's claws. As you stepped from behind his leg. Why did you look even more beautiful? Was Fenrys dead? "Are you okay? Did you hit your head?", you asked softly and Fenrys frowned. But then he realized that he was no longer standing he had fallen over.

"I'm...", he staggered out. All he could do was stare at you. "Oh, maker, you did", A wave of panic rushed through you. Asterin will set you on fire. He was an ally and you... "How many fingers can you see?", you asked the male. But the moment you truly looked at him your heart skipped a beat. "You're so beautiful", he breathed out, the words took you by surprise. "Sir...", you muttered but he shook his head, "I'm not ancient, please, Fenrys".

Something tinged within you at the sound of his name. The moonlight illuminated you two. And it seemed as if the wind had stopped. "What's your..", but you had been way too eager to share your name with him as you spoke, "Y/N". You watched as Fenrys whispered your names a couple of times. Then he shifted slightly, moving to sit up. You two are now in perfect position to look at one another. "I just...", Fenrys moved to reach out to you. Hand gently cupping your face. His face felt so warm, so inviting, so familiar. You blinked up at him.

Fenrys leaned closer, the need within him that set in was blinding him. Yet you pulled away, "We can't... I'm a witch", you breathed out. The ache in your chest already blooming. You knew what was made of your kind. You knew what destiny awaited you. But Fenrys only leaned closer, pressing his forehead to yours before whispering, "I don't care one bit". And then his lips found yours.

[amethystfairy1]

OH I WILL GO NUTS THEN!

Will send multiple at the time to not trash your ask box

So!

1. Broke/broken

2. Cry/cried

3. King

4. Moss

5. Blood

6. Purr

7. Phone

8. Ask/asked

9. Kid

10. Ball

That's all I can think of for now, and yes, I am indeed thinking of angst

Welp, I did say go nuts! 😆 so let's give this a try and see if we can't fulfill your angsty needs...

From a TT WIP-

If they saw him as a pathetic, broken thing that needed fixing, they wouldn’t expect him to take advantage of that kindness. 

From a TTSBC WIP -

He’d cried enough this week, hadn’t he? 

Ok so the only WIP I have that contains the word 'King' is my ongoing Haikyuu fic Parallel thrones so here's one from that!

“Can’t recall ever leaving, your majesty. If you’re intending to take the same stance with the Inner Court as our wise and mighty King here, you ought to prepare yourself.” 

For this one you you get a TWO SENTENCE TREAT!

From a TTSBC WIP -

Sprinting out from the arch of the labs was a teenage boy, wearing a white long sleeve and dark jeans, a red headband holding back a frizzy shock of dark brown hair. When he spotted them, streaks of white shot through his hair and his eyes seemed to glow silver from their typical deep mossy green. 

From a TT WIP -

Prominently pointed ears emerged from orange hair, still loose and frizzy from the night, having gone untouched since being forcefully yanked out from the braid for a quick wash to free it from blood and gore.

From a TTSBC WIP -

He bit the inside of his cheek, nearly breaking skin, to avoid any purring starting up.

From a TTSBC WIP -

Scott’s phone began to ring in his back pocket. The clattery keys of a typewriter, a ringtone set for one person in particular. 

From a TT WIP -

“What is it?” He asked, his tone far less congenial.

From a TTSBC WIP -

Not when you were a kid on your own, cast from your so-called family for your weakness. 

And finally from another TTSBC WIP! -

“Are you kidding me?” He set the crochet piece alongside the fuzzy ball of yarn on his desk and stood up, gesturing toward the shelf.

Ok, there you go! Have fun dissecting these! 😆

[4ddi3addie2005]

hiiiiiiiii, i was wondering if your requests were open, and if so, could you do a hair braiding fic with Wally Darling x gn!reader? like. wally has No Idea how to braid hair because his hair is always, Like That and the reader teaches him how and then he does their hair and they're both blushing and,

accidentally went off the rails and wrote 2k+ words and i forgot the prompt halfway but here it is :”D i literally have no idea how to braid hair or fix hair. tried to learn before i chopped it off and literally cried sooo there’s no tutorial in here djdvshdvsh super fun to write!! sorry if it wasn’t what you expected aha

cw: touch-centric, maybeee non-consensual kissing?? reader is cool with it but no questions were asked, mild implications of mind-reading, mentions of blood and needles

Desc: Wally X Human Reader,,, julie and wally style your hair before the former needs to leave due to a butterfly-related emergency. it’s just you and him.

No horror this time lol

Everyone in Home was just so fascinated with your hair! Especially Julie. She was pretty handy with her own locks of yarn, so when you strolled in with those thread-thin layers (no, thinner than thread!) she was lightning-fast to sink her hands into it and start suggesting styles! Poor girl nearly exploded when you told her she could go crazy with it, you didn’t mind! You were at ease just letting her run a comically large comb through it, but you were yanked from your serenity when she pulled out the needles.

Turns out, the citizens of Home have a unique way of grooming, involving pins and sharp bits, string, a bit of dexterity…

Her scream was as instantaneous as your yelp. You grabbed the back of your head and felt a hot dewdrop stick to your palm.

Honest mistake, really. You told Julie she was fine! You should have thought of it sooner, haha. There was a teary-eyed apology and a hug. You’re never going to get used to their empathy, you think.

Later, she was recalling the strange story to her friends, noting that their new buddy is slap-full of paint! It hurts for that paint to spill out, apparently! Wally was listening.

Little guy creeped you out, honestly. It wasn’t like you didn’t like spending time with him, you just always felt like there was something brewing behind that permanent smile. No one else seemed to notice or care.

And he was on to you, too. Your mind felt… strange when he was around. You don’t know how to voice these concerns, so you didn’t.

You were fast friends either way. There was a mutual understanding of… something. You knew you two were kindred spirits right when you laid eyes on him.

Anyways.

You loved that big ole’ ball of yarn he had. “Hair” was a strong word, it was all stitched in, but it was even better to bat around or give a little squeeze! And he sure didn’t mind at all! Sometimes he’d even ask you to run your fingers through it or stitch something back into place. He trusted you a lot with his pomp. You think it has to do with your agile fingers, or your nails. (Your nails were a big hit in Home! You gave the best scritches, according to Barnaby.)

You eventually rescheduled that hair-styling date with Julie, more than a few times. The neighbors were never far behind, but Wally tagged along the most. His passion for fashion was no secret so he and Julie collaborated often to dress you up like a doll. You’d get the chance to style them, too. They thought your preferences were unique for a number of reasons and marveled at their transformations.

Today was one of those days. You had your head hanging over the sink, squeezing out shampoo. You had brought your own products because fabric softener didn’t agree with your… anything, really. You were washing out the absolute excess of spray, gel, glue, and whatever the heck Julie had plastered to your skull for your latest look. Your scalp was screaming for emptiness, but sweet Jul still had some fire left in her and was intent to braid your whole head while it was damp, as she was basically dreaming to see you with a head full of curls! You’d do anything for her, so whatever.

Wally was sitting on the counter, gazing at himself in a small hand-held mirror with the larger bathroom mirror blatantly behind him. His lips were moving silently in accordance to a song playing idly from the record player in another room.

Julie was beside you, also bouncing along to the distant melody, doing her makeup. She was in an orange mood today, she said.

“Alright, Jul, I’m ready.” You stood straight up and attempted to straighten out your aching back.

“Oh! But my…! Give me a second, just wring it out; I’m almost there.”

You took a towel and gave your hair a good squeeze, having a brief vision of folding it on the floor like a pillow and going to sleep. You prayed she’d have you sit down.

“Okie-dokie!” She slapped her pallette down on the counter. Wally looked up. “I’m ready.”

You yawned and you felt your eyes unfocus in the mirror. Standing on a stool to reach you, she ran her hands through your wet locks until it reached some sort of satisfactory position, and started from the top. You could feel her precision in your skull.

Wally’s attention drifted away from himself and he leaned in; his lazy gaze looking very similar to your own at the moment. “Now how’re you doing that, Julie?”

“It’s super easy! You just section it out, like so…”

Her explanation was lost on you. You were fantasizing about a nap.

“You try it!”

You floated back into reality when gentle hands sifted into your hair. With Julie, debatably a professional, styling and cutting for you all the time, you could easily sense the inexperience. The process began again, albeit slower, clumsier, and Julie started to tap her foot.

“You take that side, and I’ll take this side! We’ll be done in no time.”

Braid upon braid was piled onto your head. You focused more on the progress on your left, where you actually saw Wally squint in the mirror. Julie worked so fast that you couldn’t even feel it sometimes. Wally had his soft fingers against your scalp, tugging gently at the strands tight to your head for closer coverage. Julie stopped to help him every once in a while. You closed your eyes.

A commotion from the living room. Doors being thrown open.

“Julie, by stars, we NEED you!” Frank had rushed into the bathroom with the frenzy of someone being chased by an ax murderer. “A-27 is emerging and has requested you be there! For her, Julie!”

Julie gasped and dropped the hair she had so delicately braided. “Chryssabellum? She isn’t due for another week! Oh, um Wally!” She ran backwards out the door and flicked her hand. “You finish that!”

The door was swung halfway closed and the two were gone in a flash. You just stared.

“Hi, Frank. Okay, Julie.” Wally said after a long moment of them being gone. He hadn’t even looked up from braiding.

“Wow.” You breathed. Okay. “Can we sit down?”

“Sure. You look very very tired. I would be too, I think.”

You let out the most satisfying sigh ever and sank to the floor. The cold linoleum was heavenly in contrast to the balmy air. With only being twelve apples tall, Wally could still easily reach the top of your head. You planted your hands on the floor and leaned your head back, resting it on your shoulders.

His progress didn’t shift at all. He kept at it, slow, careful, learning, folding your hair over and over again.

Now that you think about it, Wally’s never fooled with your hair before. He was more of a wardrobe guy. “How’s it going back there?”

“It is going much!”

You let out another dramatic sigh. “She worked me today, Wally. She really did.”

“I can tell. You looked nice though. And funny.” He went for that spot between your neck and your skull, making little scratching motions to bring the hair closer to him before starting to braid. You let your eyes slip shut. He got on his knees for a better angle.

Yet another sigh. You got off your hands completely, preferring to lean back into his lap. Unbothered, yet hindered, he took his hands away, gazing down.

“You got sweet little hands, man.” You iterated by taking one in your own. It was damp from your hair. His whole outfit, including him, was now dampened by your hair.

“Thank you. They’re mine.”

“They are.” You repeated, smiling. It was sadly taken away.

“Sorry. Julie told me to finish.”

You huffed lightheartedly. “Can you manage upside-down?”

“I can try.” He straightened his legs, placing each at your side.

So you rolled over, crossing your arms over his thighs (or the equivalent) and laying on them. Your forehead was comfy against his abdomen. Finally satisfied, your eyelids dropped.

He started working on your hair again, adapting to the new position quickly. You were lost in the motions once again before the record player, for the first time that night, caught your attention.

It was playing something slow, emotional. Not quite sultry, you think. Goodness no. Just… passionate. Wally was humming along. You could feel the tiny rumble coming from somewhere inside him as he did so. Every once in a while, he’d whisper a breathy strand of lyrics that had you… thinking.

Everyone in Home was about as shy as a golden retriever. Embraces like this were not uncommon. In the time you’ve existed here, you’ve been hugged, kissed, cuddled, coddled, and just plain handled more than you ever have in your entire life.

So why were you all of a sudden funny about it? It’s not like your position was scandalous. Could be misinterpreted among humans, but it was very very very difficult for puppets to be scandalous. You appreciated that. You’ll forget about these fuzzy feelings later, you reckon. Hopefully.

He must have finished, or was close to it, because the lovely little motions stopped and he had one braid between his fingers.

“It’s like a paintbrush.” He positioned the end to mimic the act of painting his hand. “You’re full of them.”

You smiled against his legs. Now that he didn’t have an objective, you lazily looped your arms around him, further crushing yourself into his middle. He folded his hands in your hair.

Wally didn’t feel the need to make conversation or small talk, or anything like that. You were fine, there was no pressure on you to do so either. He was content to stare holes in the back of your head. You imagined that he was painting you in his mind, picking out a shade for each thread of your hair, envisioning just the right stroke at just the right speed so he could fully capture the wonders of you. Maybe he’d even paint with your hair. That’d be a fun exercise.

You got bored of imagining and flipped over. He never let go of you, which translated to his hands lightly traveling to your cheeks. You were met with deep black vaults, barely outlined by white, connecting with your own. Startling to a stranger, slightly less startling to you.

With his hands on either side of your face, you couldn’t help but feel something other than fear. You reached up and poked where his nose would be. He returned the gesture by brushing his thumbs down the slopes of your nose. The record player continued softly.

“Sorry for getting you all wet.” His damp hands felt nice though. Like getting a facial. You wouldn’t be surprised if your skin was a tad shinier after this.

“It’s fine. You’re still warm.”

Your face sure felt warm.

It slowly dawned on you that this interaction was getting less and less friendly. In the best of ways. Would he even know what you were talking about if you brought it up? Probably not. You’d sound like an idiot if you were too direct.

“What’re we doing here, Walls?”

His smile barely widened, in a half-laugh kind of way. His thumbs moved to smooth your cheekbones. They ached from your smile.

“The funny things you’re thinking about… that’s what we’re doing.”

You were just about to ask what he meant.

“Muah.” He said, against your teeth, catching your open mouth just in time. You felt fuzz on your tongue. His departure somehow caught your bottom lip. It tapped back to your teeth unceremoniously. Over before you knew it.

Very not friendly, you realized.

“Wally!” You flicked him on the shoulder, playfully offended. “Some gentlemen you are.”

He giggled, mirth wrinkling his eyes and your own.

“Did I do good?”

You licked your lips unconsciously. “Yeah, yeah. That was fine.”

His hand found your chin, barely tugging at your lip. It didn’t even expose your teeth, just serving to drive you absolutely insane.

“Are you sure I did it right…?” He asked.

“You usually open your mouth.” You finally said, quietly. Your hands and fingers and nails found the back of his head, burrowing under the yarn of that stitched in hair-do.

“Oh. That’s it, then.” His volume matched your own. You were lowering him towards you. Of course he’d have his eyes open, wide and starry. You got ready to close yours. You had just the faintest idea of what you were about to do.

A commotion from the front door.

You meant to yank your hand out of his hair and act as natural as possible when your finger snagged and you ended up snatching his head to the side.

“Oh! N— Wally I am so sorry.” Poor guy looked completely bewildered.

You automatically glanced at the door to see Julie’s befuddled gaze that clearly asked ‘Am I interrupting something?’ She said nothing, but cracked a grin as you hastily untangled from his pomp and addressed her from his lap way too casually.

“So, how did it go!”

“Um, good! Good. A little rough at first. Chrysabellum has a pattern on her wings that we haven’t seen before…”

She was definitely asking you about this later. And you definitely weren’t going to know what to say.

[parrythisucasual]

I love your Tadc fics so much 🤭🤭 is it possible you could write a Ragatha x female reader who does trapeze for the circus? 💞

Ragatha x Fem! Trapeze Artist! Reader

So this ask really made me get my brain going!! I’m absolutely hyped and hope you love it, dearest anon!!!!

When you had come, a new room of the circus had been added. Your own special flying trapeze stood alone in its own room. The swings are high above the ground, the risk would be immense if you could actually die here. But, you couldn't, therefore love it. The feeling of flying, the rush it gave you, it was addictive.

From the ground below, as you flipped through the air, you noticed a familiar redheaded ragdoll watching. She was a bit of a distance away, if she’d get closer she could see better. You grunt, swinging yourself up to a sitting position, “Rags?”

She waved from far below, “Oh, hey, (Y/N)! Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt. I didn’t think you’d see me from there.” You laugh, “Why didn’t you want me to see you?” you question, head tilting slightly. She steps closer to the trapeze set, “I didn’t want to throw you off or anything. I think I might’ve, though,” she jokes as she gestures to your now resting form. You shrug, “I only stopped to ask if you wanted to get closer, actually.” 

“Oh, was that all? Good, I thought I ruined it!” she stares up at you, eyes- er, eye- wide and earnest, “so you’ll keep going?” You nod, allowing yourself to fall backward, but catch yourself with your knees, now hanging upside down.

“How can I not perform for you, Rags?” you call, swinging yourself back and forth to get the momentum you need. Soon enough, you’re back at it, swinging and flipping through the air as if you could fly. Your movements were fluid, seemingly effortless, sending you spiraling into the air.

All too soon, you called it quits. Well, soon being a good half an hour. You hung upside down a moment longer, then got an idea, “Rags!” you called mischievously, “catch me!” and let yourself fall.

YOu hear her yelp in fear through the whistling in your ears. You land, although not on the ground, You’d fallen safely into her arms. She stared at you, face lined with panic, “What was that for?! You could’ve gotten yourself killed!” she yelped.

“No I couldn’t’ve,” you remind her, reaching up and flicking a lock of her yarn-hair, “remember?” She seemed to relax a bit, “Still… what a Jax move,” she sighed. She noticed your breat pressed up against her chest and her face went pink, “I thought I was going to lose you,” she continued, distracting herself.

“Lose me? Are you kidding? I’d never leave you,” you grin, shrugging a bit. She suddenly yanks you into a hug, much to your surprise, “Just never do that agin, okay?” she whispered, “you mean too to me much to  go scaring me like that.”

“I… mean too much… to you?” you repeat, almost dazed, “I mean too much?” She pulls away, face turning pink as she finally sets you down, “I-I meant, like as a friend! Or -crud- not a friend, a-a super cool best buddy? Not buddy, sh(beep) I’m ruining it- Nothing, it’s- it’s nothing, nevermind!” she babbled, waving her hands a bit.

You giggle a bit, feeling your own face heat up, “I think you’re a super-cool-buddy-thing too,” you hum, rubbing the back of your neck. Her head snaps up, her eye meeting yours, “You…?” she trails off.

“So… do you wanna maybe grab something to eat and go down to the digital lake? On a date?” You ask, shuffling your weight from foot to foot. She nods, “I’d love to…” She reaches out, taking your hand, and the two of you head off, ready for what the day brings.