#Handmade Brick Slips

[giuseppe-yuki]

when the clock strikes 12'

baker!yuki tsunoda x princess!reader

w.c.: 2.9k

warnings: a sprinkle of fluff, slight allusions to sex, curse words, angst, mentions of death

summary: every night, you flee to the baker's son to receive the love you never got from your own family.

picture credits from pinterest :)

every day was unchanging. wake up at six am, breakfast of exactly one apple and a cup of oatmeal with a sprinkle of cinnamon, then onto history, etiquette, dancing class, horse-riding, brief pause for lunch, embroidery, languages, government, military tactics, dinner, then finally music. as the next brightest queen on the throne, you had to be perfect. you couldn’t be your little brother, running carefree in the woods, playing with wooden bows and arrows, or your younger sister, who spent all her hours gossiping and playing cards with the ladies of the court. trapped in a gilded cage, you had no choice but to endure all the classes your parents put you through and to your credit, you seemed to be the best daughter and heiress they could ever ask for. 

however, when the clock hit 12, you would routinely slip on your black cloak, pull the torch lever in the corner of your room, and flee down the steps out of the palace. the second your foot touched the soil on the other side of the towering stone walls, you could shed your disguise of being the powerful, multi talented crown princess of your kingdom. when you flew through the beaten path in the woods, cloak flapping behind you, and past the empty cobblestone courtyard, feet echoing quietly on each brick, and up the leafy vines, hands easily grasping the familiar branches, and into the arms of the boy you loved the most, you finally felt at home. 

he would unclasp your black cloak, fold it neatly, and place it softly on the singular wooden chair next to his bed. then, like always, he would flourish a covered plate towards you, pretending he was a fancy chef in the castle, serving you the finest food in the kingdom- dishes that average village people could only dream about. you knew, of course, that underneath the piece of tattered cloth, there sat two slices of warm bread, topped with your favorite golden honey, and a cup of milk from his family cow in the shed behind the bakery. no matter how many times you scarfed down the handmade bread, it tasted way better than any of the food you had at home. perhaps it had tasted so delectable, because he had made it with his love, something that you never felt in the castle. you would whip off the cloth like you always did, gasp shockingly at the worn, hand-carved dish and its contents in front of you, and pepper the boy with kisses until he was a giggling mess. then, you would each share a slice of bread (he would always purposely slide you the bigger piece when he thought you weren’t looking) and talk about your day together, as if you were just another average couple who were most definitely not a princess and a simple baker’s son. 

he would then tell you about the day’s customers, about the mean old grandpa named mr. horner who would yell at him for ‘lazing around all day,’ or his best friend pierre who always would buy three baguettes, cut up into fourths, or the kind blacksmith’s wife, susie, who would buy loads of pumpernickel for her husband, and sometimes his classmates, like carlos and charles, who would beg him to give them a sliver of cake. you pretended you understood what he meant when he would describe searching for wild potatoes in the forest with his friends, when the day’s bread was sold out. 

in return, you would tell him about your day, like when one of the lord’s sons, ollie, stepped on your white wool socks and ruined them during your dancing lessons, or when your friend dorianne told your french teacher that she ate un mur (a wall) instead of une mûre (a blackberry) for lunch, or how you galloped across the field on your horse faster than max, a duke’s son. he nodded like he knew the feeling of how ridiculous it was when the chef gave you one whole roasted chicken when you had requested a lamb chop and asparagus. 

later, when the soft bread was reduced to crumbs on the wooden plate, and you both had nothing left to say, you would kiss the honey off his lips, and he would laugh and shove you into his wood-and-straw bed. he would then lean over to the singular tallow candle on the patchy floor next to his bed and blow the flame out. underneath the glow of the stars, with the wisp of candle smoke wafting in the air, he would tuck you into his sheets, ‘like a princess deserves,’ and shuffle himself in the slot next to you, one arm around your waist. 

sometimes, you would both fall asleep immediately, one of your soft hands laced in his rough calloused one, your face nuzzled in the crook of where his shoulder meets his neck, breaths syncing together, and blankets swirled around like the hazy night mist outside the window. other times, you would look up at his face, where he looked down at you with lovestruck eyes. your gaze would drift down to his pretty pink lips that seemed to always be slightly chapped and you would forcefully pull him down into a heated kiss. those nights always seemed to end with your sweaty bodies tangled in his linen sheets, with you falling asleep on his naked chest listening to how his racing heart slowed to a soft pitter-patter and him gently caressing the length of your back. 

whichever night it was, you would always be the first one up at exactly five am, smiling at the sight of the baker’s son still sprawled on the bed, a drop of drool running down the corner of his mouth. you would get dressed in your black cloak, leave two gold coins that was worth more than a typical villager’s weekly pay (the baker and his wife never did understand how their son constantly produced such massive sums of money when their business was in a tight spot), and press a chaste kiss to his cheek. he slept soundly, knowing that you would always be back, like you promised, near midnight every night. 

quietly, you snuck out of his window, down the leafy vines, past the empty cobblestone courtyard, though the woods, underneath the stone walls of the castle, and up the stairs into your room, half and hour before your maid was to fetch you for breakfast. by the time the birds outside chirped their tunes and the maid knocked on your gold-embossed door, you would be back in your silk pajamas, underneath your thick hand-weaved cotton blankets and sunken into your soft feathery mattress. she would gently nudge you awake, and you would pretend-yawn, as big as you could, to make it seem like you had the best sleep in the world. and you did, but just not in your bed- it was in the arms of the boy you loved all but a half an hour ago in his bedroom on the second floor of his family’s bakery. 

very rarely did you ever see that boy not under the glow of his tallow candle that threatened to die out way too often, compared to the smooth beeswax candles you had lined throughout the rooms and hallways of your castle. once a month though, the royal family would pay a visit to all the towns in their region of rule. his village would always be the twenty second that you visited, and he would put on a knowing smile when you walked through the woods, down the cobblestone courtyard, and towards the building with the leafy vines on the side in your regal gold and white skirts and petticoats, procession in tow. the rest of the village would be gathered around the cobblestone courtyard as well, each individual working sector presenting a gift of gratitude to you and your family for blessing their town with your presence. your father accepted from the blacksmith a fine-crafted iron sword (which he threw into a box that contained the twenty one other similar swords from past villages), your mother accepted from the dressmaker and carefully stitched dress (that she immediately made plans to be turned into washcloths- the material of the dress was too rough!), your little brother accepted a little toy music box from the sales merchant (he would probably accidentally ‘break’ it on the way to the next village just to see what it looked like on the inside), and your little sister accepted a pair of sparkly gold shoes from the shoemaker (shoes that she would give to her maid, because a princess would never wear something so atrocious as shoes with fake pieces of gold on it!). and to you, the baker’s son would flourish, like he did the night before under your watchful eyes, a weaved basket with a full loaf of soft wheat bread, a pot of honey, and a big jar of cold milk. you would thank him profusely, hand lingering on his a smidgen too long, and softly place the item in your carriage to enjoy later. before you left the village on your horse-drawn buggy, you would glance out the window to see the boy give you a wink and a wave, because he knew, when the moon came out and the clock struck twelve, you would be back in his arms once more with the basket of food, and you both would feast like kings. 

it was like clockwork, through spring, summer, fall and winter, that you journeyed to the village bakery. years passed, and your schedule never changed. you would always be there, a little bit after twelve, with your black cloak and a smile on your face, and he would welcome you with a kiss and honey bread. it was like that until it wasn’t.

your father had gotten suspicious with your actions one winter. his first clue was how you always seemed tired in your lessons- how you dozed off a little bit in history class, how you accidentally pricked your fingers way more than normal in embroidery class, how you would skip dinner more often than not, and then rush through music class as if you were in a hurry to go to bed. his second clue came more by accident, when one of his guards had caught one of the dukes, jos’, son sneaking off from a side exit to meet some random stableboy named charles in a nearby town. your father’s rather aggressive guards had caught them embracing in the shady corner of some cobblestone courtyard. they had nearly beaten charles to death right then and there, but was stopped by max at the last second when he tearfully pleaded to them he would do whatever they wanted him to do, even if that included adhering to his father’s jos’ lifelong wish of turning him into the best equine racer in the kingdom- even if he hated racing. trudging back to the castle with a sobbing max in tow and charles’ broken and feeble body left in the courtyard, they could have sworn they saw a figure in a black cloak that was too high-quality to be a villager’s dart by the leafy vines. his third and final clue was when he ordered the guards to check your room at precisely 1am to make sure you were still snuggled in your bed like you were supposed to be, snoring away.

alas, you weren’t. you were listening cautiously, with wide eyes, as the baker’s son described how a stable boy was found half-beaten to death and frozen in the courtyard a day ago, and all he cried was strings of ‘maxmaxmaxmax’ when the village doctor finally nursed him back into a barely-alive state. that night, when you whimpered the baker’s son’s name into the crook of his neck and he muffled his cries of ecstasy into his pillow, you made sure to hold him just that little bit tighter in the afterglow as if you never wanted to leave. when the sun peeked through the leafy vines at the edge of the window, you gathered your things, and gave the boy a kiss on the lips. this time he awoke, unlike normal, and sat up on the bed. he looked at you with his head cocked to the side and bleary eyes, then laughs when he sees you put not two, but six gold coins on the singular wooden chair next to his bed. he whispers a soft ‘i’ll see you tonight’ and blows you a kiss before collapsing dramatically back on the bed. you can’t help but giggle to yourself and lightly skip all the way back to your room. you fail to notice how the stems of the vines have been hacked slightly, or how the snow on the cobblestone road had one too many sets of footprints, or how the pathway through the forest had deep imprints way bigger than possible to be from your feet in the slushy watery brown sludge, and how the torch-lever-door was slightly ajar when you arrived in your room. 

when you are awaken by the maid, you brightly hop out of your soft bed, unaware of the pitying looks she gives you. 

you attend your history, etiquette, dancing class, horse-riding, scarf down your lunch, embroidery, languages, and government. you are in your military tactics class, learning how wheels could perhaps be attached to open boxes and go on a circular track to gain speed and agility when the son of a baker is dragged rather unceremoniously into the dungeons below. 

he stays mostly silent; he knows that no one will be saving him now. he waits for a bit in the dim holding cell, watching as the beeswax candle smoothly burns on the wick. it’s funny how even the dungeons of the castle was the teeniest bit more fancier than his bedroom in the room above his family’s bakery…oh yeah, the bakery. he just hopes that his family will survive with the gold coins he had piled on the wooden plate that he typically served the princess on. he had shoved the plate under his covers just as the guards came barging up the stairs and dragged him towards the castle, his parents wailing in confusion and despair. his mind can’t help but drift back to your body, laid out so prettily beneath him the late night before. it lingered on his mind when the executioner led him to a dirty, bloodstained, block and forced him to hold his head over it. and when the swoosh of the blade fell down, the last thought in his head was that if you’d miss the bread that he would make, drizzled with honey with a glass of milk on the side. 

when you sneakily tiptoe past the castle walls, through the forest, across the cobblestone courtyard, and up the vines, you expect to see your lover waiting on his wood-and-straw bed next to the tallow candle, a teasing smile on his pretty face and rumpled black hair all messy on his head. there should be the usual wooden plate on his bed, and his singular wooden chair ready for your folded cloak. but what meets you is a wailing couple, a woman that seemed to have the boy’s shade of hair, and nose shape, and the man that seemed to have his eyes and his chin. the candle is broken in half, unburning, a wooden plate overturned with gold coins spilt everywhere, and a singular wooden chair that has its back board splintered in two. 

ten years later, when your father and mother have passed on, leaving you queen regent, and the military generals look up to you for your orders, and when you are forced to be betrothed to a so-called prince who spends all his time in brothels, fucking women who aren’t you, and your talentless brother and sister have wasted away in the castle, only alive to spread gossip and eat your food, you still wonder what had happened the the baker’s son that wintery night a little past midnight. yuki, you remember his name was. a name that means snow- like the snow that was falling around you when you climbed down his window for the last time, never knowing you would never see him again. you hoped that yuki had a good life. maybe he ran away, and got with a some pretty little commoner that didn’t have the same responsibilities you did, someone who could be with him day and night, someone who didn’t have to arrive at midnight and leave at daylight. or maybe he ran away to become a famous cook or baker- you knew he always had that talent within him. maybe he was in a far-away kingdom, cooking up the most delicious meals that were made with love. you remember those honey bread slices and milk that yuki always made you. but when you requested it from the chef, it never tasted the same. she would always give you three slices instead of two, warm milk instead of cold, or drizzled way too much honey on the slices. wherever he was, you hoped that your paths would meet again. maybe then, he could fold your black cloak nice and neat, make you the honey bread exactly how you liked it with cold milk, and you could talk about your day, and you could kiss the honey off of his lips, and he would tuck you into bed, and lay there with you until your breaths synced up once more.

a/n: ummm so idk what happened it kind of just flowed out of me... it's my first attempt at angst though so lmk if y'all like it :)

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Here's an unusual home built in 1968 in Tucson, Arizona. It is insulated by thousands of glass bottles, that give it a colorful glow inside. It has 3bds, 3ba, and is priced at $432,500.

A large entrance foyer leads into the living room. The walls have clear glass bottles with amber glass arches.

The walls that aren't made of bottles are made of stones. The ceiling is whitewashed wood with log beams. The floors vary throughout the home. Note the freestyle fireplace and the platform that the sofa cushion is on.

This is a very large space.

Quite a deep fireplace.

The dining room has interesting cabinetry- it's made of saguaro cactus.

It appears that this handmade table will convey.

The eat-in kitchen is spacious and has regular cabinetry, but the walls are both stone and glass bottles. Pretty clear ones form arched windows over the sink.

The home has unusual rooms, nooks, and passages like this area.

One of the nooks is a home office. The rectangle in the wall above the desk must be a decorative feature. The ceiling is fabric.

The primary bedroom is very large and features a fireplace with patterned brick walls accented with bottles.

It has a long built-in sofa and the walls are made of green and amber bottles.

The bed is on a platform and that's the large bath on the right.

This is some stone bath. Don't slip in here, the walls will knock you out.

Look at all the walls in the garden.

There's also a guest cottage on the property.

This is interesting.

There are 2 bedrooms with platforms for the beds.

Not sure what this is.

A separate bath house serves as the 3rd bathroom.

Not sure, but I think he guards the bath house.

There's also an outdoor kitchen and several covered outdoor spaces. Love this handmade pool table.

It doesn't have a garage, but it has a double car port.

If you like the desert, the cacti garden is quite lovely and the property measures 2.53 acres.

[eternal-kosmo-ghoul]

*°:⋆ₓₒ day 3. food play

.｡❅*⋆⍋*∞*｡ “gingerbread houses”

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ — ❤︎ what a fun little activity to do with aurora! surely she won’t have any other ideas in mind… right?

pairing: aurora ghoulette x gn!reader

a/n: my fave ghoulette <3 i’m so happy i get to write a fic on her. this one will be great

cw: nsfw content. food play. oral sex (f receiving). frosting on vagina. semi-public sex (?). lots of making out. cum eating

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“that’s it… lick it all up! eat me out like it’s your last meal!” —❤︎

┅✦┅

“aww, aurora you got a bit of frosting on your face.”

“hmm? where?”

a certain multi ghoulette faced you in an almost innocent manner, trying to use her hands to wipe off the sugary decoration from her face, but she kept on missing.

you chuckled at the adorableness from aurora. her little clumsy antics were downright endearing. shaking your head, you rolled up your sleeves and swiped the pearly white frosting off of her cheek.

“over here, sweetie.” you pointed out, showing off the frosting that stained the ghoulette’s cheek.

aurora tipped her head to the side slightly and smiled, a soft giggle escaping her rosy lips. “right.. thank you.”

a cheeky grin etched its way onto your face, and you winked. taking the finger to your mouth, you licked off the remaining frosting, wiping your finger on your apron to remove any saliva.

“mmmh, it tastes great too. we really knocked it out of the park with this gingerbread house.” you applauded to aurora, and partially to yourself too.

the little ghoulette smiled, and clasped her hands together in a satisfied manner. “i’ll have to agree with you on that one, honeypie. i’d say that this year was our best gingerbread houses yet.”

throughout your time in the ministry, both you and your wonderful girlfriend, aurora, had a personal tradition where you both would make gingerbread houses together. each year, the gingerbread houses would always follow a different theme. one year you made a cute little treehouse, the next you’d make a witch’s tower. hell, there was even one season where the two of you made a full blown pirate ship.

this year was a cute little birdhouse. the tangy gingerbread crackers made up the base, and the roof was coated in a sugary and soft vanilla frosting, decorated in a way that made each clump of frosting look like a brick on the house.

shimmering candied crystals were dotted all over the base of the house, along with various sweet treats such as gumdrops, candy canes, chocolate and glazed strawberries. the best part about this elegant christmas dessert were the handmade pastry birdies. aurora came up with the idea of making two robins made out of candied pears and grapes, creating a duo of birdies that sat in the center of the bird house. they almost looked like you and aurora.

aurora squealed in delight and held up the tray that held your guys’ creation, marveling at both hers and your hard work.

“we did so good! it looks so cute, i’m gonna feel bad eating it.” aurora chimed in an ecstatic manner, before setting the tray on one of the other kitchen counters.

you just giggled at your girlfriend’s enthusiasm, loving this part about her. “if you don’t wanna eat it, rory, we can always eat something else.”

the little demon just whipped her head around to face you, her prisma colored eyes gleaming with a certain glint to them, her orbs creating a faint rainbow glow from the light reflecting off of them.

“oh? and what did you have in mind?” she asked, her tone slightly playful.

you smirked and scooped up a clump of glittery frosting with two of your fingers, before smearing it all over your lover’s face, making her gasp in surprise. “that.”

aurora marveled at your evil little scheme, before she herself smirked and wiped some frosting off of her face, and proceeding to smother it on yours too.

“whoops, my hand slipped.”

“oh you little—“

you and aurora chased each other around the ministry’s chicken, handfuls of the glazing spread staining your clothes, faces and hands. the two of you laughed gleefully as you had your little childish banter.

it was so fun just being able to let loose around your lover.

“heyyy come back here! let me smear frosting on those pretty little lips of yours!” you called out in a sing-song voice, but aurora stuck her tongue out at you and chuckled.

“neveeerrr!!” she called out, running away from your antics again.

after a bit of back and forth, you eventually had aurora caged onto the kitchen counter between your arms. you then brought your hand to her face and put frosting on her face again, making the ghoulette laugh with delight.

“hahah! alright, alright time out!” aurora managed out between her laughs, and you actually listened and stopped putting frosting all over her face.

though that devious little smirk was still on your face.

“my baddd~” you cooed, snickering at your lover’s pouting face. “here, let me clean it up for you.”

aurora tilted her head, before nodding and leaning against the kitchen counter, a smirk evident on her face. you brought your fingers to wipe some of the frosting off of aurora’s face, licking it off of your fingers.

you were sure that aurora saw that you got every last bit of frosting. your finger-licking movements were slow, and it was a little teasing too. aurora watched every moment, every swipe you made with your tongue, every sucking sound you created when you licked your fingers clean of frosting.

oh. she knew what you were doing alright.

neither of you said anything when you were eating up the frosting. however, the looks you both gave each other spoke volumes, and the heated tension was intense.

as you finished licking, the only frosting that was left was on aurora’s beautiful lips.

“babe…” you whispered, your tone slightly dropping. your hands cupped aurora’s cheeks and you leaned in. “come here.”

aurora nodded. she wasted no time, and brought her hands to grasp at your hair before drawing you into a passionate, deep kiss. her taste was delicate, and sugary sweet, like the most tasty dessert you’ve ever had the pleasure of eating.

as the two of you made out and your tongues swirled together, your hand trailed down to the space between aurora’s thighs, before you started rubbing her aching cunt through her jeans, making the ghoulette gasp from the sensation. you could still taste sweetness of the frosting on her plump lips.

“fuck, y/n…” she rasped out, growing more wet and aroused in her panties.

“mmh..” you hummed into her lips, kissing her aggressively with a fervent passion. “i’m going to eat you up, rory.”

wasting no time, your fingers fumbled to unbutton aurora’s jeans, yanking them off along with her panties so harshly you swore you accidentally tore a fabric. you lifted her off the floor and sat her on the kitchen counter, before you slipped between her legs.

you cursed at the sight of your girlfriend’s glistening pussy, reveling in its wetness and how pretty it looked.

“you’re so turned on.” you cooed, hot breath tickling at the bundle of nerves, making aurora jolt. “can’t wait to feast on you.”

“please do.” she begged.

“hold on, baby… i need to prepare my meal properly first…” you replied.

dipping your fingers in the nearby frosting bowl, you got a good chunk of it before rubbing the fluffy coating all over aurora’s wet cunt, making her gasp and moan from the pressure of your fingers and the frosting.

“shiiit!”

“fuck, there we go. all done.”

the frosting was sloppily smeared all over aurora’s pussy, every crevice and nerve had the frosting all over it. you licked your lips and wasted no time.

drawing your head in closer, you wrapped your arms around aurora’s thighs before going to town on her. lapping your tongue at every inch and corner of her puffy cunt, taking your time eating off the frosting. all the while, aurora squealed gleefully and you drank up her juices.

she tasted so damn good. so sweet, and the frosting only enhanced the taste even further. you moaned deeply, delighted from her taste, and the vibrations sent shockwaves of pleasure up her spine.

aurora’s moans grew louder and more pornographic as you got more erratic with your tongue movements. “nnngh! baby! your tongue— it’s so good!”

you groaned in response, being sure to lick up every bit of frosting as you lapped at aurora’s cunt. your tongue flicked over her coated clit and you sucked on it hard, making your girlfriend cry out loudly in pleasure and grip your hair.

“s-shit! right there, babe!” she practically screamed. “that’s it… lick it all up! eat me out like it’s your last meal!”

and that’s exactly what you did. you kept eating her out until there was no frosting left, and even then, you didn’t stop licking. moaning and groaning with delight into aurora’s pussy as you tongue fucked her.

“aah! y/n! i’m gonna fucking cum!” aurora warned, her painted nails digging into your scalp more tightly.

and you made sure that your girlfriend reached her release. as you lapped at her cunt, her body convulsed wildly and her thighs gripped your head tightly, before she screamed and came all over your face, practically suffocating you.

you didn’t mind however, as you gladly drank up her love juice and swallowed aurora’s cum, some of it dripping at the corner of your mouth. separating yourself from between her legs, you looked up to be met with a blissed, fucked out aurora, who was basking in the afterglow of her release.

“you tasted amazing, aurora.” you praised again, drawing her in for another kiss. she whimpered slightly, but gladly gave in as she tasted herself on your lips.

as the two of you kissed, she broke it apart, and smirked. “thanks, honey.”

aurora then leaned into your ear, and whispered seductively, her tone of voice seeing shivers of excitement down your spine.

“now it’s your turn.”

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[the-writing-trash-panda]

Advice in the Romance Field

Fandom: Fairy Tail ~Next Gen

Characters: Okrui, Greige

Relationship(s): Greige x Nasha

Words: 1040

Rating: General

Greige sat on the couch, face buried in his hands, as Okrui went off on a tangent about how difficult it was to get gifts for girls. He just had to go and let it slip that he liked Nasha, and that was all the incentive Okrui needed to teach his ‘baby brother’ the ways of wooing women.

“Listen, flowers are fine, but they’re expected,” Okrui said, pacing the room with an unnecessary flourish of his hand. “You want to stand out, you gotta think outside the box! Like a poem. Or—wait—a handmade charm! Girls love stuff with emotional value.”

“Have I ever told you how annoying you are?” Greige asked, looking up. “I did not ask for your advice.”

Okrui scoffed, undeterred. “You didn’t have to. Your whole face screamed, ‘I’m hopeless and in desperate need of guidance.’ Lucky for you, I’m an expert.”

Greige groaned, dragging his hands down his face. “You have never had a girlfriend that has lasted more than a few weeks.”

Okrui gasped, clutching his chest like he'd been mortally wounded. “Wow. Low blow. That was uncalled for.”

“It was accurate,” Greige muttered.

“Whatever,” Okrui said, brushing off the insult. “I still know more than you do. I’ve at least talked to girls without turning into a brick wall.”

Greige slumped further into the couch, arms folded tightly across his chest. “Why did I tell you anything?”

“Because I’m your charming, handsome, older brother and you secretly admire me.” Okrui grinned, plopping down next to him. “Now. Back to Nasha. What do you like about her?”

Greige blinked, then looked away, ears going a little pink. “…She’s nice.”

Okrui leaned back dramatically. “Nice? That’s the best you’ve got? She’s nice? Come on, Greige! That’s what people say about their dentist!”

Greige groaned again, muffling his voice into the cushion. “She’s also smart. And funny. And she actually listens when I talk. And—ugh, why am I saying this out loud?”

Okrui grinned, all teeth. “Because it’s adorable, and because step one of wooing a girl is knowing why you like her. Step two is making sure she knows it, too.”

Greige peeked out from under his arm. “So... not flowers?”

“Only if you also give her a charm you made while thinking about her eyes or something.” Okrui waggled his eyebrows. “Sentimentality, little bro. It’s a weapon.”

“I don’t know, Nasha isn’t really the gift type. She likes actions over stuff,” Greige muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “Like… when someone helps her fix one of her stupid mistakes, or actually remembers what she said two days ago.”

Okrui perked up, pointing a triumphant finger in Greige’s direction. “Exactly! That’s your in. You don’t need to buy her anything—just do something that shows you were paying attention. That’s basically romance gold.”

Greige raised an eyebrow. “Like what? Give me an example that doesn’t sound like something out of a cheesy drama.”

“Okay, okay…” Okrui tapped his chin, gears turning. “Is there something that she’s been complaining about recently?”

Greige thought for a moment, eyes narrowing as he searched his memory. “She complains about her sister a lot… oh, and how she gets in trouble for ‘minor’ destruction on missions. I don't really know how either of those helps me. It’s not like I can take the blame for the stuff she destroyed; it wouldn’t be believable.”

Okrui snapped his fingers. “Not the point, my tragically dense brother! You’re not supposed to fix her problems—just show you get her. That you’re on her side.”

Greige frowned, skeptical. “So, what, I nod along while she vents and say ‘that sucks’? Real romantic.”

“No, no,” Okrui said, leaning forward like he was about to reveal some ancient secret. “You prove it. Like… okay—what’s something she broke recently? Something small, not mission related.”

Greige’s brow furrowed in thought. “She and Justin had a showdown the other day, and she burned half of the pool chairs.”

“And she had to clean up that mess, right? Offer to help her clean up next time. Or better—fix something before she gets in trouble. Like, sneak in and repair or replace what got broken. No words, just actions. She’ll notice.”

Greige tilted his head, considering. “So you want me to become some kind of… stealth handyman?”

“If the toolbelt fits,” Okrui said with a smirk, stretching his arms across the back of the couch. “Think about it. She comes back, expecting the usual lecture, and boom—pool chairs replaced. No one the wiser. Who’s the mysterious savior? Greige, obviously. Silent. Capable. Mysterious.”

“Or suspicious,” Greige muttered. “They’ll think she fixed it and still lecture her.”

“Then casually mention you handled it. No big deal. Just a throwaway line when you’re hanging out. Something like ‘Oh yeah, I found a few chairs in storage and figured I’d replace them.’ See? Subtle. Helpful. Hot.”

Greige gave him a long, unimpressed stare. “…You are the worst.”

“And yet, you’re still listening.” Okrui waggled his eyebrows. “Admit it. I’m a little bit right.”

Greige sighed, letting his head thunk back against the cushions. “Fine. Maybe. I just… I don’t want it to be weird, okay? I don’t want her to think I’m trying too hard or—like, expecting something back.”

Okrui’s grin softened. He nudged his brother with an elbow. “Then don’t expect anything. Just be a decent guy who likes a girl and wants to show it. No expectations, no drama. Just… be you. But, y’know, the version of you that does cool things.”

Greige looked at him out of the corner of his eye. “Is that what you do? The ‘cool version’ of yourself?”

Okrui threw his head back and laughed. “Absolutely not. I’m always the full, unfiltered me. Which is probably why I’m single.”

Greige huffed a reluctant laugh, then rubbed his hands together nervously. “Alright. I’ll… try something. No promises.”

Okrui raised his hands in mock surrender. “No pressure. Just don’t blow it, or I’ll be forced to intervene. And trust me, no one wants that.”

Greige stood, brushing off his jeans. “Noted. Now shut up before I regret telling you anything.”

“Too late,” Okrui called after him, “I’m making a list of Operation Woo Nasha!” Greige groaned all the way down the hall.

[mrs-luigi-vargas]

50 of My Favorite Fics from 2023

Did something like this last year on Dreamwidth and it was fun so I’m doing it this year, on Tumblr this time! These are all fics I read last year and loved a lot!

It’s 50 fics because that’s about how many recs were on my list last time by happenstance so I decided to just roll with it. Especially because I read so much fic this year, between the comment bingos and the explosion of Mario fic in the months before and after the Mario movie, for example. Thus, I probably forgot some good ones, somehow (I was mostly going off my AO3 bookmarks for the year + what I’d reblogged on Tumblr) so whoopsies if some quality fics slipped through the cracks! ^_^;

This list ended up being

50% Super Mario Bros,

18% Ace Attorney,

6% Danny Phantom x DCU,

4% Professor Layton, Pokémon, and Linked Universe each, and

14% comprised of other assorted fandoms,

which is obviously a way different distribution from last year, haha!

Regardless, if you’re going through the list and wondering about an author showing up more than once (or maybe even four times) then that’s your cue to go check out the rest of their fic catalogue because it all slaps! That's why they're on here so much! (^o^)/

So, without further ado:

Super Mario Brothers

A Dream of Sunny Skies by Skippy_Watts Rated T | M/M | No Archive Warnings Apply Bowser/Luigi, Luigi & Mario, Bowser & Mario, Bowser & Peach 11 chapters | 62,474 words | Complete A strange affliction is causing Luigi to sleep more and more each day. Worried about his constant collapses, Mario enlists Princess Peach’s help in looking for a cure, leaving Bowser to play nurse and watch over the dreaming brother. To Bowser, this is just an easy favour to make Mario owe him in the future. However, he soon starts to find himself getting much too invested in the wellbeing of a man who may soon never wake up again.

a gentleman by MrSpockify Rated E | F/M | No Archive Warnings Apply Mario/Peach One-Shot | 4,568 words | Complete Peach spent her nights longing for Mario to touch her, to grab her with a passion she knew he possessed. She had seen him scale mountains with ease, punch his way through brick walls, and beat down enemies while hardly breaking a sweat. He was strong and sharp and so, so capable of taking whatever he wanted from her. She wanted to give it to him, whatever it was that he wanted. He just… wouldn’t take it.

All the Gold in the World by peaches2217 Rated G | M/M | No Archive Warnings Apply Luigi/Prince Peasley One-shot | 2,647 words | Complete The quality of one’s character based on the fabric they clad themselves in. The notion made little sense to Peasley. "What constitutes a 'real man'?" ~ Or, "Peasley Doesn’t Acknowledge Gender Norms and Wants to See Luigi in a Pretty Dress."

Coming Down by MrSpockify Rated T | Gen | No Archive Warnings Apply Mario & Luigi 20 chapters | 70,245 words | Incomplete “You can tell me anything,” Mario tried again, leaning over to look at his brother, but he couldn’t quite catch his eye. “You won’t like what I have to say.” “Tell me anyway.” ~ The brothers face the realization that one of them is unable to cope in the aftermath of Bowser. They just never really thought it would be Mario.

Cooking Mama (Luigi)! by Little_RedHots_Riding_Hood Not Rated | F/M, M/M | No Archive Warnings Apply Bowser/Luigi, Mario/Peach, Luigi & Bowser Jr, Luigi & Koopalings 27 chapters | 83,036 words | Complete Luigi was having a perfectly peaceful stroll through the Toad Market - the sun was shining, he'd just found a lovely handmade blanket, and was on his way to the bakery before heading back to his and Mario's home. Only... what was that sniffling noise from that dark, scary alleyway? Of all the creatures he was expecting to find, the littlest prince of the Koopa Kingdom certainly wasn't it.

Day Forty-Two by Useless19 Rated G | M/M | No Archive Warnings Apply Bowser/Luigi, Mario & Luigi, Bowser Jr. & Luigi One-Shot | 7,119 words | Complete Luigi returns to Bowser's castle. Somehow he's the only one who isn't surprised by this.

Father Koopa by Razzbarry Rated G | No Archive Warnings Apply Bowser & Kamek One-Shot | 1,457 words | Complete Something’s sent Bowser into a furious rage, and it’s up to Kamek to calm him down.

Growing Pains by JupiterRainstorms Rated G | Gen | No Archive Warnings Apply Mario & Luigi One-Shot | 4,946 words | Complete It’s something he shares with his brother, a connection that feels almost tangible if he thinks about it hard enough—he’s always been the green to Mario’s red. For as long as either of them can remember, it’s always been the two of them off in their own little world.

I Diagnose You with Crocodile by KnightOn Rated G | Gen | No Archive Warnings Apply Luigi & Mario 4 chapters | 4,833 words | Complete Alternative title: The Id and the Ego Walk into a Bar… Luigi has a chat with his other half.

Koopa Princess by Esperata Rated G | Gen | No Archive Warnings Apply Bowser & Wendy O. Koopa One-Shot | 687 words | Complete Boy things, Bowser understands. With girl stuff however, he struggles. He tries his best for his little princess though.

Linguistically Challenged by Krackaroo21 Rated G | Gen | No Archive Warnings Apply Mario & Peach One-Shot | 4,768 words | Complete It was nothing short of a miracle that someone came to rescue Princess Peach. But she would never expect a language barrier to make her getaway so frustrating.

Looking the Other Way by Istadris Rated T | Gen | Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Bowser’s Army, Bowser, Mario One-Shot | 1,500 words | Complete All around them were the loyal, the fanatics, the enthusiasts, the fatalists; the ones who followed King Bowser out of worship and the ones who wouldn't care if someone challenged the status quo. Ears which could listen and report any signs of dissension. Their companions, their friends, their family, all would turn on them if they voiced their doubts. King Bowser was the strongest. Therefore King Bowser was right. That was all there was to know. The best thing to do was to look the other way.

Nobody’s ever heard of a girl Toad by wordbending Rated G | Gen | No Archive Warnings Apply Toad, Peach, Mario One-Shot | 2,092 words | Complete Nobody’s ever heard of a girl Toad, least of all Toads themselves. If you asked a Toad what pronouns he used (it was always “he”), he’d just stare at you quizzically for a moment before answering “I just check the dictionary!” Still, as one Toad stares into the mirror, looking back at a Toad indistinguishable from the thousands that look exactly like him, he wonders if it was always like that.

Pay No Mind to the Man in the Mirror by h0moquixotic (h0moneurotic) Rated T | Gen | No Archive Warnings Apply Kamek One-Shot | 511 words | Complete Kamek cherishes his opportunity to look like the Princess. Until he doesn't.

Plateau by peaches2217 Rated E | F/M | No Archive Warnings Apply Mario/Peach One-Shot | 3,803 words | Complete “A spell that does what?” “‘Prevents contractions of the bulbospongiosus muscle and withholds resultant bodily and neurochemical emissions,’” Peach repeats directly from the page before her. That’s an unnecessarily complicated way of saying ‘This spell makes it physically impossible to orgasm.’

Super Bowuigi Odyssey by ProtoChan Rated G | M/M | No Archive Warnings Apply Bowser/Luigi, Mario/Peach 102 chapters | 166,306 words | Incomplete When Luigi and Bowser find themselves stranded together in the Lost Kingdom after a turbulent windstorm sends them flying off Bowser’s airship, a busted up Odyssey becomes their unlikeliest of saviors. Now reluctant traveling companions, doomed to remain marooned without the other’s help, the two gather power moons and embark on a globe-trotting adventure home. However, as they fly and hunt for moons together, encountering and overcoming any and all conflicts in their way, their reservations about each other wither away while a fondness forged through their travels grows into something neither of them ever thought was possible.

tethered by MrSpockify Rated M | F/M | No Archive Warnings Apply Mario/Peach One-Shot | 2,214 words | Complete Mario woke with a knot in his throat and a soft cry on his lips. His eyes shot open, and as he lay struggling for breath and clutching his own chest, his eyes darted around rapidly, trying unsuccessfully to see through the darkness that surrounded him. The only thought on his mind was Peach. Peach, who he had just seen die before his very eyes, burned alive by his greatest enemy. ~ When Mario wakes from a terrifying nightmare, Peach takes care of him and sooths his worries.

Little Events by Vegebulluv Rated G | Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Toadsworth & Peach 2 chapters | 5,115 words | Incomplete Expansions on little moments of Peach's life following my other fics.

The Mushroom Kingdom’s Unconventional Line of Defence by Amethyst_Goldwind Rated T | Gen | Graphic Depictions of Violence Mallow & Bowser One-Shot | 3,665 words | Complete That Toad remembers his bazooka at a time nobody needed him to.

The Quiet of Night by Istadris Rated G | Gen | No Archive Warnings Apply Mario & Luigi One-Shot | 954 words | Complete It was true, Mario preferred to travel alone. But never for the reasons everyone expected when they looked at the brothers.

This Blazing World by SelanPike Rated T | Gen | No Archive Warnings Apply Kamek, Geno, Fawful, Ludwig von Koopa, Wendy Koopa 8 chapters | 14,462 words | Complete Even the Star Sprites had questions about the Dark Star. Surely they knew more about what the Dark Star was, but maybe they were in the dark as to what exactly happened to it, and what it left behind. If that was the case, then Kamek was at an advantage. He had something they’d want to see.

Three Times Toad Broke In And One Time He Didn't Have To by BlueJay2 Rated G | Gen | Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Mario & Luigi & Toad One-Shot | 8,810 words | Complete After the bros move into the Mushroom Kingdom, their new friend Toad is excited to show them things in his world. Unfortunately, he gets a little too excited and also knows how to pick locks. There are shenanigans.

Traduzione, Per Favore? by peaches2217 Rated G | F/M | No Archive Warnings Apply Mario/Peach One-Shot | 1,682 words | Complete "I’m named after a fruit. Surely you have a word for ‘peach’." ~ OR: Peach asks a silly question and Mario falls a little harder.

Untitled Dimigi Smut by lizadale Rated E | M/M | No Archive Warnings Apply Dimentio/Luigi One-Shot | 3,905 words | Complete You’re not trying to be rude to him. It’s unintentional, this time, but at this rate you may be lucky if he ever lets you leave the house again.

Whatever the universe is made of. by TheMusicalCC Rated G | F/M | No Archive Warnings Apply Luigi/Rosalina One-Shot | 4,908 words | Complete "They do say butterflies can’t see their own wings.” She muttered. (Super Mario Galaxy but Luigi and Rosalina get to interact.)

Ace Attorney

An Insecure Turnabout by Red_Acted (96percentdone) Rated T | Gen | No Archive Warnings Apply Miles Edgeworth & Larry Butz One-Shot | 2,178 words | Complete Crying at the drop of a hat is a quirk of Larry's that you get used to after spending a few minutes around him. Miles has spent several years, and yet despite all those years, all those horribly loud bars and messy break ups, he's never seen anything like this. Larry is crying, and it appears it's Miles' fault. In which Miles Edgeworth has had enough of being dragged to clubs, but his annoyance is the least pressing issue.

atroquinine girl and the fox with the hole in his heart by kbots Rated G | F/M | No Archive Warnings Apply Vera Misham/Wocky Kitaki One-Shot | 7,724 words | Complete After a beat, the boy shrugs. “S’cool. You don’t gotta talk if you don’t want. Ma always says I can do enough talkin’ for two.” He pulls a box out of the pocket of his hospital gown - the box of pocky - and offers it out to Vera. “Name’s Wocky. Want a pocky?” ~ where Vera Misham meets the strangest boy of her life while recovering in the hospital and somehow, against the odds, makes her very first friend

Cold Case by RockettoMusashi Rated T | F/F | No Archive Warnings Apply Maya Fey/Franziska von Karma, Maya Fey & Phoenix Wright, Maya Fey & Miles Edgeworth One-Shot | 9,489 words | Complete Deep into a strangely cold LA winter, unseen from prying eyes... the most despicable, most uncouth, most heinous crime has been committed. Of all the hardship the young Maya Fey has seen since leaving her quaint little commune in the mountains, truly no horror has trifled her on such a level as this. Someone... has gotten her sick. Ever the determined truth-seeker, and with years of (totally legit) legal experience under her obi, Maya is going to find out who.

come dine with me by pheenick Rated T | M/M | No Archive Warnings Apply Dick Gumshoe/Phoenix Wright, Phoenix Wright & Maya Fey One-Shot | 5,715 words | Complete “It’ll be a long drive,” says Phoenix, cautiously toeing the waters. He spares a glance at Gumshoe and ends up staring openly. Gumshoe smiles. That’s all he does, but Phoenix swears he sees the afternoon sun rising above the clouds. ~ Or, how Gumshoe gets the guy.

Leopard Lily by frogs_in3_hills Rated T | Gen | No Archive Warnings Apply Viola Cadaverini & Maggey Byrde One-Shot | 3,564 words | Complete Wright frowned, straightened, and looked her in the eyes. “It’s not like that. I won’t pretend to know what it’s like having brain surgery, but… in therapy, you’re the one in control, not the doctors. You don’t have to tell them anything you don’t want to, they’re just there to help you out. This woman specializes in trauma and abuse recovery, so just… please consider it, Miss Cadaverini. You’ve been through a lot, and I think it could really help.” Well, that did sound a little better than being put under anesthetic so that a stranger could lobotomize you. ~ In which Viola enacts her vengeance through community gardening.

my crown i am by zombiekittez Rated M | Gen | No Archive Warnings Apply Rayfa Padma Khura'in, Pearl Fey, Nahyuta Sahdmadhi, Apollo Justice 3 chapters | 6,367 words | Complete Pearl Fey cleans the temple like the lowest devotee. She helps translate foreign records into Khurainese, for she is nearly fluent. She stands beside children and frightened women in the docket, helping Apollo and his newly trained lawyers coax testimony from the anxious and weak. They call her the Golden Pearl for the way her light hair catches in the hot Khurainese sun and Rayfa hates her more each passing day. ~ Or, Pearl Fey comes to Khura’in.

the only love i ever found by jambi_cafe Rated G | M/M, Other | No Archive Warnings Apply Miles Edgeworth/Phoenix Wright, Miles Edgeworth & Phoenix Wright One-Shot | 1,571 words | Complete "Have I not made myself clear? I do not spend my time idly. If I am with you, it is because I want to be." Edgeworth speaks with the thoughtfulness and commitment that he brings to everything he does, declaring the above statements as if they are courtroom evidence. Incontrovertible. Phoenix's heart does an odd sort of thing, filling his whole body with warmth. ~ a queer-platonic love story for phoenix and miles. set sometime after aa2.

The State of Spicy Noodles in Southern California by RokettoMusashi Rated T | F/F, Gen | No Archive Warnings Apply Maya Fey/Franziska von Karma, Franziska von Karma & Miles Edgeworth One-Shot | 6,317 words | Complete “Maya Fey,” she says, “I regret to be the bearer of bad news, but it seems as though my living space is woefully unprepared to properly nurse you back to health.” “Are you drafting me a fucking work email right now?”

Turnabout Substitution by pictureswithboxes Rated T | F/F | No Archive Warnings Apply Maya Fey/Franziska von Karma, Pearl Fey & Franziska von Karma, Pearl Fey & Maya Fey, Franziska von Karma & Miles Edgeworth, background Phoenix/Miles 8 chapters | 54,776 words | Complete '“I must have misheard you,” Franziska said, almost surprised by how flat and cool her voice sounded as she spoke. How easy the words escaped her mouth, forming into the voice of someone cold and clinical, without a hint of the anger she felt in her words. “Because I could have sworn you’d just asked me to act as a defense attorney.”' ~ When one Maya Fey is in need of legal help, once again, and neither Phoenix Wright nor Miles Edgeworth are available, there is only one person they trust enough to take on the case. And that person is Franziska von Karma, the prodigy prosecutor.

Danny Phantom x DCU

The Health and Wellbeing of Hybrid Entities by Faeriekit Rated T | Gen | Graphic Depictions of Violence Danny Fenton & Justice League 17 chapters | 25,604 words | Incomplete Adrift in an unknown space, his transportation lost, his body a wreck, and only half-conscious, Danny has to find himself somewhere safe to recover. Now, if only he can convince the locals to leave him alone while he does...

those who serve. by aryelee Rated T | Gen | No Archive Warnings Apply Danny Fenton & Alfred Pennyworth, Tim Drake & Danny Fenton, Danny Fenton & Bruce Wayne, Danny Fenton & Damian Wayne, Cassandra Cain & Danny Fenton 6 chapters | 49,024 words | Incomplete Running away from Amity Park—from his entire dimension—Danny takes refuge in the streets of Gotham. It's hard, suddenly being a homeless teenager in such a crime-ridden city, but it's better than dying a second time. Enter Alfred Pennyworth, a kind old man who works as a butler and, for some reason, has decided to befriend Danny. His future is still up in the air, but he's hopeful that things will work out. After all, Alfred isn't getting any younger and someone needs to help him with his butler duties. Danny's just the right person for the job. Or: Alfred Pennyworth sees a homeless teen who looks like he'd fit right into the Wayne family and decides to take matters into his own hands. It's not like he's just going to leave this very sad, possibly meta teenager alone when there's more than enough space in the Manor to house one more child in need.

Throwdown Therapy by gamma_radio Rated T | Gen | No Archive Warnings Apply Danny Fenton & Jason Todd, Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne 12 chapters | 30,715 words | Complete Danny hears about a suspicious character lurking around Gotham and decides to befriend him. Jason has no thoughts on the matter — mostly, he has a lot of empty-head green-tinged rage on the matter. This is less of a roadblock than one might expect. Danny thinks he might even be able to help the guy, if he can form enough of a relationship to bring up sensitive topics like "you have the ghostly equivalent of lead poisoning or maybe rabies, we aren't quite sure".

Professor Layton

Breaking News: 12-Year-Old Kidnaps Himself in an Effort to Make Local Professor Attend High School Reunion by DawnCloud Rated G | Gen | No Archive Warnings Apply Hershel Layton & Randall Ascot & Henry Ledore & Angela Ledore, Hershel Layton & Clark Triton, Emmy Altava & Luke Triton, Hershel Layton & Luke Triton One-Shot | 19,081 words | Complete Hershel Layton, feeling rather out of place, made his excuses and left Monte d'Or as quickly as possible, with little to no intention of returning. Unfortunately for him, his apprentice had other plans.

In your rearview mirror by MagicWhiskers_29 Rated G | Gen | Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Aurora & Flora Reinhold, Hershel Layton & Flora Reinhold, Flora Reinhold & Luke Triton, Emmy Altava & Flora Reinhold, Flora Reinhold & Claire, Don Paolo & Flora Reinhold "And... Not at all robots die when they're supposed to, right?" softly, she responded. ~ Having the spirit of a deceased Azran golem show up in her tower was one way to make it less lonely for Flora...

Pokémon

Goodknight, Sweet Prince by EmeraldSands Rated T | M/M | No Archive Warnings Apply Tracey Sketchit/Gary Oak One-Shot | 3,149 words | Complete Gary, a loyal knight, is injured while protecting his prince from a pair of dangerous bug-types. Tracey does his best to help his knight--it's the least he can do.

Stun Spore Detour: The Threequel by EmeraldSands Rated G | M/M | No Archive Warnings Apply Tracey Sketchit/Gary Oak One-Shot | 2,200 words | Complete On a trip to Kalos, Tracey gets hit with a stun spore... again. It's up to Gary to find a cure.

Linked Universe

The Wondrous Sword of Legend by ImperialKatwala & PolynomialPandemic Rated T | Gen | No Archive Warnings Apply Hyrule & Legend, Four & Hyrule & Legend & Sky & Time & Twilight & Warriors & Wild & Wind 21 chapters | 59,581 words | Complete “Well,” the boy said to it as the sun dipped closer to the trees, “your hero didn't show up yet, but I bet they're coming! I bet they're real nice, too. You’re probably going to save the world together.” He was borrowing it. He was borrowing the Sword of Legend, and… what, checking in to see if it was needed? Waiting for a hero to come for it? It wasn’t sure what to think. It wasn’t supposed to think about its wielders. But it found itself looking forward to the stories, keeping an eye out while the boy slept, memorizing as much of the information he gave it as it could. Its job was to protect the innocent, after all. Or: Hyrule finds a sword. The sword has opinions about this.

Warriors says by Zarvasace Rated G | Gen | No Archive Warnings Apply Hyrule & Warriors One-Shot | 1,635 words | Complete Hyrule covered his face, feeling it burn in shame. "It's fine, they're just old. It'll be a while until they're entirely unusable." He heard Warriors exhale, then stand up again. Warriors took Hyrule's hands and held them up to try and sign into them again. Hyrule did his best to focus.

Other Assorted Fandoms

An Arm and a Leg by AzuraJae Hi-Fi RUSH Rated G | F/F, Gen | No Archive Warnings Apply Chai & Peppermint, Chai & Korsica, Chai & Macaron, Chai & CNMN, Chai & 808, Peppermint/Korsica One-Shot | 6,004 words | Complete "That hurt. Like really hurt." Chai was looking down at his leg in disbelief. "Are you okay?" Peppermint asked again, now seriously worried once more. “Ow, ow… It’s fine, I’ll just walk it off,” Chai managed to say, voice strained with pain. A moment later, there was another crash as Chai fell right back into the pile of debris. “Okay, you know what, nevermind… I think I’m just gonna… lie down.” Peppermint narrowed her eyes, sending off a command to 808 to give her a reading on Chai’s vitals and see what’s wrong. His heart seemed fine, though his stress levels seemed quite high. It wasn’t until Peppermint saw the scans for his leg did she finally understand what was wrong. “Your leg’s… broken, Chai,” she said, unable to believe what she was saying.

Art Exercise by cucumbet Rhythm Doctor Rated G | Gen | No Archive Warnings Apply Maximo "Lucky" Jonronero & Lucia Moon One-Shot | 3,327 words | Complete A few nights into his stay, Lucky is having a particularly rough time. He can't get himself out of his own shoulder, but you can always trust Lucia to do it for you. Just, maybe in the most Lucia-way possible.

I Can't Accept All This by MeaslyFurball Sonic the Hedgehog Rated G | Gen | No Archive Warnings Apply E-123 Omega & Sonic the Hedgehog One-Shot | 4.869 words | Complete It was all fun and games until the roof collapsed. Sonic finds himself buried alive with the one Badnik who doesn’t want him dead. . . . . . maybe.

Peering into Shadows by Menolly5600 Kingdom Hearts Rated T | Gen | No Archive Warnings Apply Donald Duck & Goofy & Sora One-Shot | 6,825 words | Complete Sora, Donald and Goofy learn why its maybe not a good idea to play with Drive Forms too often.

Perfectly Reliable by chantolove Fallen London, Mask of the Rose Rated T | Gen | No Archive Warnings Apply Mr. Pages & Griz Smith & Player One-Shot | 6,292 words | Complete The first thing a new citizen of the Neath gets accustomed to is the daily occurrences of impossible phenomena. The second thing they get accustomed to is said impossible phenomena mixing with ordinary, daily occurrences and inconveniences. Relatedly, you are beginning to suspect that something might be up with your boss.

Things We Don’t Say Aloud by TheGoliathBeetle Hetalia Rated G | M/M | No Archive Warnings Apply China/India One-Shot | 1,830 words | Complete “Don’t.” Kabir fights down something panicky in his heart and reaches out, a hand on Yao’s thigh. “Don’t say such things. Don’t invite such rotten luck. What will I do without you on my doorstep?” “My country will live on without me. There’ll be a new personification.” OR, They are old countries. Sometimes they get tired.

Trial and Error by ApatheticRobots Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles Rated T | Gen | No Archive Warnings Apply Casey Jones & Leonardo, Donatello & Casey Jones & Leonardo & Michelangelo & April O'Neil & Raphael, Donatello & Leonardo & Michelangelo & Raphael, Leonardo & Splinter, Leonardo & Leonardo 21 chapters | 104,123 words | Complete The world ends. The Krang win. Leo failed. It was supposed to be on Casey's shoulders (and his shoulders alone) to go back and make sure the invasion never happened in the first place, but apparently his student had a little more inherited stubbornness than he'd thought. (Leo ends up in the past. This changes some things.)

[jbcpaving]

Porcelain Paving Slabs and Handmade Bricks UK: Natural Stone Paving Solutions

Porcelain paving slabs and handmade bricks have become increasingly popular in the UK for creating stunning, durable outdoor spaces. Whether you’re building a patio, garden path, or a unique outdoor area, these materials offer practical benefits along with visual appeal. For homeowners and landscapers, combining porcelain paving slabs with traditional materials like handmade bricks UK provides the perfect blend of modern durability and classic charm. In this article, we’ll explore these materials, their benefits, and how they contribute to beautiful, long-lasting outdoor spaces.

Why Choose Porcelain Paving Slabs?

Porcelain paving slabs are gaining traction as a top choice for outdoor paving. Known for their durability, they are resistant to weathering, scratching, and staining. Unlike natural stone, which may require sealing and can be prone to discoloration, porcelain garden slabs provide a highly resistant surface that maintains its color and finish even in harsh weather. Additionally, porcelain is highly versatile, offering a range of textures and colors that mimic natural stone or other materials, enabling homeowners to achieve any desired look without compromising on strength.

The popularity of porcelain paving slabs is also due to their low-maintenance nature. These slabs are resistant to moss, mold, and algae, making them easy to clean with just a basic rinse. Their non-porous surface ensures that they don’t absorb water, making them slip-resistant, which is a great advantage for UK climates that experience frequent rain. Porcelain garden slabs are thus a safe, stylish, and practical choice for any outdoor setting.

Benefits of Handmade Bricks in the UK

Handmade bricks UK represent a blend of tradition and craftsmanship. They have a unique, rustic appeal that sets them apart from mass-produced bricks, and they are especially valued for their authentic, slightly irregular shape and texture. Handmade bricks are typically created using time-honored techniques, which give each brick a unique character. This handcrafted quality not only adds to the visual charm but also makes these bricks an excellent choice for projects where traditional aesthetics are prioritized.

The durability of handmade bricks cannot be overstated. They are kiln-fired, making them exceptionally strong and weather-resistant. In the UK, handmade bricks are often chosen for their ability to withstand harsh winters and fluctuating weather conditions, maintaining their structure and color over time. This resilience makes them ideal for both modern and traditional construction projects, from garden walls to driveways. Using handmade bricks in combination with porcelain slabs adds texture and visual interest to any outdoor space, creating a harmonious blend of old and new.

Natural Stone Paving Solutions

Natural stone paving is an enduring choice for outdoor spaces. Materials like limestone, granite, and sandstone bring warmth and natural beauty to any project. However, natural stone paving solutions can sometimes require more upkeep than porcelain. Natural stone surfaces often need sealing to protect against stains and weather damage. Despite this, natural stone is loved for its organic look and the variety of colors it offers, which range from cool greys to warm earth tones. Using natural stone alongside porcelain garden slabs offers a unique design blend, bringing together the organic appeal of stone with the modern advantages of porcelain.

Natural stone is especially favored for pathways and patios, adding a textured, earthy touch that complements outdoor spaces beautifully. For a low-maintenance alternative that maintains a natural look, porcelain slabs are an excellent choice to consider. Together, these materials offer a balanced look, allowing for flexible design without compromising on durability.

Choosing the Right Combination for Your Outdoor Space

Creating a cohesive outdoor design involves choosing the right combination of materials. Pairing porcelain paving slabs with handmade bricks UK can create a distinct aesthetic that combines modern and traditional elements. Porcelain’s clean lines and varied finishes contrast nicely with the rustic charm of handmade bricks. This combination can be used to differentiate areas within a garden, such as a sitting area, a pathway, or even a focal point like a water feature.

If you prefer a more organic look, consider blending natural stone paving solutions with porcelain or handmade bricks to add depth and variation. With thoughtful design, you can create a unique outdoor space that feels harmonious and inviting while standing up to the elements year-round.

[realbrickcladding]

Decorative brick slips on a wall

Real Brick Cladding offers darkest red handmade brick slips that provide a natural look that will suit any interior design. Each brick has a natural, rough look with ragged bottom edges, with colors ranging from dark red and brown to lighter shades of burnt orange. The grout is light gray, which makes each brick really stand out. Their format is 210 x 65 mm. Our collections of natural brick tiles offer a wide range of shapes, finishes, sizes and most of all colors.

All bricks in the Real Brick Cladding offer are made of natural clay

Our products will satisfy the most demanding customers and enrich every construction project with a timeless, wonderful finish. From single walls to larger commercial projects, these bricks are extremely popular with homeowners, developers and designers. All our natural brick tiles come with fitted corners, so-called guns, and can be supplied with patented adhesive, joint mortars and sealants.

https://www.realbrickcladding.co.uk/handmade-darkest-red

[gomiamiwebdesignguy-blog]

Doganay Handmade Bricks & Tiles

Pamukyazı Mahallesi 8. Cadde No:15 Torbali / Izmir / TURKEY

0090 232 863 41 64

http://www.doganayhandmade.com/

Handmade bricks produced by Doganay Handmade are unique finishing material that is used to create original coatings. The product is created by a complex technology, in which a number of works are performed manually, so each brick has a unique pattern on the surface. In Doganay Handmade producing, heat treatment of bricks is carried out in furnaces, and after firing the clay brick acquires specific rich terracotta colors and a number of qualities. The raw color resembles dry clay. The application of the method of "manual work" by Doganay Handmade makes each brick one of a kind.

[three--rings]

Electric Sanding Book Edges

For a long time I didn’t trim my book edges at all, because I’d tried using a box cutter and that sucked and I tried a chisel and that tore my book up and so I decided it’s fine, I’ll live with rough edges rather than imperfectly trimmed ones.

But then a fellow @renegadepublishing​ person at Havencon told me they used an electric sander and showed me the amazing results.  (Forgive me because I cannot remember your handle...)

I keep telling people about this so thought I’d make a post with all the info to point at.  So here is how I sand my edges. 

SAFETY WARNINGS:

Wear a mask while sanding to keep from inhaling paper dust. And you probably want to wear eye protection as well.  Keep your hands away from the sanding surface while in use (cause finger on electric sander doesn’t feel good I can attest.)  These pictures are taken indoors in a crafting space because it was raining but its best to do this in the open air due to dust, although the sander does capture a lot of it. 

After you’ve sewn your textblock and glued your spine (or before if you want to trim the foreedge before rounding), you need to clamp the textblock in place.  For this example I have already rounded the spine and glued it because I like the look of the uneven foreedge for antique style bindings (and also I forgot and went ahead and rounded it.)

So I’m just sanding top and bottom edges.  So I’m using a 12″ wooden hand clamp from the hardware store.  This is pretty much the perfect size for the top and bottom.  (I intend to modify this clamp into a better approximation of a finishing press but haven’t yet.)  But you can also just use two boards and some clamps, which works great. 

Clamp the text block as tightly as you can.  Here I have some spare book board on either side, but I ended up taking that out because the text block was slipping inside the boards and without the board it stayed in place better.  And since this textblock has waste papers on the outside I’m not worried about marking it. 

Here’s my sander.  You can see all the fine paper dust in the filter.  You will need an assortment of sandpaper grits to fit your model.  I recommend something around 100 grit, and something around 600 grit.  You can also do a third stage of 220 grit in the middle if you want but honestly I find it’s not that important and I’m lazy so I stopped doing that.

In case you don’t know sanders, lower number is rougher and will take off more material.  So you start with the low number paper and sand the edge until most of what you want to take off is gone and the edges are even. 

I have this narrow cardboard box (that a pillow came in) that I rest this clamp on that leaves room for the book.  If you’re using boards and clamps hopefully there’s room for your book to hang down or you’ll have to prop them up on bricks or something. 

After a pass with the rough paper, switch it out for the finer stuff.  The 600 grit is really just a final polish so if you have more to take off stick with the larger grit. 

And here’s the final result.  All my books have some imperfection in the surface as a result of uneven stitching or rounding, and because I haven’t ever tried to take off a huge amount of the edge by sanding.  These files I’m using right now weren’t made with a large margin for trimming.  But overall the level of professional polish goes up SO FAR by sanding.  It doesn’t look nearly as handmade now. 

[kiasnocturnality]

I'd love to read how Desdemona reacts to the first time Reader gifts her something? Maybe a piece of jewelry Reader thought would look good on her that she can use in any of her forms. Maybe after hanging out a couple times and beginning to trust each other

characters: Desdemona Nausikáa

notes: this is such a cute idea! Desdemona is like a magpie for shiny things and you can see a lot of the jewellery she's into on my pinterest that's linked in my pinned post!

. * ⋆ . · 　. DESDEMONA NAUSIKÁA

You had spotted them at the market, on a small little stall selling all sorts of handmade jewellery and different gemstones, and they made you think of Desdemona right away.

They were a pair of earrings, made of two mother-of-pearl shells, a smaller one followed by a larger one beneath it on little silver hooks and links. The mother-of-pearl had a few tiny pearls resting in them and were dotted with a few silvery rhinestones here and there to really make them shimmer.

The woman running the stall wrapped them up in tissue paper and handed them to you in a striped paper bag after you scanned your card to pay and you made your way back towards the cliffs where your home rested upon the top, Desdemona's own home carved into the stone beneath it. You stopped by your house to unpack your groceries and leave your phone to charge before tucking Desdemona's present into your pocket and making your way to the rocky path that led down to her home in the cliff-face. That worn and weathered path would never fail to unnerve you. You were always terrified that you would slip and fall to your death and so you clung to the rope that was fixed to the rock like the lifeline it was each time you had to come down here.

Desdemona trusted you enough for you to show up unannounced and let yourself in. Her house wasn't exactly well-guarded with just a curtain as the door that sat in an alcove of the cliff. Then again, who would be so stupid as to try and rob a siren's den? They would soon find their heart torn from their chest, quite literally.

"Des?" You called out, hearing the slight echo off the stone. It was warm which meant she had a fire going in here. You worked your way through the tall but narrow corridors. You were convinced that her home had once been part of a mine of sorts for it to be carved and laid out as it was. "Desdemona?" You stuck your head into the living room, light filtering in from the bottle brick window in a green-blue hue from the salvaged glass.

"In the dressing room!" She called out to you and you made your way through the tunnels to find her seated at an old-fashioned vanity, pouting her lips in the mirror as she swiped her thumb along the edge of her mouth, cleaning up the signature black-cherry shade. This one seemed glossier than usual and you wondered if she was trying out a new shade. She rose to her tall height and made her way over you, greeting you with an embrace. "What do you think? I'm trying out a new one." She asked with a smile.

"It suits you, it's much glossier than the others that I've seen you wear." You complimented and she only beamed more. It was in her nature to want to be adored and so she loved the praise. "I got you a present today. I saw it on the market and just couldn't leave it there, it was just so you." You cut to the point, so eager to see how she would react. She was already wearing a series of silver chains with little swords and shells on, one of the necklaces being divided up by little pearls here and there. On her ears she wore a little chain of pearls in size order and her hands were covered in an array of rings of various patterns and bearing different jewels.

You took out the little paper bag from your pocket and handed it over, watching her milky-white eyes light up. She carefully opened the bag and unwrapped the pale pink paper, making sure to not tear it, before she gasped quietly and let out an 'oh'.

"Y/n..." She began in awe as her fingers traced the curve of one of the shells, "They're so beautiful, I've never seen such a pair that suit my tastes so well which I haven't had to make myself." She quickly set them down and removed the earrings she was wearing to try them on, leaning down and turning her head this way and that to admire them in a mirror with a big grin on her face, showing off her sharp teeth. "It makes me so happy to know that you saw these and thought of me." She turned to face you and it made you happy to see her wearing them.

She made her way over to you and pulled you into another hug, wrapping her arms and black wings around you. One of her hands came up to the back of your head, long, black nails gently carding through your hair and it made you hold your breath for a moment. Desdemona had come to hug you in greeting or goodbye or gratitude but this felt so much more intimate somehow. You were reluctant to pull away and it seemed she was too because the two of you stayed like that for a long while before eventually you both pulled away.

"I'll go and make you some tea." You smiled at that as you knew she didn't eat or drink human food so she had kept that blend just for you, "Wait in the living room, though, I have a... guest in the kitchen." Your eyes widened in surprise for a moment but this was something that you knew the siren did. You supposed that that was the true reason why this home had a kitchen anyway.

"And is he...?"

"I'd never allow you to stay if I thought there was anything in my home that could put you at risk. You're much too dear to me for that." Her fingertips came up to touch at one of the earrings you had gifted to her. "It's a strawberry blend, I hope that you like it. I certainly don't." The two of you laughed lightly at her joke before you went your separate ways in her home. You couldn't shake the memory of her black-cherry smile at seeing your gift as you smiled to yourself in the living room.

𓋼𓍊⋆ﾟ Buy me a coffee? ｡˚:✧｡Want to be tagged?

@edensrose @writing-noah @itseivwhore

[xjoonchildx]

greedy | myg x reader | chapter five: do we look like recruiters to you?

summary: being a loner has never bothered yoongi until now.  until you.

pairing: yoongi x reader

genre: mafia AU, pining, eventual smut

rating: 18+

word count: 6.7K

notes:  thank you all so much for rolling with the changes to my posting schedule. it’s been a while since i posted an update and i really wanted to give you guys a chapter. plus it makes more sense, in my mind to break it out like this.  in this chapter, you’ll notice that ko starts calling OC “jagiya.” thank you to the korean reader who brought to my attention that my previous nickname for her didn’t fit as well as this one! 

anyway, you guys make me endlessly happy with your feedback on this story. i’d love to hear what you think of this chapter.  beta read by @hobi-gif​ because i would wither away without her analysis. also beta’d by the awesome @btsarmy9593​ who has been so awesome to give me her feedback. thank you to @augustbutwinter​ for the words of encouragement. and of course, the boos @ladyartemesia​ and @untaemedqueen​ pitched in to help me in this journey as well.

Chapter 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | EPILOGUE

*************************

Min Yoongi wakes up with a problem.  Well a few problems, actually.

The first is that he has to pee.

The second is the head-to-toe pain that starts to register the moment his sluggish brain kicks into gear.  He starts from the bottom -- gingerly wiggling his toes, carefully stretching his legs -- and slowly works his way up, taking mental inventory of what hurts and what doesn’t.

A lot of shit is landing on the hurts list right now.

The third problem -- and perhaps the most pressing -- is the problem pressing into his side right now.

Your hair is still damp.

Yoongi noses into it and lies in the quiet for a while, breathing you in while you sleep.  You smell like his shampoo and his soap.  You’re wearing his t-shirt and basketball shorts.  You are covered in him; fitted to him.  Solid and warm and real.

Which brings him to his next problem.  

This is the kind of feeling that’s way too easy to become addicted to.  The kind of feeling that makes you do stupid shit.  Take away the mangled body and the looming safety concerns and this is easily the best morning of his life.

That’s why when you stir and burrow a bit deeper into his side, Yoongi ignores the pain radiating from his sore ribs.  He ignores the way his arm has fallen asleep under you, ignores the intermittent buzzing of his phone from the nightstand warning of missed texts.

He ignores the tiny voice in his head that says don’t get attached to this feeling.

Yoongi ignores everything but you and this because right now, it’s the only thing he wants to think about.

And then he’s drifting off again.

***************************

This time, Yoongi wakes up alone.

The deep steadying breath he takes while he’s trying to work up the nerve to get out of bed hurts like hell.

Everything hurts like hell, actually -- the back of his head where he can feel scrapes left behind by the brick wall, his jaw from where he took that driller to the face.  His knee from where he jammed it into that fucking goon’s stomach.  

But his shoulder is what’s really fucking everything up right now.

He can’t remember telling you where to find the sling or how you got it on.  Can’t remember you positioning his pillows around his injured arm or slipping into bed beside him.  He’d been so fucked up by the pain and the adrenaline withdrawal that he’s pretty sure he blacked out at some point.  

So Yoongi lies there for a minute, trying to piece together what he can remember of last night.  

The memories come back to him blurred and disjointed, out of order.

He remembers feeling like he might vomit when you shoved his shoulder back into place.  Awkwardly accepting your help taking off his jeans so he could shower.  Nearly falling to his knees under the hot water.  Pulling himself together long enough to stash his gun in a drawer when you’d stepped away.

And it’s that last memory that makes his chest go tight.

Last night, hiding his gun seemed like the right thing to do.  A way to keep you separate from the ugliness he normalized a long time ago.  But this morning the half-assed lie of omission makes him feel guilty as hell.  A pathetic attempt to delay the inevitable.  Chewing gum jammed into the crack of a dam.

He has to tell you about that gun.

So he gets to work on dragging his ass out of bed.  It takes him way too damned long to sit upright, way too damned long to slide himself off the edge of the mattress.  Longer than that to slowly limp his way into the bathroom where he pees for what feels like a solid ten minutes.

He’s still rubbing the sleep from his eyes when he spots the bright red toothbrush sitting in the cup on his sink.  

It’s just some cheap throwaway he brought home after his last visit to the dentist -- a long-forgotten backup that’s been stashed in the cabinet under the bathroom counter for months.  But now it’s sitting out in the open, in that cup. Right next to his own blue one.

Yoongi stares at it and scrubs a hand over his face.

And that tiny voice in his head gets a bit louder.

************************

He finds you seated at his piano, bare-faced and hair tousled.  Fingers tracing light patterns across the keys of his custom instrument, gaze taking in all of the tiny details he paid a small fortune for.

He could have stayed there for a while, just appreciating the view had you not caught him staring.

Your dark eyes flick up to find his and Yoongi’s pulse quickens at the warmth in them.  At the soft, shy smile that comes over you just before you clear your throat and lower your eyes back to the keys.

“Beautiful,” you sigh.  

No kidding, Yoongi thinks.

He crosses the room slowly.  Tries his hardest not to limp but the throb in his knee makes that nearly impossible.  Sadness flashes across your face as you watch him sink heavily onto the bench beside you.  

“I can help you, you know,” you admonish softly.

Yoongi shrugs, motioning to the sling.  “You already have.”

He stills when you reach one hand out to brush your fingertips across the redness on his jaw.  You stroke your thumb across his aching cheek and Yoongi leans into the touch, savoring the feeling of your skin against his.

“Yoongi,” you whisper, “I’m so sorry you’re hurt, and -- ” you pause to shake your head sadly,  “-- and I’m so sorry it’s because I put you in this position.”

Yoongi sucks in a deep breath.

He can’t bring himself to tell you that he can’t think straight when he imagines what could have happened if that fucking goon had gotten you alone.  Can’t bring himself to admit out loud that he could have pulled his gun and ended that piece of shit without losing a second of sleep.  

Would have, had you not been there.

“Better me than you, Doc,” he says thickly.  “You made the right call.”

You press a gentle kiss to his throbbing jaw.

“You still mad at me?”

You whisper the words into the shell of Yoongi’s ear and a slow heat builds in his gut.  

“Yeah,” he lies, dropping a kiss on the delicate skin below your jaw.  He ghosts the tip of his nose against the curve of your neck and you shudder under his touch. He’s forced to check himself, leaning back for a few inches of badly-needed space.  

On the bright side, at least his dick isn’t broken, too.

He clears his throat.  “If that guy had brought backup -- ”

“ -- If that guy had brought backup, he’d have been out of the car long before you left his buddy in a pile on the floor,” you interrupt gently.

Yoongi chuckles.  “Just admit you’re terrible at following directions.”

“You happen to have your MRI results around here anywhere? I’d be interested to see what they say about that shoulder.”  

You raise one brow when Yoongi narrows his eyes at you in response.  “No? Well, then I guess I’m not the only one who’s bad at following directions.”

“Guess not,” Yoongi admits with a smile.  

Your turn your attention back to his piano, touch reverent as you slide one hand across the rich black lacquer.  

“When you first walked in, I was going to say something really dumb like do you play?” you admit with a laugh.  “But no one owns something this magnificent unless they have a passion for it.”

“Yeah, I play,” Yoongi murmurs.  “When I have two functioning arms.”

He’d intended to earn a laugh with that tease, but the joke falls flat.  Sadness creeps back into your features.

“Yoongi,” you say quietly, gaze dropping into your lap.  “I honestly don’t know what would have happened to me last night without you.  And all I can think about this morning is why?  Why did you do this for me?”

Fuck, that’s a loaded question.  

If Yoongi had the balls, he’d tell you straight up that he fell for you the moment he laid eyes on you at Songdo .  That you feel like his chance at something more.  But Yoongi doesn’t say any of that.  

Instead, he coughs up a weak white lie.

“We’re both out here flying solo Doc.  We have to look out for each other.  Besides -- ” he tips your chin up with a gentle press of his fingers and finds your dark eyes glassy with unshed tears.  “ -- I have a thing for that smart mouth of yours.”

He earns a tiny smile from you then, just the slightest curve of your lips.  And he’s this close to kissing the soft, sad expression right off your face when that voice in his mind fucks everything up again.

Tell her about the gun.  

The thought is like a bucket of cold water over his head, jarring him from the intimacy of this moment.  Yoongi swallows thickly before opening his mouth to tell you the truth.  But before he can speak, you do.

“I have something of yours,” you say, reaching into the pocket of your borrowed basketball shorts.  Yoongi watches you produce a worn handmade bracelet and holds his palm open to accept it.  “It fell out of your jacket last night,” you explain.

He rubs his thumb over the smooth metal corners of the cross that dangles from aged leather.  It brings back the memory of his baptism -- of the day Mrs. Bak proudly gifted it to him while he was still damp from the ceremony.  It also brings back the memory of last night -- when he’d clutched it between his fingers and sent a silent plea for protection skyward.

It’s been a long time since he’s prayed.  It’s been a long time since he had anything to pray for.

“Are you religious?” you ask softly.

Yoongi shakes his head.  “Honestly? I don’t know.”  A self-conscious heat creeps up his neck.  “Just makes me feel better, I guess.  Is that dumb?”

“No,” you reassure quietly, bringing one warm hand up to cup his cheek.  Yoongi covers your hand with his, laces his fingers in between yours.  “Not dumb at all.”

Tell her about the gun.

“Doc,” Yoongi whispers thickly, “We need to talk about something.”

Your hand falls away from his face and your spine goes stiff with tension and Yoongi almost loses his nerve.

Almost.

“Okay, so I was, uh -- carrying a gun last night,” he starts, rubbing awkwardly at the back of his neck,  “I carry a gun all the time, actually.  I hid it because I didn’t want to freak you out.”

You say nothing, expression unreadable.  And Yoongi keeps talking.

“But I don’t want to keep things from you,” he says quietly.  “I want you to know exactly who I am. No half-truths.”

Your eyes drop back down to the piano.  You pluck at one of the keys and a somber note rings out, lingers in the air between you before you speak.

“You have a gunshot wound in your back, Yoongi,” you murmur.  “It’s not exactly a leap of logic.  Besides, I already saw your gun.  It was in your drawer last night when I got you a change of clothes.”

Yoongi nods slowly, processing the fact that you’d discovered the gleaming silver piece and hadn’t written him off right away.  You’d still slept in the crook of his arm last night.  You’re still here right now.

“And yeah, maybe it does freak me out a bit,” you admit.  “But after what I saw last night, maybe I can understand a bit, too.”

Yoongi lets go of the breath he’s been holding and takes your hand in his.  Maybe is as good as he could have hoped for at this point.  Maybe is not a dead end.  

“I have something to tell you, too,” you admit after a moment.  “I’m due at the hospital in a few hours.”

“Doc,” Yoongi groans, hand tightening reflexively around yours.  “You can’t go back there.”

“I don’t have a choice,” you insist, pulling away.  “This isn’t just some job I fell into, Yoongi.  This is years of my life.”

Yoongi is quiet for a few seconds, willing his rising agitation to subside.  He’s careful to check his tone before he speaks.

“You’re not safe there.”

“I have to go back.  I don’t have a choice,” you repeat.  “I can’t afford to get blacklisted and Lee is still my boss. And if he’s already got wind of what happened last night, he’s going to be gunning for me even harder than he already has been.  I have to tread carefully.”

Yoongi shoves a hand through his hair.

“You have to meet me in the middle here, Doc,” he exhales.  “There’s got to be something halfway between you walking right back into that hellhole and you losing your job.  Take a couple of sick days.  Give me some time to figure out who your boss is working with and what I can do about it.  Can you do that?”

You’re quiet for a moment as you consider his proposal.

“Yeah,” you concede softly.  “I can do that.”  

You lift a hand to brush a lock of hair out of his face and press your mouth to his.

Every cell in Yoongi’s body stands at attention.  He cards his fingers into the soft mass of your hair and kisses you slowly -- carefully -- all too aware of the way he’d manhandled you last night.  

Not even the pain in his jaw could take away from how good it feels to touch you like this.  Not even the ache in his ribs could stop him from leaning into you. He slips his tongue past your lips and you whimper, fingers curling into his sore knee.  

He could not give a shit.

Yoongi leaves your mouth to trail kisses down your jaw, and you tip your head back, offering him the soft expanse of your neck.  He accepts it gladly, mouth hot and open on your skin, savoring your scent and taste -- enjoying the way he can feel your pulse fluttering wildly under his lips.

He’s enjoying it all so much that he gets careless.  The elbow of his injured arm connects with the sharp edge of the piano and he recoils instantly.

“Dammit,” he groans. “Fuck.”

“Oh, shit,” you gasp, clapping a hand over your mouth.

The pain is so potent it seems to radiate all the way from his arm to his temples. Yoongi squeezes his eyes shut as he waits for the ringing in his ears to subside.

“Yoongi, your shoulder, it's -- it’s really bad,” you admonish quietly.  “If you keep going like this, the damage is going to be permanent.”

“Trust me, I know,” he sighs.  “I’m going to get this looked at, I just haven’t.”

“I want you to see a friend of mine at Asan today,” you urge.  “He’s a good doctor.  He can get you some pain relief.  Get you back to working condition.”

Yoongi nods weakly, pain still ebbing from his arm.

“But it’s not a substitute for an MRI and it’s not a substitute for surgery,” you warn.  “This is just a temporary fix.  You have to be careful.  Whatever you’re planning, just please be careful.”

Yoongi skates the pad of his thumb over your lips before kissing you just one more time.

“Don’t worry about me, Doc,” he murmurs.  “I’m going to have some help.”

**************************

It’s amazing what a pair of high-powered steroid shots and a bottle of industrial-strength painkillers can do for a guy.  

Yoongi pulls into the parking lot at Maekju feeling almost human again.

If the text messages that have been blowing up his phone all afternoon are any indication, everyone is here tonight.  Everyone with the exception of Namjoon, of course.  He doesn’t drink anymore and even when he did, he always preferred to drink alone.

Jungkook is the first person Yoongi spots, leaned up against a pool table, beer in hand.  He’s watching Jimin and Taehyung face off at billiards while Seokjin and Hoseok sit side-by-side at the bar, deep in conversation.

The maknae’s eyes go a bit wide when he takes in Yoongi’s unusual gait and immobilized arm.

“Holy shit, hyung,” he breathes as Yoongi approaches.  “What the hell happened to you?”

Seokjin whips around in his barstool at the sound of Jungkook’s greeting, but Hoseok doesn’t take the bait.  He stiffens in his seat but refuses to turn around. Stubborn bastard.

“Yoga accident,” Yoongi mutters, stepping up to the bar next to Seokjin.  The older man smirks as he takes a long pull of his beer.

“How’d you drive with that thing on?” Seokjin asks, motioning to Yoongi’s sling.

“Carefully,” Yoongi says dryly.  “Listen, can you give me a minute with Jung here?”

Seokjin’s critical gaze bounces back and forth between Yoongi and Hoseok, who is still resolutely pretending not to notice the conversation taking place just inches from his face.  He stares into a television mounted high above the bar and sips his whiskey with feigned indifference.

“You two need couple’s counseling, I swear,” Seokjin groans, rolling his eyes. He stands to his feet to relinquish his barstool and claps a hand over Yoongi’s good shoulder.  “I’ll leave you to it, then.”

Hoseok, the fucking infant, grabs a newspaper abandoned on the bartop and proceeds to pretend to read it.  Yoongi slides into the stool next to him anyway.

“Miss me?”

Hoseok doesn’t answer.

“You’re not gonna say hello?  Not gonna ask me why it looks like I spent all night falling off a cliff?”

“Nope.”

Yoongi waves off the bartender who starts walking in his direction.  The last thing he needs is a drink.  He’s got so many painkillers in his system right now that one sip of booze would probably have him under the bar in seconds.

“Come on Hoseok,” Yoongi sighs.  “Don’t be a dick.  I’ve literally never seen you read a newspaper.”

“I like to stay informed,” Hoseok shrugs.

“Well, I’m trying to talk to you.”

“Oh, so you talk to me now?” Hoseok snickers.  “That’s new.”

Hoseok’s probably earned the right to his petulance, but that doesn’t make it any less annoying.  Yoongi starts to reconsider that drink.

“Jung,” he groans.  “I’m trying to apologize here.”

“So apologize then.”

“Fine,” Yoongi mutters.  “I’m sorry I’ve been an asshole lately.  I’ve been twisted up over some shit that has nothing to do with you or family business.”

Hoseok grabs his whiskey off the bar and finally -- finally -- pivots to face him.

“A giant asshole,” he corrects dryly.  

“Yes. A giant asshole,” Yoongi repeats.  “We good now?”

Hoseok sips his whiskey slowly, eyes narrowed at Yoongi over the lip of his glass.

“Buy me a drink.”

“Fine,” Yoongi hisses, flagging the bartender.  

Hoseok leans back in his barstool, looking a bit smug.

“Now this shit you’ve been twisted up about,” he starts, brow cocked.  “Would this have anything to do with your secret doctor friend?”

“Maybe,” Yoongi admits, scratching at the back of his neck.  His injured shoulder is tired from carrying the extra weight of the sling.  He rolls it gingerly as Hoseok looks on.

“Would this have anything to do with why you look like you got jumped on your way in here tonight?”

Yoongi’s cheeks warm at his partner’s blunt observation.  “Maybe.”

Hoseok drains his whiskey just as the bartender arrives with a fresh one.  He takes a long drink before setting his glass back down on the bar.  His lips purse thoughtfully as he levels Yoongi with a long, assessing look.

“Okay,” he says calmly. “So who do we have to go fuck up?”

**************************

Dr. Lee Geon just looks like a fucking weasel.

Yoongi glares at the man as he strolls into the coffee shop a few blocks from Songdo with just minutes to spare to his shift.  

Lee bears little resemblance to his photos on the hospital website.

He’s thin -- just this side of gaunt -- hollow cheeks prominent below dark under eyes beneath a sparse dusting of greasy hair.  Were he not dressed in a rumpled lab coat and equally creased scrubs, Yoongi might have missed him entirely.

Across the room, Hoseok peers at Yoongi over the top of yet another borrowed newspaper -- is this the guy? -- and Yoongi answers with a furtive nod.  

He goes over the plan they’d worked out in the car in his head.  They’d find the guy -- make sure he was the guy -- and then follow him out of the shop.  Catch him just before he got into his car.  Shake him up a bit before shaking him down for information.

There’s one thing Yoongi still hasn’t worked out, though.

Just how much he’s going to allow himself to hurt this asshole before sending him on his way.  Lee slowly shuffles his way to the front of the line as Yoongi imagines jamming his fist into the man’s stupid fucking face.  Imagines doing it over and over again until the piece of shit is unrecognizable.

Yoongi watches Lee order his drink as he kneads at the tender muscles of his shoulder.

Ditching the sling was probably a bad idea -- definitely against doctor’s orders -- but it was a risk he was more than willing to take.  He’d downed a couple of painkillers and shoved his shoulder into a brace and decided he could deal with the dull throb just for the night.  

No way in hell he was going to confront this scumbag looking like some kid who just fell off his skateboard.  

It doesn’t take long for the barista to put together Lee’s drink.  He grabs his coffee and Yoongi tenses in anticipation of his next move.  But instead of heading for the exit, Lee heads for the bathroom instead.

Yoongi locks eyes with Hoseok across the room and Hoseok raises one brow.

Change of plans?

Yoongi nods.

*****************************

Lee’s coffee sits abandoned atop the sink ledge.

Yoongi and Hoseok slip silently into the bathroom and get right to work.  Hoseok blocks the door as Yoongi quietly creeps past the stalls, ducking his head to peer beneath each one.  Lee’s scuffed sneakers are the only pair of shoes he spots.

His ears pick up on a faint sound coming from inside the locked stall.

It’s a kind of soft, intermittent rasping.  Yoongi concentrates on the noise, isolates it until he comes to the realization that it’s sniffling he’s hearing.  He turns to Hoseok and taps his finger against the side of his nose and Hoseok nods his agreement.

Yoongi shakes his head in disgust.  Is there a single substance this idiot isn’t addicted to?

It takes a moment for the sniffling to subside.  It’s followed by a few seconds of quiet rustling in which Yoongi can picture Lee carefully pocketing whatever’s left of his coke.  The noises from behind the brushed steel barrier finally stop and the next thing Yoongi hears is the distinct clink of the latch coming apart.

Lee swings the door wide -- gets one look at what’s waiting for him on the other side -- and nearly jumps out of his skin.  

He startles so hard that he almost falls backward into the toilet.  But he catches himself, regaining his balance and staring back at Yoongi with wide, worried eyes.

Yoongi stands there and says nothing.

“Excuse me,” Lee mumbles, eyeing him wearily as he tries to slide past.  He takes two steps forward then stops in his tracks when he spots Hoseok.  Lee swallows thickly, eyes darting back and forth between both men.

“Is there a problem gentlemen?” he croaks.

Yoongi takes a step towards Lee.  He shrinks back when Yoongi reaches for his badge, yanking the retractable cord as he pulls it close to examine it.  Yoongi runs his thumb over the raised lettering on the laminated card, letting the taut silence linger for dramatic effect.

Then he lets go of the badge without warning, fighting a smile when Lee flinches as it snaps back into place.

“Yes, we have a problem,” Yoongi confirms pleasantly.  “And yes, it’s you.”

The little color left in Lee’s face immediately drains out.

“Look, I don’t know who you guys are, but you don’t w-want to mess with me,” he stammers, voice cracking comically halfway through his flimsy threat.  “I know people.”

“Oh shit,” Yoongi’s eyes go wide with feigned concern, “You hear that, Jung?  This guy knows people.”

“Sounds scary,” Hoseok chuckles.

Lee starts to breathe harder, chest rising and falling faster.  Pupils blown with fear and coke.

“Now, here’s the difference between you and us, Dr. Lee,” Yoongi explains calmly.  “You know people.  But we -- ” he motions to himself and then to Hoseok, “ -- are people . Do you understand what I’m trying to say here?”

Yoongi punctuates his point by brushing the edge of his open leather jacket aside, allowing his pistol to peek out from underneath.  Lee’s eyes lock on it as he nods slowly, pulling deep, noisy breaths through his nose.

“Great.  Now we don’t have to play the game where you pretend not to know about the bullshit you’ve been pulling over at the hospital, right?”

Lee shakes his head slowly.

“So that means we also don’t have to play the game where you pretend you didn’t send some fucking street goon to rough up a little old lady, either. Right?”

The man’s mouth drops open like his first instinct is to deny that accusation. But he steals another look at Hoseok and shuts it instead.

“And then -- ” Yoongi jabs Lee in the chest with one finger and the man jumps back, “-- you tried to send that same goon after your own resident.  But here’s the thing, Doctor Lee.  She knows people, too.”

Lee’s body goes rigid.  Yoongi watches him process the information with his drug-addled brain, a flare of recognition finally sparking in his dull eyes.

“I saw you at the hospital,” Lee whispers.  “You know her.”

“Don’t worry about who I know,” Yoongi shrugs.  “Worry about what you’re going to say in your resignation letter.”

He advances on the man again, closing the space between them.  Lee tries to back away, but he runs out of room.  He tilts against the stall door.

“Resignation letter?” he echoes weakly.

“The one you’re turning in tonight,” Yoongi explains coolly.  “Before you get the fuck out of Songdo and then get the fuck out of Seoul.”

Lee sputters for a moment, grasping for his next words.  

“Well, where am I supposed to go?” he bleats.

“Do we look like recruiters to you, man?” Hoseok cuts in sharply.  “We don’t give a shit where you go -- you just have to go.  You sure this guy is a doctor, Min?  He seems way too dumb to be a doctor.”

“Nah.  This guy’s a junkie pretending to be a doctor,” Yoongi accuses, dropping any pretense of good humor.  “Pretending to be a tough guy, too.  But all of that ends tonight.”

Yoongi grabs Lee by the chin, jerking his head into place and forcing the trembling man to look him in the eye.

“In ten minutes, you’re going to walk your ass into that hospital.  You’re going to tell them you are leaving.  You are going to take that piece of shit pharmacist and anyone else who’s involved with you.  And then you are never going to step foot in this city again.”

He pauses to enjoy the way Lee’s pupils dilate even wider with fear.

“You’re not too high to understand what I’m saying to you right now, right?”

Lee shakes his head weakly, jaw still pinned in Yoongi’s vice grip.

“Great. Now just one more thing before you go on your merry way,” Yoongi says, voice low with menace.  “Give us the name of your street guys.”

Lee panics.  “I can’t,” he whines from between compressed cheeks.  “They’ll kill me.”

Yoongi grips his face tighter, crushing the man’s jaw and using it to push his body flush against the stall.  His fingers and knuckles turn white with the force of his grasp and Lee groans weakly at the pain.  

“I will kill you,” Yoongi seethes. “Me.  Right fucking now with my bare fucking hands if you don’t give me that name.”

Lee is sweating so profusely that Yoongi wonders briefly if he’s having a heart attack.  He’s probably got enough coke in his system for that to be an actual concern.  But the pathetic little shit manages to pull himself together long enough to follow directions.

“Kkangpae,” he wheezes.

Yoongi’s iron grip stays in place, even as he turns to Hoseok, even as both men exchange a look.  That is something he did not see coming.  Perhaps his recent personal issues are family business, after all.

He finally releases Lee’s jaw and the man rears back, breathing hard.

“You have exactly one day to get the fuck out of this city,” Yoongi instructs quietly.  “And that is not an offer I’m prepared to make twice.”

Lee licks his dry lips, nodding his head slowly like he’s just come out of a trance.  “Okay.”

“Great chat,” Yoongi smiles, patting Lee’s cheek.

Hoseok leaves his post at the door to cross the cramped bathroom and reach for the coffee Lee abandoned minutes ago.  Both men watch in silence as he turns it up over the sink, pours it out, and then tosses it in the trash.

He heads back to the door and holds it open.

“Damn Hoseok,” Yoongi murmurs as he brushes past.  “That was cold.”

*********************************

YOU

There’s buzzing.  Of that, you’re sure.

But in those first few moments that you’re rousing, you can’t be sure if you’re hearing it or dreaming it.  You’re disoriented.  It’s the second time in as many days you’ve woken up in an unfamiliar bed.

Shafts of sunlight pour through the blinds and you squint at them, trying to get a sense of the time of day.  If the amber tinge is any indication, it’s late into the afternoon.

The buzzing sounds again.

You roll to your side to grab your cell phone off the nightstand and blink at a long list of waiting texts.

ko: wake up sleeping beauty [ 11:36 AM ]

ko: i have news [ 11:45 AM ]

ko: big news [ 12:22 PM ]

ko: and gaeran tost-u [ 1:02 PM ]

ko: ready for you to wake up now [ 1:43 PM ]

ko: don’t mind me just gonna bang a few pots and pans [ 2:11 PM ]

Any curiosity over Ko’s big news is overshadowed by the way your heart drops when none of those messages is from Yoongi.  

Before you’d left his apartment, he’d asked you to stay.  He’d cleared his throat and looked down at his hands and explained that he’d feel better if you weren’t alone until this entire mess was settled.  But the way he looked at you in those last few minutes together made you feel like his proposition was about much more than just your protection.

It made you want to say yes.

Never mind that it’s insane to feel so at home in his personal space -- or that coming to that realization might have sent you into a mild panic.  In the end, you’d had to say no because you couldn’t bring yourself to leave Ko on her own while this madness played out.

You rub the sleep out of your eyes and fire off two quick texts.

you: i hope you’re okay. please be careful [ 2:33 PM ]

you: up now. be down in five [ 2:34 PM ]

**************************

Ko makes good on her promise of gaeran tost-u.

You’re greeted by the pleasant smell of the sugared egg dish as you walk down the stairs.  Ko sits at her kitchen table, eyes shining with excitement, and pushes a plate at you when you slide into the chair across from hers.

“Eat,” she orders sweetly.  Your stomach rumbles on cue and you waste no time digging in.

“This is really good,” you declare around a mouthful of bread and eggs.  “I might have to live with you forever.”

Ko smiles wide and the expression makes you feel warm from the inside out. The bruising on her face is barely visible now, easily hidden with a little makeup. Her eyes crinkle with happiness as she watches you eat without saying a word.

“Alright,” you sigh, loathe to stop eating even for as long as it takes to speak.  “Spill it. You look fit to burst.”

“Thought you’d never ask,” she complains cheerfully.  “Dr. Lee is gone.  Walked into Songdo last night and walked out forever.”

You gasp halfway through your next bite, sputtering as you try to catch your breath around a mouthful of toasted bread.  Ko stands to grab you a glass of water which you gratefully accept.

“Well, don’t die on me now,” she teases, “Because there’s more.  Nang left, too.  And Tuan and Beom from pathology.  All four of them quit without even so much as a notice, Jagi.  Isn’t that wild?”

You sip your water slowly and Ko’s eyes flash as she watches you.

“Yoo called me early this morning and said the entire hospital is talking about it. There’s a bunch of crazy theories going around.  And here I am, drinking my tea.  Thinking about how you took a few sick days and showed up here. Thinking about how healthy and rested you look right now.  Isn’t that interesting?”

You nod, jamming the sandwich back in your mouth for an obnoxiously large bite.

“And I can’t help but wonder if there’s some connection between this very convenient development and my very sweet, secretive friend.”

Ko’s mouth twists into a teasing smile as you chew your food absurdly slow.

“That sandwich isn’t going to last forever, Jagi,” she says dryly.  She lifts her teacup to her mouth and takes a dainty sip.  “And trust me, I have nothing but time.”

She leans back, cup in hand.

“Okay, so I might know something about it,” you admit after a while.  “But there’s still a lot I don’t know.  And I’m not sure how much of this you want to hear.”

Ko tuts under her breath.

“I want to hear it all.  I’ve got quite a few years on you and trust me, very little shocks me anymore.  So now you spill it.”

You take another sip of water and clear your throat.

“Okay,” you exhale.  “So there’s this guy -- ”

“ -- Oh, I love it when stories start like this,” Ko interrupts.  She props her chin up with her hands like you’re telling a bedtime story and you shake your head with a wry smile.

“He’s been kind of… helping me, I guess.”

“Helping you,” Ko echoes.  “As in helping you out of your clothes?”

“No,” you deny hotly, cheeks warming.  “He’s a friend.”

Ko doesn’t bother to call you out on the weak lie.  But her face says what her mouth doesn���t when one skeptical brow raises high.

“Go on.”

“I told him about what was going on at the hospital and he said he could help me,” you explain slowly.  “So I’m pretty sure he figured out a way to run off Lee and Nang.”

Ko taps her finger against the side of her teacup.

“So let me see if I have this right,” she muses.  “You tell this friend -- who you’ve never once mentioned, by the way -- that you’ve been having this very dangerous trouble at work.  And then your friend somehow manages to convince two grown men who’ve worked at Songdo for years to give up their high-paying jobs and up-front access to IV drugs overnight.”

You shift uncomfortably in your chair.

“And just like that -- ” Ko snaps her fingers for emphasis, “ -- they’re gone without so much as a fuss.”

You nod weakly.

“Jagi,” Ko’s voice drops low.  “I take it your friend’s not a mailman, is he?”

“No,” you mumble.  “Definitely not.”

Ko hums under her breath.  She carefully lifts her teacup to drink, eyes trained on you over the rim.  Her quiet scrutiny makes you anxious.

“Can I ask you a question?” she asks after a long pause.

“If I said no would that stop you?”

“Not a chance,” Ko laughs.  “Would this friend happen to be the mysterious, handsome man who asked for you in the ER a few weeks back?”

Mind like a steel trap, this woman.  You should have known Ko would make that connection and fast.  There’s no point in denying it, so you don’t.

“Yes,” you whisper thickly. “He is.”

It’s hard to get a read on Ko’s reaction.  Over the years, you’ve come to rely on her sweetness and wisdom and warmth.  But now, as you stare into her dark eyes and try to interpret her careful expression, you realize there’s something else you need from her.

Her approval.

“Ko, I think I -- ” you pause to choose your words carefully, “ -- I think I might be in really deep with this guy.”

Ko snorts.

“Oh, I think you might be right about that, Jagiya .  And if he’s helping you with something like this?  Chances are, you’re not alone.”

“Yeah,” you exhale, wringing your hands together beneath the table.  “Thing is -- I need you to tell me I’m not making a mistake here.”

The corners of Ko’s mouth lift into a soft expression of surprise.

“Oh, Jagi,” she chides sweetly.  “You know I can’t tell you that. I don’t know anything about this man.”  She reaches across the table to cover your hand with her own.  “But you do.  You’re the only one who knows how you feel about him.  And you’re the only one who knows if he’s a good man underneath it all.”

Ko squeezes your hand and you turn your head before she can see the tears that threaten in your eyes.  The amber sunlight outside her kitchen window is shifting orange now, flares of light reflecting off the glass.  

You stare at them and think about Yoongi.

Until now, it’s like you’ve been splitting him into two different men -- the bruised, bloody con artist from the exam room and the quiet, teasing flirt from the coffee shop.  Until now, it’s been the only way to reconcile your complicated feelings.

But it's well past time you accepted the truth.

The same Yoongi whose cheeks had pinked when he’d asked you to stay is the same Yoongi you watched beat the shit out of a hired thug.  The Yoongi who carries a cross is the Yoongi who carries a gun.  They’re two halves of one whole.  

And you can’t pine for one and reject the other.

Your cell phone buzzes from the pocket of your pajama pants.  You reach for it, relief coursing through you when you spot Yoongi’s name on the screen.

yoongi: one more thing to do before we can talk [ 3:01 PM ]

yoongi: it’s cold outside, be sure to bundle up [ 3:01 PM ]

Yoongi’s random mention of the weather confuses you.  You stare at the texts and Ko stares at you, concerned by the baffled expression on your face.

“Is something wrong?”

“No, no,” you insist, shaking your head.  “Just, um -- ”

Bundle up.   A tingle runs up the length of your spine as realization slowly creeps over you.  

“Excuse me for a moment,” you murmur, slipping out of your seat.

Ko watches you dash up the stairs, slack-jawed.

You make a beeline for your borrowed room, throwing open the closet doors to find the coat you’d left hanging there on arrival.  The coat you’d worn to and from Yoongi’s.  You hurriedly dig into the pockets, fingers immediately making contact with something hard and jagged.  

You pull it out.

The shiny silver key in your palm looks like it’s never been used, sharp edges gleaming in the waning sunlight streaming into this room.

You don’t have to guess what it’s for.

You just close your fingers around it and hold it tight.

*****************

tag list!

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[muffindaddystyles]

Can you write one where Harry and reader going bazar for festive shopping. I love all your imagines and desi one are prolly my fav.

WE ALL DESIS KNOW THAT DUDE WOULDNT LAST A SECOND IN OUR BAZARS, HE MIGHT CRY.

When Y/N slid a shy invitation towards Harry to come along her back her homeland to celebrate Diwali with her and her family that guy didn’t waste a second and jumped on the opportunity.

Being with his girlfriend and getting to see where she was born, grew up and spent half of her life? It couldn’t be better.

Though the moment they landed at Udaipur where her family booked a hotel in great love for the beauty of city Harry was dragged away from his lovie and was warmly welcomed by her family.

Anytime they'd get to spend time together and sneak into eachother’s room someone would become their proper enemy and interrupt them.

So, now when Y/N pried him away from her Dadi who’s giving the poor boy a lecture of how the British colonised the South Asia and took half of her gold bricks away from her Haveli (mansion) Harry sincerely apologised from their behalf.

He wolf whistles at her when they’re out of everyone’s sight, she’s wearing a short kurta with flared pants the deep v-neckline of it giving a pretty view of her cleavage and Harry really just wants to kiss her so bad.

He couldn’t though— else he’ll be banned from the city itself.

“Where are we going missy?” He smiles as Y/N unlocks the car and is caught by surprise when she leans in to buckle her belt and Harry quickly steals a chaste kiss from her, “Oops had a little stumble right there..”

“You really trying to be in trouble.” Y/N chuckles, face heating up when she struggled to keep the Chunri dupatta draping on her body from slipping down her shoulders again and again but Harry came to her rescue – gentle fingers tucking it back, “Thank you.” She says softly pulling the roof of convertible down. It’s quite a bingo if you got a rich uncle who loves you very much.

“We're going to bazar for some shopping, don’t leave my hand okay? You might get lost.” She grins teasingly and Harry rolls his eyes pulling his Ray-ban down from the mess of his curls the change in atmosphere has quite got to them.

“’kay mommy.” He mutters jamming his fingers already to play something on radio and it’s back to back romantic songs from Sharukh Khan’s movies, he felt like the proper main character.

.

He’s like a literal excited puppy roaming around the narrow streets of bazar with Y/N. Everything around vividly colourful as if he’s watching it with pink heart glasses.

It’s rushy. People bumping in him. Some shopkeepers almost dragging him inside their shops and showing him Sarris with their top-tier famous comment of, “Brother buy it for your misses if you really actually love her.” How Harry couldn’t? when they were such lovely with him and Y/N was just shaking her head at him standing near one of the stalls of handmade shoes as he stepped out and showed her the bag with a sheepish shrug.

“You sure you don’t need me to fan you?” She giggles, swiping the lasts of spicy Imli from the plastic paper and sucks it off her thumb, “I’m gonna have pregnant tonsils in morning that’s sure.” His nose skewers up when his throat becomes all tingly from licking his fingers clean and feeling his tongue all funky from the tangy taste of it.

His silk blouse’s getting sweaty from his back and armpits but for Y/N’s sake and to enjoy all of this he doesn’t give in to her polite offers to return back.

“Oye Harry! Come here, help me choose!” Y/N yells from far wiggling the prettily jewelled jhumkas up infront of him, whilst he’s too lost and acting a proper damn Brit refusing to come out from the shop of spices.

He threw the same tantrum when Y/N lugged him away from the group of teenager boys showing him how to make kites and play with marbles.

“Which one?” She bounces on her toes excitedly and he giggles stealing her Kachori from where she put it in her line of sight, “Buhkad!” She pouts because he had two already and a bowl of Falooda all to himself.

“Definitely this one, Lovie.” He smirks through a mouthful pointing the crimson cut earnings and Y/N smiles timidly forgetting that he’s her food thief when he reaches over and takes it from her hand making her wear it himself.

“So pretty..” He breathes out stroking her wrist in fond strokes and takes the tiny mirror from the women seller showing her that his statement’s infact true.

She giggles as he wiggles the mirror purposely to annoy her with the rainbow streaks melting on her face.

They parked the car to an isolated spot and moved to backseat clumsily to watch the beautiful sunset of her homeland, the serenity and warmth of tangerine pink sunshine melting Y/N into Harry’s chest as he cuddles her into him.

“You had fun?” She asks with hopeful bright eyes.

“Absolutely.” He grins lazily and tiredly petting her hair, his chest vibrating with his rasp.

“Now I know what they meant with ‘homeland is where you always want to be’,” He whispers. Sunlight dancing along the golden glow of city lights that bounces of the crystal lakes.

“You. Your heart. Is my homeland.” Y/N feels her heart racing in her ears. The intimacy of his words seeping in each of her bones and igniting it to a radiant spark – they’ve never felt this happy without eachother.

His lips loves every tiny soft detail of her face and couldn’t resist but to stop him and give a big fat benevolent smooch to his pretty mouth.

[jackalgirl]

[ Image description: a knitted hat on a light-colored tile background.  The hat is yellow and orange (mostly yellow, at the top, with an orange band below) with two long red ear flaps tied off at the end.  There is a pom-pom at the top of the hat in red, yellow, and orange yarn.  It is obviously handmade and maybe just a little bit goofy.  End ID. ]

"Man walks down the street in that hat, people know he's not afraid of anything."

(Entirely too much information under the cut.)

I knitted this from the pattern at Keiyla’s blog: http://keiylasblog.blogspot.com/2009/01/cunning-jayne-cobb-hat-revisted.html

I used Plymouth Yarn’s “Encore” in

Brick (color 9601)

Golden Glow (color 460)

and Bright Orange (1383)

which was as close to the colors as I could get.  I got the yellow and orange from Jimmy Beans Wool; originally I’d gotten “Stitch Red” from them, but it was a hair too far on the purple side of red for the yellow and orange, so I ended up getting Brick from WEBS (yarn.com). 

It’s a worsted weight acrylic/yarn blend that I held double, knitting from two cakes at the same time (and because the strands twisted around one another, I ended up putting them in a heavy bowl which I put on a “lazy susan” so that I could just turn the whole thing to untwist the yarn).

Deviations: Keiyla mentions wanting to do this in 54 stitches vice 60, so I did it in 54 stitches.  The original gauge was 3.5 sts in 4 inches for 60 sts total, which works out to a ratio of 17.14 -- 54 / 17.14 is 3.15 sts in 4 inches, which I got with US 10.75 (7mm) needles.  Yay math!

With a total of 60 stitches, the section in the front is 16 sts wide.  So as I was only knitting 54 stitches, I reduced the width of the front section to 14 stitches.

I also mathed out that the earflaps (15 stitches in Kayla’s pattern) would be 13.5 wide with a 54-stitch hat; I erred on the side of “more flap” and made them 14 stitches wide.  When I got to my last regular wrong-side purl row (before starting to decrease), I p2tog’d the center two stitches so I’d have an odd number of stitches going into the earflap decreases.

Because of this deviation, when I got to my very last decrease row, I had five stitches on the needle.  So for that row, I did this: k1, cdd, k1, where:

CDD (Central Double Decrease): slip 2 sts together (at the same time) as if to knit, knit one, pass the slipped stitches over the just-knitted stitch.

I will note that since there are three strands of yarn dangling from Jayne’s earflaps, I suspect that Ma Cobb actually knitted this holding three strands of wool together (possibly worsted, but maybe more likely a lighter Aran or DK), which is frankly masochistic (and is probably something I will eventually do).  This makes sense also because the pom-pom of the actual show hat really looks like it was put together using something less chunky than worsted (my pom not dense enough anyway, though it looks better now that I brushed it out a little).

[jostepherjoestar]

return from Sicily 🖤

sfw // gn reader // so much pining like whew 

Hello everyone, it is i, Cozy, back to give you a lil snack between schoolwork. This was fully self indulgent, to a worrying degree, so my apologies for that. But please enjoy, it was a fun little writing exercise since it’s been a while!💖✨

A distant car door shut, the sound muffled by the thick brick walls that separated you from the sparsely populated street where La Squadra Esecuzioni has been residing for a little while now. It’s not an uncommon sound, not at all actually. You’ve lost count of how many times you’ve woken up to heavy car doors slamming in the middle of the night, men of disputable morals stepping out and going about their even more so morally disputable business. But instead of filling you with annoyance that you’d have to lull yourself back to sleep again, this faint slam meant the return of your capo!

He’d been off on his very first holiday since joining Passione. Perhaps it was even the first in his life, the past never really presenting such opportunities unfortunately. 10 days. 10 whole days since the looming figure that brought a sense of calm and comfort to your shared homebase had left to start his travels to Sicily. And God had you missed him. You thought your crush on him had been manageable, maybe it would even dim by not seeing him for a while.

But oh no. It got worse. It got so much worse.

You hadn’t realised it before, but living so close with your teammates had conditioned you. You saw them every single day, for worse or for better. And that also included Risotto. Sometimes he’d be too busy to come out of his office but you were always sure to pay him a quick visit. Just to check up on him, you told yourself. You’d shoot him a warm smile that always received a small nod in return from the tired form pouring over his work.

A rush of excited energy barreled through your body, trying to suppress the need to wait at the front door like an overzealous golden retriever. You put down your phone and exhaled deeply, mentally preparing yourself as to not let on how much you’ve missed seeing him around.

You heard the familiar sound of the front door unlocking and got up from the living room couch you’d been lounging on as casually as possible. Casually making your way to the entrance to casually welcome back your colleague. Casual.

Risotto looked...magnificent. His skin had darkened under the Sicilian sun and given him a nice tan that evenly spread over his figure. He was wearing a simple black shirt that clung to the right places, adorning his chiseled chest and barely holding onto his built biceps. His hat was nowhere in sight and his silver locks poked out in different directions, clearly not bothered to tame them for his drive home.

Your quick once-over cut short over the sound of your own voice. “You’re back! Did you have fun? I missed you-” To your own surprise the words left you all too soon. In an attempt to fix the slip up you hurriedly continued. “We all missed you, I mean…” you trailed off. Risotto’s lips quirked up into an amused smirk, showing off his dimple that rarely appeared. He looked a lot more relaxed than before he left.

“Oh? We?” he said, making it a point to lean to his side to direct his gaze to the empty apartment behind you. No one else had been home. You felt heat rise to your cheeks and the desperate need to run and never return. Why was this already so hard?

You nervously chuckled and wrung your hands together, casting your eyes down at Risotto’s bag that had been put near the messy shoe rack Formaggio promised to clean up while your capo was gone. Sensing you weren’t going to rebuttal his comment, he continued. “It was nice. But I did miss you all, too.” The baritone of voice only stoked the fires burning under your skin.

He had missed you. Your mind swatted away the unnecessary word that followed his statement indicating that he’d also missed your teammates. You really needed to get a grip on your feelings.

You looked up again, feeling a bit braver to face your capo. “You look at ease, it really did you good, huh?” you softly hummed. His eyes held kindness in return, no matter how dark and spooky they were to some, they held no sharp edge whenever they landed on you.

As soon as you both stepped further into the apartment you heard him let out a deep sigh. It wasn’t of displeasure, no, those were way deeper and mostly kept for difficult meetings. He was breathing in the familiar smell of home. One that strangely enough had become the one he most associated with you. Walking behind you towards his room with his bag gripped tightly, his hand clutching the straps even harder turning his knuckles white.

He’d missed you too. So much. His trip was fun and relaxing and he could finally spend time by himself after being surrounded by people 24/7. But with every stroll past the beach, every dinner spent by himself- calmly sipping a glass of deep red wine, he wished you were there to spend it with him. To hold your hand and gently sway it as the sea breeze washed away the stress work had caused to settle onto you both. To rest on the beach together, lazing on a towel while the sun beamed down and a comfortable silence that rested between you.

Risotto was thankful for the holiday he never thought he’d have while working for Passione, but even more thankful to be back home. Where you were.

You had kindly opened the door for him, that cute smile resting on your lips as you let him pass by. The room smelled fresh and sweet like the breeze outside, the wind fluttering the curtains. “I changed your sheets and opened the window for you. Thought you wouldn’t mind it.” you shyly said as he set down his bag and huffed down on the edge of his bed. Idly caressing the light sheets in appreciation. He offered you a quick smile in return, instantly making that heat rise back to your cheeks.

“I’ll let you get settled.” You were glad he was back home safe, maybe you’d rest easier now and maybe your feelings would reach a more manageable level again. But before you could get far, not even a step further towards the hallway, you felt a big hand grasp your wrist. It felt warm and calloused, one that has worked hard and endured too much. You bounced back but steadied yourself to face Risotto who had cleared his throat and swiftly let go of your wrist. Bold move there, he warned himself.

“Sorry, I- I got you something.” he grumbled out the apology, brow creased as he dipped down to reach for something in his bag.

“Here.” He handed you a strangely shaped crumpled newspaper, cursing himself for not wrapping it in something a bit nicer. It was much heavier than your average weekly publication so you held it steadier, gently trying to unwrap whatever was hiding inside. Excitement was still bubbling inside, but a sense of ease that only Risotto supplied had nestled its way into you.

Risotto took over the discarded newspaper to let you admire the gift, trying his best to hide his excited stare, eager to know if you’d liked it. In your hands rested a ceramic mug, it looked handmade and the uneven strokes of shiny blue coloured glaze gave it a rustic touch. Lemons and leaves decorated the sides, making you turn it over a couple times to fully admire the handiwork. You were so enamoured by the gift you’d forgotten to let him know your thoughts.

“For your collection…” he trailed off, getting a bit nervous at his choice and doubting if you’d liked it. He knew you had a particular taste in mugs that were allowed into your hallowed collection. (not to be touched by your other teammates of course)

“I love it Ris. Really, it’s absolutely beautiful. Thank you so much.” You really did love it, your heart could barely take how much you did. Clutching the mug in your hand, you reached over and hugged him. He had barely processed the relief of you liking his gift to be hit with your form clinging to his torso. Carefully, he placed a single hand around your middle, not wanting to make you feel uncomfortable as he reciprocated. “Thank you.” you quietly let out while giving him a curt squeeze.

His arm eased you down  to sit next to him on the edge of the bed, feeling his very own surge of warmth ghost over his cheeks. His hand remained on your side, comfortably resting there, feeling right at home. You didn’t mind, not in the slightest. You were just so happy he’d returned and even brought you a thoughtful gift.

“Maybe next time I could show you around the shop I got it from. They have lots more to choose from.” he urged himself on, hearing his own heartbeat reach new speeds at the suggestion and its implications. A next time, but with you by his side.

You held onto the mug for dear life, clasping your fingers even tighter around the sides in case you’d drop it and shatter it like your chances with Risotto. Your mind raced, his suggestion having caused a mild short circuit of all functions. After a trained breath you find the strength to reply. “I’d like that very much. Just be sure to keep Ghiaccio away from the fragile stuff.” you chuckled nervously. A heavenly sound to the smitten capo.

“The rest of the team- as much as I like them- are uhm… not invited.” The smile that danced on his lips and the glint in his eyes made your heart flutter all over as you looked up at him.

A holiday? Just the two of you?

“Oh. Oh.”

You can’t seem to tear your eyes away from his as the thought settles between you. His hand on your hip hadn’t moved, only growing warmer and now finally urging you to scootch a little closer. His soft touch lingering on the small of your back now, closing in the distance and letting your hands rest on his chest as he moved to your inviting lips.

You felt like you’d burst any second, steadying your breath seemingly the hardest task you’ve had to face yet. But then your lips met, softer than any you’d felt before and easing over yours like it was the greatest privilege ever granted. A warm palm cupping your cheek, only deepening the finalisation of your mutual holiday plans. Everything you’d both been wishing to let out finally coming together, moving along your lips with a deep need and hunger that got its chance to grasp at a godly buffet.

With disbelief you both let go- regrettably so, softly gasping for air. If you wanted to go on a holiday together, you would still need to be breathing to get there. As you shared the lingering moment of closeness, appreciating the warmth and love of each other’s gazes, your hearing picked up on scuffling in the hallway.

Mortified you snapped your attention to Melone in the doorway collecting what looked like money from a passing Formaggio and Prosciutto. “Told you they’d do it after he got back.” he smuggly grinned, counting his winnings as you heard Risotto let out a small chuckle under his breath. Earning him a playful jab to his side from you.

“Melone, I won’t kill you if we split the winnings. We have a holiday to save for.” you grumbled.

[legends-live-in-memories]

Alleyway Altercation

Ayo its yah boi! I come with part two of a one shot i had no intention of writing a sequel to but yuh know shit happens.

part one is here called Rooftop Rendezvous 

Edit: AO3 link here!

enjoy 2k words of timari getting down and dirty in an alleyway. this is spicy 🥵 so be warned and read at your own risk.

summary:

“After a pendant is stolen from Gotham Museum, Red Robin has a unique method of getting it back.” -Timari, 2.2k words

without further ado

His feet hit the pavement running in hot pursuit of his target. Oracle had gotten the notification when a silent alarm was triggered from the museum and had assigned him and Robin to intercept the thief. To cover more ground, he had sent Robin around the east end to cut off the thief while he brought up the rear from the south side. At least, that’s what he told them were his intentions. In truth, he planned to confront his little problem personally. Privately. He always finishes what he started after all. 

He ducks into an alleyway that’s enclosed by short apartment buildings and waits. He knows his target will join him soon enough. He hears his brother in his ear, demanding more information from Oracle on Karma’s whereabouts and immediately decides to mute his comm piece. He doesn’t need any distractions or intruders tonight.

The action seems to have been the invitation his target needed because no sooner is she dropping into the alleyway before him. She blocks the only exit. It’s a declaration that the only way he’s getting out of here is through her. He’s more than happy to oblige.

“Words on the street’s that you’ve been looking for me, tweety bird.” Her voice, even muffled by her mask, is light and jovial. She struts slowly towards him, clearly she thinks they have all the time in the world. “I’m honoured, truly, to have caught your interest.” She’s in his space now, brushing a strand of hair behind his ear. 

He grabs her wrist and spins her so that she’s face first into the nearest wall. He pins both arms behind her back and cuffs her but doesn’t ease up on the pressure he’s forcing on her back. Tilting his head low, he whispers directly into her ear.

“You seem to have confused ‘Person of Interest’ with an ‘Interesting Person,’” he presses his hips harder into her, and trails a hand down her side, mapping her figure. 

“Why can’t I be both?” Her voice is painted with glee and she wiggles her hips against him, the sensation getting a reaction out of both of them. After mapping her frame, he removes her mask and discards it behind them.

“You have got to stop doing that,” her exasperated huff and eye-roll would be quite adorable if it weren’t for their situation. “That mask wasn’t cheap.”

“Yeah? Well neither was the pendant you stole. Now, where is it?” There weren’t many places on her person that she could have kept it and he needs to find it to return it.

“You have to find it, tweety.” She pushed against his hips once more and he returned the gesture with a roll of his own, letting her feel exactly what effect she has on him. She lowers her voice in a whisper so low he wouldn’t have heard it if he wasn’t breathing in every exhale she released. “I hid it with you in mind.”

With that he turned her to face him and raked his eyes over her appearance. Her pants that looked practically painted on her was an impossible place for any jewellery to hide. Clearly appreciating the attention, she surged up and captured his lips in a surprisingly soft kiss. It was feather light and as soft as fresh snow. The tenderness had him frozen in place and it was the hesitation she needed to swing a kick at his face. If it weren’t for years of experience he would have never been able to duck under her attack. He stepped back out of her range and she used the distance to jump up and swing her cuffed hands, bringing them in front of her. Before she could keep her upper hand he charged and pressed her back against the wall, once again eliminating the space he had put between them. He’s pinning her by her shoulders and her hands have found purchase on his second belt that hangs low on his waist.

He leans down and catches her lips in a biting kiss that’s more teeth than anything else. She gasps into his mouth and he swallows her moans like a starving man. Not one to be kept idle, she sneaks her nimble fingers to the hidden latches on his belt and unclasps them. The crackle of the material hitting the pavement has him recoiling at the idea of any possible scratches he won’t be able to explain with his dignity intact. Her smirk is filled with spite, indicating she knew exactly what she was doing.

“Be careful. That’s custom-made and expensive.” The hypocrisy is not lost on him, rest assured.

“Oh? Pity. Call it karma then.” 

“Hilarious.”

“Aren’t I?” 

Before he can retort, she’s tugging on his bottom lip with her teeth and sneaking a hand down under the layers of his suit. He bucks and rolls his hips and the attention even through the cup that covers his crotch. A hand that held her shoulders in place sneaks down to her back to graze her exposed flesh and he teases a finger between her skin and the waist of her pants. She removes the cup swiftly, and discards it with his belt pathetically by their feet. Her hand returns and her fingers grip him with unmatched enthusiasm. He hisses at the contact of her gloves on his bare skin and pants against her lips like a hapless dog. Ever the opportunist, she sneaks her tongue into his awaiting mouth and maps out the surface, giving herself a full taste of him. She begins to stroke his length and the sudden rush of pleasure nearly brings him to his knees. He follows her lead, grinding into the motion of her hands while squeezing a hand between the tight fabric of her pants and her ass. He slips a leg between her parted thighs and encourages her to rut against him. She breaks their kiss, which was more heated panting than anything else, and throws her head back at the attention. Her rhythm on his length falters and her grip tightens in reflex and it’s the best thing he’s felt his entire life. He takes advantage of her exposed neck and bites a small but sharp bruise into the juncture that connects to her shoulder. He stays there, sucking and licking until the bruise is a dark purple. Then he leaves another. And another. 

Due to the lack of mobility in her arms, she uses her unoccupied hand to drag him closer by the waist of his pants, so much closer that her front is pressing into the knuckles of the hand stroking him to completion. He can feel her thighs twitch at the contact and he knows the night is coming to an end soon. His hand that’s still clutching her shoulder slips down her chest and grips her right breast softly. Her moans are music to his ears and he keeps up the ministrations, palming her gently. It’s a total juxtaposition to the rough pace her hips has set against the meat of his thigh and it has her begging for more. Her hand grips him even tighter, it’s almost painful but he pays it no mind because her grip is slick with precum and the texture of her glove is both heavenly and hellish in nature. He has to take several steadying breaths to not finish too early. He switches attention from one breast to the other and tightens his hold on her. 

He feels the indent of something pressing into his palm closer to her left armpit so he slips his hand under top, hiking it above the curve of her cleavage. He almost swallows his tongue at the sight before him. Her bra, which had to be handmade, was a soft black lace with a distinct yellow bird outline on the left cup. It was Red Robin themed. He groaned in appreciation and his thigh pressed further into her core. The rhythm of his hips stutters and the obscene squelch of her hand on him would be almost embarrassing if he weren’t still hung up on the obvious claim she staked on him. Her other hand has joined the first down his pants and reaches to stroke his tightening balls. His knees buckle and he raises a leg to steady himself, unintentionally forcing her down more onto his leg. He brings his lips to the space between her breasts and licks a broad strip against her skin. The slight salt of sweat and tang of perfume leaves him reeling. 

Before he loses himself completely, he palms her left breast again, pausing slightly over his symbol and he remembers the indent he felt earlier. Her earlier words sprung back to his mind. I hid it with you in mind the little minx had said. His hand goes under the fabric of her bra and he feels for what he hopes is the stolen pendant. The woman underneath him is a sight to behold; her head almost crashing against the brick wall, her hands down his pants stroking him like it’s the only thing she can do and chasing her release against his thigh. He wishes he had his camera to capture the absolute vision before him. He pockets the necklace before she notices and returns to his earlier ministrations, devoting his full attention where it needs to be. He bends further into her and brings his lips to one of her now exposed nipples with his hand grasping the other. She screams out at the flood of pleasure and grinds insistently on his thigh. She speeds up her strokes and twists her hands just so that has him tumbling into an orgasm. It takes him completely by surprise and he bites down on her in his euphoria. The hand he’s had on her ass this entire time slips further into her pants and feels for her center. She ruts back on his fingers, his gloved digits grazing her most intimate part, and the attention there is what finally brings her over the edge. A rush of warmth envelops his fingers and she shudders against him in ecstasy. Her moans are wanton and she heaves desperately into the night. She brings him back into another searing kiss and he’s almost certain she’s drawn blood at this point. He doesn’t find it in himself to care. 

The kiss cools down into something sweet and teasing with them parting with a hair’s width of space between them. Looking him directly into his masked eyes, she brings her now uncuffed hands to her lips and sucks her fingers clean. He has no idea when she got out of the handcuffs nor when she slipped her hands out of his pants but he’s too focused on her mouth to care about logistics. The sight has him twitching in his pants but they don’t have enough time for another round. Not when he has what he came for. Literally. 

He detangles her from himself, sliding his hands out from under her outfit. They don’t speak; just taking in the sight of each other, debauched and satisfied. In an unusual act of gentleness, he strokes the back of head, feeling her hair flow through his fingers and presses a kiss to her sweaty forehead. Her eyes blow wide at the soft intimacy and her cheeks flush to an adorable rosy colour. He sighs and steps out of her space, leaving her braced against the wall as he reaches for his cup and belt. In the midst of him adjusting his appearance he sees her reach for her mask out the corner of his eye. Her moves are slow and unfocused, probably taken aback from his tender display of affection. 

Their night has come to an end but neither are eager to part ways just yet. Something was different tonight from their regular run-ins with each other but no one was actually going to breach the subject matter. Their pride wouldn’t let them. Sighing, Red Robin sets out his grapple but before he could launch himself onto the nearest roof, Karma takes him by surprise yet again.

“Marinette.” Her voice is low and hesitant, as if she were afraid of her own voice. His silence was an answer enough and she continued unprompted.

“That’s my name, detective. Figure out the rest.” Just like that, she’s gone into the open street, leaving him behind once again to chase after her. Another day his mind reminds him.

Finally climbing to the roof, he freezes in place at the sight of the younger Robin perched with his back to him on the opposite ledge. Before he can trip over himself in explanation, his brother barely turns and regards him with open disdain.

“I hope you’re satisfied. You and your libido let her get away again.” The disgust was layered with a touch of embarrassment, probably from walking in on his older brother getting laid in a dirty alleyway.

“Me and my libido got the stolen pendant. Who cares about how I did it?” He showed off the acquired jewel, hoping his success would stop his brother from judging him within an inch of his life. Besides, he has no time to care about proper protocol when he was just given a clue on how to find his little minx.

Two can play this game, Karma. Or should he say, Marinette. 

[candycityy]

Some (established relationship) Rivetra birthday crack/fluff, ft. awkward!Levi, because I can.

Levi sucks at giving gifts.

Maybe it's just the fact that he's awkward as fuck, but the notion of having to find something nice for another person fills him with equal parts dread and exhaustion. Honestly, how would he know what they'd want, anyway? He'd much rather just shove a couple of coins in their direction and call it a day.

The whole concept of gifts had been a culture shock to him, after leaving the Underground—not that he didn't understand what it meant to get someone something, but just the whole song and dance about it, of how every even remotely special occasion called for a gift of some sort. The first time he'd heard of it, a squadmate was asking him to contribute something to Erwin's promotion hamper, and he'd almost snorted, assuming it was a joke; the fucker had just been promoted to Commander of the Survey Corps, honestly, wasn't that gift enough?

Fortunately, his squad knows better than to ask him to contribute things; they just ask for money whenever they're doing a group gift, which he's happy enough to part with. And with matters outside the squad, well...he still doesn't really get why people thing he's so fucking terrifying, but in this, at least, he's happy to be excluded.

Well, until now. Unlike him, Petra actually does enjoy gifts; she's one of those crazy people who likes giving them, who handwrites cards and wraps presents in nice paper and glittery ribbons (another thing he doesn't get. He's supposed to spend time and money on wrapping paper that's just going to get torn into shreds?) and somehow, considering how they're dating and all, he doubts she'd be content with his usual fare of a few coins and a curt happy birthday over breakfast.

He briefly considers staging a training accident; surely, she wouldn't expect a gift from him if he were in the med bay recovering from a debilitating but non-life-threatening injury?

"Aha," Hanji says, briefly pausing in her monologue about Titan reproduction (he hadn't been listening in the slightest, but that's never been a deterrent) to point her spoon dangerously close to his face. "I recognise that look. You're thinking again, aren't you."

"None of your business." He pokes morosely at his dinner, and misses. The tines of his fork strike the porcelain with a rather unpleasant metallic screech that makes them both wince.

"It's not a good look on you, you know," she comments, shovelling a fragment of potato into her mouth as Levi watches with barely veiled disgust. "Thinking. You're much better off playing the role of the macho action hero, all brawn and no brain—"

"I will stab you with this butter knife," he threatens, with a kind of despondent savagery. The woman just leans on her elbow and waits, perfectly unruffled.

He chews, swallows, and after a long pause, finally admits, "Petra's birthday is coming up."

"And you're thinking about what to get her?" Hanji smirks. "Sweet."

"I'm thinking about why surface-dwellers have so much time and energy to bother with stupid things like gifts," he grumbles, spearing a chunk of broccoli with more aggression than strictly necessary.

"Well, they're a welcome distraction from the terrors of daily life, don't you think?" She pushes her goggles up her nose with a kind of practiced impatience, and continues, "I think...Petra probably would want something heartfelt. You know, something you wouldn't give to anyone else."

"I wouldn't give anyone anything, from the start."

"You know what I mean." Hanji rolls her eyes. "The gift's gotta make her feel special. Maybe something with a sort of significance, or meaning, or...oh! Something handmade? How good are you with handicrafts?" She eyes him, looking rather less hopeful than he'd like. It rankles him.

"I'm pretty good at carving," he snaps. Hanji brightens.

"Ooh. Wood?"

"Flesh." He shovels the rest of the stew into his mouth, ignoring her snort of indignation, and stands up. "Don't choke on your food, Four-Eyes."

==

In his time in the Underground, he'd learnt precisely two things about food: one, to defend it with your life, and two, if you chuck a bunch of ingredients into a pot and apply heat, you can call it a casserole, which is a fancy-sounding name for something that barely counts as a dish at all.

Furlan, being unable to cook for his life, had been put on permanent ingredient-gathering duty (read: theft) instead. Isabel, on the other hand, had an irritating tendency to get distracted, disappear off to fuck-knows-where with the food still on the stove, and promptly forget all about it. By the process of elimination, Levi had took over most of the cooking.

Being easy, flexible, and requiring very little attention, casserole had quickly become his signature dish. And yeah, he wouldn't call himself good by any means, but as far as he's concerned, no-one'd ever gotten food poisoning from a dish he'd made, which he counts a win.

Still, he figures that not poisoning anyone is a pretty low bar to set for a birthday dinner for his girlfriend.

For the eleventh time since entering the store, Levi wonders if he should just forget it. Get her some bauble or trinket, that glittery shit that girls always like. But against his will, Hanji's irritating voice drones in his head: something heartfelt. Something you wouldn't give to anyone else.

Levi scowls darkly at a shelf of cheese. "What the fuck's the difference between cheddar and mozzarella, anyway?" he mutters to himself, before giving up and shoving both into his basket.

He continues wandering through the store, grabbing whatever he thinks will go well together. He barely glances at the price tags as he goes, too distracted by his thoughts—does she like chickpeas? Or was it lentils? Are those different?

(Of course, he pays for his inattention dearly, when the cashier coolly informs him of his total and he almost chokes. Well, he really should've known; the storekeeper in the Underground always did seem to loathe them with an aggressive vengeance.)

==

Carrots—potatoes—beef. Levi measures out the ingredients carefully and scoops them into the pot, eyeing the stew bubbling cheerfully over on the stove, and allows himself a brief moment of smugness.

He's outdone himself, even if he says so himself. Everything's been planned, down to the last detail. In the morning, he'd presented Petra with a new fountain pen, a perfect decoy gift, especially since she'd mentioned earlier how she'd been needing one. He hadn't missed the flash of disappointment in her eyes—shitty Four-Eyes had been right for once, he supposes—but she'd schooled her expression into one of appropriate delight quickly enough, and exclaimed over it as necessary, and he'd known she'd fallen for it hook, line, and sinker.

He's even timed this whole dinner thing perfectly, getting the guys to keep her back for a bit after training (which they'd agreed to, albeit with some snickering) so he could prep for the meal. She'd be in the showers now, he guesses; and now, with the brick oven all heated up and the dish nicely in place, he probably has about twenty, thirty minutes before the next step of the plan, when he'll go to retrieve her from her room under some pretense or another, lead her to the dining hall, and—

"Levi? What's going on?" Petra rubs her eyes, strolling into the room and and sniffing the air curiously. "Are you—are you cooking?"

What the fuck.

"Petra." He tries his best to block the stove, desperately searching for a way out. "You're back early. This is, uh...an experiment. For Hanji. It could blow up any second, so off you go now."

Petra does not oblige. Her eyes narrow, and she tries to peek around him. "Your experiment is stew?"

"It's not stew, it's...Titan bait," he improvises wildly, making her brows lift in disbelief. "Seriously, Petra. Go away." His eyes dart to the wall clock; he needs about fifteen more minutes, at least. "Didn't Eld...didn't the guys ask you to stay for a bit?"

She shrugs, still craning her neck to try to see the contents of the kitchen counter. There's a hint of a grin on her face now. "Auruo was bragging again about something-or-the-other, and bit his tongue, and I slipped away in the commotion. Levi, is that cake?"

"I told you, it's Titan bait. Now get out, that's an order." He tries to keep his tone cold and steely, a feat which is proving much more challenging than usual with his very pretty, very annoying girlfriend standing on tiptoe, trying her best to peek over his shoulder.

Judging by her expression of keen amusement, he fails quite spectacularly.

"Levi," his irrepressible subordinate goes, her eyes gleaming, "your cake—sorry, Titan bait—says 'Happy Birthday, Petra'."

With a frustrated exhale, he gives up trying to block her, and slumps back to the kitchen counter. Petra waits, tapping her foot, still looking thoroughly amused. Her hair is still damp from the showers, he notices. But despite the fact that she has a towel around her neck and is dressed in a ratty old t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants—her standard evening attire—his breath catches in his throat. She's beautiful.

"Okay, fine," he grumbles, tearing his gaze away. "I'm cooking. It's for you. Happy birthday. You're still a brat."

She laughs, and the sound makes his lips pull into a reluctant smile, too. "I never took you for the domestic type, captain," she teases, leaning into him and winding her arms around his back. "Stew? But didn't you already give me a gift, though?"

"Casserole," he corrects. "It sounds fancier. And that was a decoy—this was supposed to be a surprise. I mean, I thought...since it's the first time you're having a birthday, well. With us, like. Together." He clears his throat, and silently wills himself not to do anything stupid and embarrassing, like—Walls forbid—blush. "Remind me to have a talk with Auruo, will you."

"Well, count me surprised," she says, leaning in and grinning up at him.

He rolls his eyes.

"Anyway. Since you're here so early," he goes, gazing at her with a look of utmost seriousness, "here. You can help to chop the onions."

Petra blinks, indignant. "Seriously?"

"Nah, I'm kidding. That's for ruining my surprise, you brat."

==

"...Levi?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks."

"Happy birthday, Petra."