#I'm using these tags to get you to read this

[yogirl-willow]

The Crimson Pact | Part 5

Characterizations | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

SoulBond!AU

Pairings: Yandere!Saja Boys x F!Reader

Synopsis: You were never supposed to remember them.

Four hundred years ago, a pact was made—a blood-soaked bond tying five demons to one human soul: yours.

They’ve waited lifetimes for your reincarnation, cursed with obsession, tethered by fate.

And now that you’ve returned?

They’ll burn the world before they let you go again.

Warnings: Soul bond with the Saja Boys, Yandere themes!, obsessive behavior / possessiveness, romantic psychological tension, mentions of implied past death / reincarnation, intense emotional fixation, yearning, dark romance, hurt/comfort

A/N: Story is rolling along folks! I plan to flesh out each and every one of the boys + get the plot rolling a bit in this chapter and the next. Thank you for all your lovely comments! Unfortunately, Tumblr only allows a certain amount of tags so I sincerely apologize if I was not able to tag you on here (I tried adding everyone I could). 😭 But just know that I'm so grateful to everyone reading my story. 🥺 If you'd still like to be tagged and you weren't on here just comment and I can try adding you to the next update!

───────── ༺🜃༻ ─────────

The Saja boys are all demons.

They are wrath and ruin. Jealousy and death.

And yet, before her, they kneel.

Because she is the Heart. Because her soul is what keeps them from unraveling into true monsters. Because they were bound by her love and her curse.

They don’t just crave her—they depend on her. Without her presence, their minds deteriorate. Their bodies decay. Their hunger becomes unbearable.

Only Y/N’s touch tames the demon inside.

────────── ⚘ ──────────

Part 5:

The Closer You Come

The apartment is quiet. Too quiet. Galbi sizzles in the pan. Romance stirs the sauce for the bulgogi with a flick of his wrist, lips pursed, jaw tight. Baby’s lounging on the couch, flipping through channels absently—volume low. Mystery sits on the floor nearby, sketchpad in his lap, but the page hasn’t flipped in minutes.

And Jinu? Jinu is standing stock still, eyes unfocused, head tilted just slightly—like he’s hearing something the others can’t. 

Then it happens. A pulse.

A flare of heat through the bond—so sudden, so visceral it feels like it cracks through their spines and settles in their chests. Like lightning, but slow. Like breath hitching in someone else’s throat. Jinu exhales, long and low, the tension in his jaw deepening.

“She kissed him,” he mutters, voice dark with something ancient. Romance drops the spoon. The sound of it hitting the counter echoes too loud in the kitchen.

“She did what?” Baby straightens, head whipping toward the hallway. His eyes sharpen like a knife drawn slow from its sheath.

“They’re close,” Mystery whispers, eyes wide, hand still frozen over the paper. “Closer than before.” A breath. A heartbeat. Then—

Another pulse. Hotter. Slower. Deeper. This time it ripples. Like need. Like skin. Like hands where only air used to be. Romance presses both palms on the counter and hunches forward, exhaling like he’s in pain. “She’s letting him touch her.” he smiles wrily. “Lucky motherfucker-”

“Oh, fuck.” Baby hisses and scrubs a hand over his face, pacing now. “I swear, if he’s inside her right now I will burn this apartment down.”

“Shut up,” Jinu growls. “Don’t ruin it.”

“But—!”

“She’s choosing him,” Jinu says, quieter now. Not angry. Not jealous. Just… reverent. Like it hurts. Like it heals.

“Not that far, not yet.” Mystery whispers, his voice small. Hopeful.  “But she’s starting to want us,” “Really want us.”

Romance says nothing. His expression unreadable. He stares down into the bulgogi sauce like it’s the only thing holding him to earth.

“She’ll come to us too,” Baby mutters, sitting back down, hands twitching on his thighs. “Eventually.”

Another pulse hits—this one sweet. Soft. Settled. They all exhale like they’ve been holding their breath. Then—Romance smiles. A slow, dangerous thing. “Let her fall in love,” he says. “Let her remember what it feels like to be worshipped. To be ours.”

He finally looks up, eyes gleaming. “She’ll never escape us after this.”

────────── ⚘ ──────────

You wake to the steady rhythm of a heartbeat beneath your ear.

Warmth surrounds you—solid muscle, arms like a fortress around your waist, breath brushing your hair. You blink sleep from your lashes and lift your head slowly. The room is dim, painted in faint light from the setting sun bleeding through the curtains. Abby- no, Haneul’s arms tighten for just a moment, as if sensing your stirring.

His eyes crack open, slow and groggy, but the second he sees you awake, he smiles. Soft. Boyish. Unbelievably gentle for someone so sharp-edged and dangerous. "Hey," he murmurs, his voice still sleep-rough. "Sleep okay?"

You nod. "Yeah. Better than I have in a while." You don’t say why. But you both know.

Your body aches—not from pain, but from feeling. From finally letting something out, something ancient and caged and suffocating. Haneul’s story had shattered something in you, and you hadn’t realized how heavy it all was until he held it with you.

You rest your hand on his chest again, listening to the thud beneath your fingers. He exhales, like your touch soothes something deep in him.

Then a knock. Light and polite. “Dinner’s ready,” comes Mystery’s voice from the other side. “Abby, bring her down or I will.” You hear the smile in it. A threat. A promise.

You feel Haneul’s chest rumble with a low growl. “He’s getting too bold.” You laugh quietly and push off him, sitting up. “You promised not to kill your own bandmate.”

“Did I?”

You throw a pillow at him.

The dining table is already set—cozy and warm, lit with soft ambient lights and the faint smell of something savory and a little sweet. Galbi and Bulgogi, with tea and little folded napkins in the shape of hearts. You don’t ask who did that. You already know.

Mystery’s eyes light up the second he sees you. Not like they’re glowing (though they are faintly), but like you are. He takes your hand without asking, leads you to the table, and pulls out your chair with an elegant, shy little flourish. Then, before you can sit, he kisses your forehead.

You freeze. His lips linger longer than they should. Then he pulls back and simply stares at you. His fingers remain laced in yours as you sit.

You let him.

The others notice. They don’t speak on it, but you feel it—the way Jinu softens, the way Romance hums thoughtfully into his cup, the way Baby flicks his gaze from Mystery to you and back again, unreadable but watching.

Something’s shifted. Maybe it happened the moment Haneul touched your soul and showed you his scars. Maybe it happened long before that. You sip your tea in silence, letting Mystery’s hand remain curled gently over yours.

They keep glancing at you—each of them. Not out of suspicion, not even obsession this time. Something else. Affection. Maybe even awe. And for once… it doesn’t frighten you.

If Haneul’s story was that tragic, you think, tracing your fingertip over the lip of your mug, then how many other lifetimes have I lived inside their sorrow?

Your voice breaks the quiet. “I’m… sorry. For earlier. I know you guys mean well.”

Jinu shakes his head slowly. “You were scared. You had every right to be.”

“Still. I should… trust you.”

Romance leans his chin in his palm, watching you intently. “You’re here. That’s what matters.”

You swallow once. “I need to know something.” Every head lifts at the shift in your tone. “Why are demons following me?”

They exchange glances. It’s Jinu who speaks, his voice calm but iron underneath. “Because word got out.”

“About me?”

“About The Pact.” Romance’s voice is silk over steel. “Some of them doubted it for years. Thought Gwi Ma was bluffing. But now that they’ve seen you… they know you’re real.”

You feel the blood drain from your face. Jinu nods once. “You’re a symbol. A myth. The key to everything.”

“To us,” Haneul adds from across the table. His gaze is steady, anchored to yours.

“And now they want you,” Romance finishes. “To marvel. To worship. Maybe even to steal. Depends on the demon.”

You stare down at your food. The sudden weight of it all feels like it could crush you. But then—warm fingers squeeze yours. Mystery. Unwavering. Devoted. 

“You are ours to protect,” Jinu says. “Whatever comes. That bond between us? It’s not just magic. It’s real. It’s what keeps you safe.”

You look up. They’re all staring at you now. And not a single one of them blinks. You swallow past the lump in your throat. “Okay,” you whisper. “I trust you.”

And the relief in their eyes is so pure, it nearly breaks you open all over again. You begin to eat the delicious food prepared and go to grab more of the Bulgogi across the table. 

“Haneul, could you pass the Bulgogi please-” There’s a beat of stillness so sharp it cuts the air.

He freezes.

Your voice had been soft—barely above a breath—but it might as well have echoed off the walls. Four pairs of eyes flick to him instantly. Abby—no, Haneul—doesn’t move for a full second. Jinu’s lips twitch into the ghost of a smile. Romance hums, pleased. Mystery beams openly. Even Baby’s lip quirks in that subtle way of his.

But it’s Haneul who looks undone. His eyes meet yours—dark, glittering, soft in a way that should be terrifying coming from someone who could end nations. And yet, the only thing they carry is adoration. Worship. Wonder. 

He swallows. “Say it again.”

You blink. “Haneul—”

He closes his eyes. “Again,” he whispers.

“Haneul.” His knuckles turn white against the table’s edge.

“You’re going to make him short-circuit,” Mystery says fondly. Haneul smiles and every boy at the table watches that moment—not with envy, but with a shared fondness. Because the bond did flare then. You felt it. So did they. Threading tighter. Warmer. More unbreakable than before. And none of them would say it aloud… But they knew. That name in your mouth was holy. And it belonged to him.

Haneul coughs, handing you the bowl of Bulgogi with a slight tinge to his cheeks that made you gush internally. Cute.

The clink of chopsticks against porcelain fills the air as you eat dinner. Mystery leans closer as he gently places another spoon of Galbi onto your plate. Jinu silently refills your tea. Abby watches you from across the table, his grip tightening every time you look away. Romance twirls his spoon like he’s thinking too hard. Baby doesn’t eat—he just stares.

Dinner tastes warm, comforting. You toy with your rice for a moment. “Can I ask you something again?”

Jinu looks up instantly. “Anything.”

You hesitate, then glance at each of them. “Why are you in a boyband?”

Everyone goes still for a moment. Romance’s spoon halts midair. Jinu doesn’t blink. Abby’s jaw ticks, hard. Mystery goes stiff. Only Baby doesn’t react—but his eyes narrow slightly.

“That’s a fair question,” Jinu says at last. Too smooth. Too calm. Romance flashes a smile. Too polished. “We needed a way to be seen.”

“We came up with the idea and Gwi Ma told us to go ahead with it,” Abby grumbles, tone clipped.

You blink. “The demon king?”

“Yeah,” Romance says, more gently now. “We thought if we were famous—if the world worshipped us—you’d find your way to us again. Hear our voices. Remember something in your soul.”

“And it worked,” Mystery whispers, squeezing your hand. “You’re here.”

You look down, stomach fluttering. “So… everything was just for me?”

Jinu nods. “Always.”

Romance leans forward, voice soft like velvet and lined with knives. “You were the only one who was ever supposed to hear the songs. The rest of the world? Just echoes.”

Abby’s voice is low. “We became everything they loved so you’d never miss us.”

It’s overwhelming. A little terrifying. But something about the way they look at you makes it feel… real. True.

You don’t notice how they exchange glances once you lower your gaze to take another bite of your meal. Don’t see how Jinu’s knuckles whiten around his cup. Or how Baby finally looks away—like even he can’t hold your gaze when you’re this trusting.

They’re lying. Not about the bond. Not about the fame. But about the purpose.

Because the truth—about the souls their voices seduce and collect for Gwi Ma, about the weight of every fan who screamed their name and unknowingly gave up a piece of themselves—that truth would shatter something still fragile between you.

They’ll tell you. One day. But not tonight.

Tonight, you smile at them with trust blooming behind your eyes. And none of them have the heart to destroy it. Not yet.

────────── ⚘ ──────────

The apartment is quiet except for the soft hum of the air purifier and the occasional flip of a page. You’re curled into the far corner of the couch, reading the book Romance gave you. The velvet cover is worn, the margins marked with his elegant handwriting—tiny, circling certain lines, underlining others. As if he already knew which ones you’d love.

Mystery sits beside you. Your legs are tucked over his lap, a throw blanket draped across both of you. He hasn’t moved in ten minutes. Not really. Just subtle things—his fingers occasionally grazing your ankle like he needs the contact. Like he’s memorizing the weight of you. He watches you read with an expression so soft it feels like it shouldn’t belong on a demon’s face.

“You’re quiet,” you murmur, not looking up.

“I like when you read,” he replies. His voice is low. Breathless. “It feels safe.”

You glance at him. He’s not blushing—he never really does—but his eyes are wide, unblinking. Locked on you like a starving thing. He continues, voice barely a whisper. “I hear feelings. Yours are quiet. Not sharp. Not angry.”

You hesitate, your thumb pausing mid-turn on the page.

“Most people… when they feel something, it hurts my head. Makes me itch. Makes me want to run.”

His hand brushes against your calf, soft. “But your fear doesn’t push me away. It makes me want to stay. Makes me want to hold you tighter.”

You look at him, your heart heavy. He’s so gentle when you let him be. So emotionally loud even in silence. You shift slightly and reach up to brush the strands of hair from his face. His lashes flutter as your fingers graze his temple. He leans into your touch like a cat who’s been cold for centuries and has finally found the sun.

You both stay like that for a moment—your fingers in his hair, his palm resting gently over your shin. Then the door opens. Jinu walks in first, flanked by Romance, Baby, and Haneul. Their jackets are damp from evening mist, the faint scent of cologne and cold air clinging to their clothes. They’re speaking lowly among themselves until they notice you and Mystery curled together on the couch.

Romance's mouth lifts at one corner. “Hope he wasn’t being too clingy.”

“He was perfect,” you say, brushing your fingers through Mystery’s hair. He leans into it with a soft hum. Baby drops into an armchair and sprawls like a cat. “Hope we didn’t interrupt.”

“Not at all,” you say. “How was everything?”

“Fine,” Jinu says. “Promotions. Interviews.”

“You didn’t watch the broadcast?” Romance asks, raising a brow.

“I caught some of it,” you reply. “Congrats on the win, by the way. I saw you beat Huntrix for the number one spot.”

There’s a silence that engulfs the room. Utter and immediate. You blink. “What? That’s a good thing, right?”

The shift in the room is subtle—but palpable. Romance’s jaw clenches. Haneul straightens. Baby stops playing with the sleeve of his hoodie. Mystery’s hand tightens slightly over your leg.

You frown. “Is there… something I’m missing?”

Jinu sighs. “The Huntrix girls…they’re not just idols,” His voice is quiet. Calculated. 

“They’re hunters,” Haneul adds, eyes unreadable.

Your brows furrowed in confusion and you tilt your head to the side in the same adorable way that made Baby want to squish you the other day. “Hunters? What do they hunt?”

“Us.” Mystery utters.

You pause. “Like… demon hunters?”

A beat.

“Yes,” Baby says softly. “Exactly like that.”

The words hit like cold water. “But…” You sit up straighter. “I talked to one of them once… Zoey. She seemed really nice.”

“What?” Romance snaps. His voice is sharp, already halfway to furious.

“She—she asked for my Instagram. And I gave it. I didn’t know she was—”

“You what?” Haneul’s voice is low. Dangerous. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

You flinch. “I didn’t think it mattered.”

“They’re not your friends,” Baby says, rising now, steps slow and deliberate. “They’re trained to destroy everything you’re starting to care about.”

“They don’t want your feed,” Mystery murmurs, brows furrowed. “They want leverage.”

You stare at them. At the fear disguised as anger on all their faces. The way they’re circling now. Closing in—not at you, but around you. Like a shield.

“I didn’t know,” you whisper.

Jinu moves closer. “Of course you didn’t.”

Romance exhales hard, running a hand through his hair. “That’s why we’re telling you now. So you don’t make that mistake again.”

“I didn’t think they were dangerous,” you say. “Zoey… she smiled. She even handed me some medicine.”

“Smiles don’t mean safety,” Haneul says.

“Some demons smile before they tear out your soul,” Mystery adds. “And some humans smile before they take a blade to your back.”

You look down at your hands, guilt pooling deep in your stomach.

“We’re not angry with you,” Jinu says after a pause, kneeling in front of you. His voice is low. Calming. “But you have to be careful.”

“They’re forming a barrier,” Romance says. “The Honmoon. A seal meant to lock demons out of the human world.”

“It’s been around since before we were demons,” Haneul adds, voice low. “They don’t just hunt. They exterminate.”

“But why?” you ask. “You haven’t done anything wrong.”

Silence stretches. One beat. Two.

“They don’t care about innocence,” Haneul says finally. “To them, a demon is a demon. No exceptions.”

“And the less we can touch this world,” Jinu murmurs, “the safer they feel.”

Baby’s jaw tenses. “And you… you’re close to us. Too close. That makes you a threat.”

You blink. “But they don’t even know what this is. They don’t know about the bond.”

“No,” Romance says, eyes unreadable. “But they see how we look at you. How we follow you. They know we’d burn everything to protect you.”

Mystery leans in, voice soft but sharp. “That makes you leverage.”

Your chest tightens.

“They’ll try to use you,” Haneul says. “To get to us. To break us. And they won’t care who you are.”

You press your fingers to your temples. The air feels heavier now. Like the weight of things you never asked to carry has settled on your shoulders. Still…

As you look at the boys—at their tension, their fear masked as fury, their tenderness wrapped in obsession—you don’t feel unsafe. You feel shielded. Even if their love is dangerous. Even if you’re only beginning to understand how far they’d go to keep you.

Baby steps forward and kneels beside you. He takes your hand gently and lifts it to his lips. “We’ll always be with you,” he says, breath barely brushing your skin. “Even if you don’t see us. Even if the whole world turns on you.” He presses a kiss to your knuckles. “Sleep safe tonight.”

────────── ⚘ ──────────

The next day Mystery insists on walking you to work. He doesn’t say it outright. Just appears beside you with his hoodie half-zipped, his fingers brushing yours like they belong there. And maybe, at this point, they do.

“You don’t have to come,” you murmur, adjusting your bag.

“I want to,” he says simply. His gaze doesn’t quite meet yours, but you feel the intensity behind it anyway. “You were upset yesterday. I didn’t like it.”

You smile, small. A little tired. “You’re all like this, you know.”

He shrugs. “Only with you.”

The walk is quiet. Easy. At least until you turn the corner onto the street where the café should be—and everything stills. Mystery’s hand tightens around yours. There’s yellow tape stretched across the door. A printed notice slapped onto the glass:

“CLOSED: PENDING INVESTIGATION.”

Your breath catches. You step forward like it might change something. “No,” you whisper. “What—?”

Mystery doesn’t move. You spot Mina, your coworker, nearby and jog over. “What happened?” 

Mina looks shaken. “They said someone reported us—health code stuff, really serious. Spoiled food, pest control, tampered beverages. They think someone’s been… messing with customer orders.”

“That’s insane,” you breathe. “No one’s ever gotten sick—”

“I know,” Mina says, voice hushed. “It doesn’t make sense.”

She frowns. “You should talk to the owner, though. He said you shouldn’t come back. For your own safety.”

────────── ⚘ ──────────

The second you walk back into the apartment, the atmosphere shifts. Mystery lingers at the door behind you, but the rest of the boys are already gathered—waiting. Like they knew. Like they planned this.

Romance raises a brow. “Back so soon?”

“Cut the act.” you jab. “You had the café shut down.”

Jinu doesn’t flinch. Neither does Baby. Only Haneul lowers his gaze, jaw tight. You look at Romance. He’s smiling faintly. Too sweet. Too calm.

“That place was a risk,” he says. “Too many unknowns. Too many people getting too close.”

“I worked there.”

“You don’t have to anymore,” he replies softly. “You have us.”

Your hands ball into fists. “You didn’t even ask me. You just—took it.”

“Well, we did ask you to quit… multiple times.” Romance steps forward, cupping your cheek. His thumb brushes under your eye. “We didn’t take anything,” he murmurs. “We removed what was hurting you. You just haven’t realized it yet.”

You pull back. “You don’t get to decide that.”

“But we will,” Baby cuts in, his voice like a warning purr. “If it means keeping you.”

You look at all of them—beautiful, terrifying, devoted—and feel the ground tilt beneath you. “I need air,” you mutter, pushing past them.

You shove open the sliding door and step out onto the balcony, the cool air cutting against your skin like glass. You grip the railing so tightly your knuckles pale, breath uneven from the fire still twisting in your chest.

They shut down your job. Your café. And maybe you weren’t in love with the place, but it was yours—your choice, your independence, your routine. And they just took it.

The door slides open behind you. You don’t turn. Of course it’s him. You’d know the steady footfalls of Baby anywhere. The calmest storm in the room.

“You knew,” you say, voice tight. “You all knew.”

He says nothing at first. Just steps up beside you, arms folded lazily over the balcony edge. “Romance was only trying to help.”

You let out a bitter laugh. “He has a funny way of showing it. That café was—”

“Beneath you,” Baby interrupts, turning to face you. “That café was full of men who stared too long. Of customers who asked for your name so they could whisper it later. Of noise. Of danger.”

You snap your gaze to him. “There were other people working there, too. People who needed that job. And now it’s shut down. Just so you could—what—feel better?”

He doesn’t blink. “I don’t care.”

The wind stills. “You—what?”

“I don’t care about them,” he repeats, voice soft but final. “You’re all I care about.” He steps closer, expression unreadable. “They’ll find something else. You? You’re not replaceable.”

You stare at him. Words jam in your throat, tangled with disbelief, frustration… something rawer, something too close to the chest. “I had a life,” you whisper. “A normal life.”

“You were haunted in it,” he says flatly. “And none of them knew.”

You open your mouth, but he cuts you off again—quietly this time. “You think you’re mad because you lost control,” he murmurs. “But it’s because we took what hurt you before you had to ask.”

He pauses, brushing a strand of hair from your cheek with more tenderness than you expect from someone whose words feel like a cage. And then, gently, with a voice full of conviction: “Let us be your monsters. We already are. The only difference is we’d kill for you.”

You exhale, shaky. The rage in your chest ebbs—but doesn’t vanish. You don’t know if it’s fear or relief or both. Because he’s not wrong. After what happened in the café yesterday, after the demon— You had been scared. And he knows that. They all do. And they’re doing what demons do: protecting what they think is theirs.

Even if it means burning everything else down.

You step back inside after a few minutes, arms folded tightly across your chest. All five boys are in the living room now, waiting. Watching. Jinu straightens first, and the others fall into line without speaking—like soldiers sensing their commander’s cue. But there’s no war here. Only the tension you dragged in with you.

You glance between them and sigh. “I’m still mad.”

Romance opens his mouth.

“Don’t,” you snap, holding up a hand. “Just—don’t.”

He closes it. Smiles. But there’s something smug tucked beneath it. You flop onto the couch with an exaggerated huff. “Well. Congrats. You’ve successfully ruined my only source of income. What now? I need to pay rent, I need to make a living—I have to find another job.”

Abby blinks. “No, you don’t.”

You throw a pillow at him. “I do! Unless you want me starving and sleeping in a park—wait, actually, I live here. So technically that’s your fault now.”

Romance hums, lounging against the arm of the couch. “We’ll give you whatever you need. How much do you want?”

You stare at him like he’s sprouted a second head. “What?”

“Money. Name your number.”

“I—what?! That’s not how this works!” You fling your arms in disbelief. “If anything, I should be paying you for letting me stay here!”

Jinu shrugs calmly. “Think of it as… us paying you to stay.”

Your jaw drops. “You’re renting me?”

“No,” Baby deadpans from the side, arms crossed. “More like… pay-to-own. Although—technically—we already own. So maybe it’s just… property tax?”

You gape at him. “Are you hearing yourselves?”

Mystery, perched beside you like a content shadow, takes your hand and kisses the back of it without a word. You stare at him. He stares right back. Shameless.

“You’re insane,” you mutter.

“Only for you,” Abby adds with a grin, ruffling your hair. You groan and sink further into the couch. “I seriously need to rethink every decision that brought me here.”

“You don’t have to work,” Jinu says, voice softer now. “Not if you don’t want to.”

You shoot him a tired glare. “And do what, exactly?”

“Whatever you couldn’t do before,” he says gently. “Sketch. Paint. Read all the books you used to dog-ear. Let the world slow down. Let us take care of the rest.”

You pause. There’s sincerity there, under the obsession. Love tangled with possessiveness. A future they’re building for you whether you asked for it or not.

“I don’t know,” you murmur. “I still feel like I’ve lost something.”

“Maybe,” Romance says, kneeling in front of you with a hand on your knee. “But you’ve gained everything else.”

His smile is too sweet. Too sharp. And in the quiet that follows, you feel all of them closing in—not physically, but emotionally. Wrapping around your life. Like a cage made of velvet and affection. You sigh again.

And no one dares point out that you didn’t stand up to leave.

────────── ⚘ ──────────

An hour later, the door clicks softly behind them.

They’re gone. Just for the day—practice, recording, meetings. You’d seen the schedule laid out neatly on the counter that morning. It felt strange… watching them move from obsessions to idols in a blink. Haneul’s soft kiss on your temple. Mystery brushing your hair with his fingers before pulling away last. Romance not saying anything, just looking at you like he’d already won.

You walk through the apartment barefoot. Too quiet. Too big…

It’s not long before you find it. A studio room. Sunlight filters in through gauzy curtains. Canvases leaned in a perfect row, a new sketchbook waiting, and a full set of paints—brushes already soaking in fresh water.

Your breath catches. They’d set this up.

Romance, maybe. Or Haneul. Or all of them together, orchestrated like everything else. As if giving you a toy better than the one they had just taken away.

Still—your fingers twitch. You walk towards the table and run your hands along the grain, the weight of the sketchpad like something sacred. You sit. When was the last time I did something for myself?

You open the book, pencil hovering. The first line is shaky. But the second is steadier. Soon, shapes form. Flowers. A hand. An eye. Hours pass. Paint clings to your fingertips. Your world shrinks to canvas and color.

And yet… it doesn't feel free. You look around at the soft studio light, the way everything’s been made to please you.

They say it’s freedom. But it feels like a beautifully decorated cage.

A gilded sanctuary. One they carved for you with devotion sharp enough to bleed. You sigh and glance at the piece you made—a half-formed portrait of someone smiling. You don't even remember choosing the smile. It just… happened.

Your lips twitch. Haneul. The way he looked at you when you whispered his name. When you touched his skin and felt him tremble like you were salvation.

Mystery—how he held your hand like it was glass and pressed a kiss to your forehead like he’d never known tenderness until then.

You smile. But it fades. Because then there’s Romance. Romance who always speaks last. Who always speaks right. Who makes you think it’s your idea to stay, to trust, to choose him—when you know, deep down, he’s been choosing for you since the moment you met.

Romance loves like a chess master—every word, every pause, calculated.

You remember his voice that morning—smooth, unapologetic. He made you feel unreasonable for being mad. He makes you feel like you’re choosing him… even when he’s already chosen for you.

You dip your brush in red. You drag the stroke across the page. Maybe it’s not even about what they do anymore. Maybe it’s about what you’re becoming.

Is this real love? Or just the kind that demons can offer?

You stare out the window for a long time. The sun’s dipped lower now, painting the sky in shades of peach. You used to have things—schedules, coworkers, rent. Now you have five boys, a luxury apartment, a sketchbook you didn’t buy… I want to stay, you think. But it’s hard to want something… when it’s already been decided for you. 

You lean your head against the wall, paint drying on your palms. Your chest aches. You want to believe their love is enough. But maybe it’s not about enough. Maybe it’s about control. And what’s left of you if you give it away.

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The sound of the front door clicking shut echoes through the apartment. “We’re back,” Jinu calls. No response.

Baby’s brow furrows. “Where is she?”

“Maybe her room?” Abby—Haneul—starts to move, but Mystery shakes his head. “She’s in the studio,” he says quietly. “She needed quiet.”

The boys file down the hall and stop at the doorway. The studio light glows warm and low. And there you are—curled up on the little couch, a blanket half-draped over you, a half-finished painting of red and twilight left on the easel nearby. A brush rests loosely in your hand.

Romance exhales softly. “Of course she paints when she’s sad.”

Haneul steps forward but stops when Romance moves past him. “I’ve got her.”

Carefully, reverently, Romance scoops you into his arms. The others don’t argue. They only watch—some with envy, some with longing—as he carries you through the apartment like you’re made of glass. But they understood he probably wanted a moment with you alone today.

He lays you down on the bed and slips in beside you, one arm curled beneath your neck, the other splayed across your waist like a vow. You stir slightly at the shift in warmth.

He gazes down at you in adoration, dipping his nose into your hair to breathe in and savour your scent. “I just want what’s best for you,” he whispers into your hair. “Even if you don’t know what that is. Even if it means you’ll hate me.”

Your brow twitches. Your breath shifts. Minutes pass before you squirm in his hold. “Go back to sleep,” he murmurs, brushing your hair off your face.

Your eyes crack open, just enough to catch the shadows of his lashes. “I’m not tired,” you mumble.

A soft, amused noise vibrates in his chest. “Tsk. You shouldn’t lie.”

You nuzzle closer, eyes still fluttering shut, and whisper faintly, “You should take your own advice.”

Romance goes still. Then he smiles, crooked and heartbroken all at once. “You’re clever even when you’re half-asleep,” he mutters, lips against your temple.

You shift again, now more awake, but still safe in his hold. “Romance…”

He exhales like your voice is a drug. And then he says it—quiet and trembling. “I was scared you hated me.”

You meet his gaze. “I don’t.”

His smile is faint. “Even if you did… Hate me, love me… I’m not leaving. Not in this lifetime. Not in any other.”

There’s something dangerous in the softness of his voice. Something that grips your ribs from the inside and refuses to let go. And yet, you ask—quietly, carefully, “But…Why?”

His hand rises, fingers brushing your lower lip, thumb lingering like he’s memorizing the shape of your mouth. “Do you really want to know?” he murmurs.

You nod.

He leans his head back against the pillows, gaze dragging up to the ceiling—but you know he’s not seeing this room. He’s seeing a world long gone. A memory still bleeding.

“I was born the son of a courtesan. A secret whispered behind painted screens. A mistake never meant to speak above a whisper. I learned early that love doesn’t come freely. People love you for what you give them—what you show them. Not for what you are.”

You stay still, heart beginning to pound.

“They taught me to survive. To smile like I meant it. To lie like it was devotion. I could make anyone believe they were the only person in the world to me. I… I never had a name worth keeping. Just looks and lies and the ability to make people want me… for a night. Never longer. And I never believed in love… not really. Until you.”

His jaw tenses.

“I met you when you were everything I wasn’t. You were a noble. Engaged to a man who didn’t even look at you the way I did. And I—God—I wasn’t supposed to touch you. I wasn’t even supposed to breathe the same air.” 

He scoffs lightly, eyes pained. “You were a softness I couldn’t corrupt. But I tried. God, I tried. I lured you in like I was taught to. Sweet words. Secret meetings. Lies that sounded like dreams. But you saw me. Past the charm. Past the mask. You chose me.”

Your throat tightens.

“I fell in love with you. For real. For the first time. I asked you to run away. You refused. Not because you didn’t want me—but because you loved your family more than you loved yourself. You were protecting them.”

His voice lowers. Breaks. “They found out and they said I ruined you. That I spoiled something pure. They had you killed to keep your name clean.”

Silence. Dead, aching silence. You released a shaky breath and a tear trailed down your cheek at the pure ache in his voice. 

“I didn’t last long after that,” he says. “Not with a shattered soul and nothing left to lose. And I—” His voice breaks. “I died knowing it was my fault. That if I’d never touched you, you’d still be alive. I died. But not before whispering your name to the darkness and begging—begging—to see you again. I gave up everything for that one wish. And Gwi Ma listened.”

You press your forehead to his chest, the thud of his heart steady and real beneath your ear. His shirt takes your tear stains. “So that’s how it happened…” you whisper. Your heart ached at his pain. Not just how he lost you, but his life leading up to that. The longing he had for you- someone he thought he could never have. 

“I didn’t think I deserved to have you again,” he breathes into your hair. “But fate disagreed.” He kisses your temple. Then your cheek. Then lower, over your jaw.

“So this time…” he murmurs against your skin, “I won’t let go. You can run. You can yell. You can curse me.” His hand slides up your back, trembling with restraint. “But I’ll still follow. I’ll still want. I’ll still love you until it breaks me.”

You don’t answer. You just look at him—really look at him. At the boy who once had nothing. The man who once begged for your love and paid for it with your life. The demon who clawed through centuries just to see you again. And he’s here. Broken. Beautiful. Yours.

Your lips hover near his—close, trembling, not touching. He waits. He always does. Like he’s terrified you’ll vanish again if he moves too soon.

Then, at last, you lean in. Your mouth finds his like a sob. Like surrender. Like an apology across lifetimes. And he shatters.

His hands fly to your waist, yanking you into his lap like it’s instinct—like every part of him has waited for this moment with a hunger no mortal could endure. He kisses you like it’s the only thing keeping him alive, like he can breathe through your mouth and nothing else. He’s rough, then gentle, then rough again. Kisses that taste like desperation. Like regret. Like devotion sharpened into something feral.

You gasp into him, and he swallows the sound greedily.

But then—you break.

A sob catches in your throat. Your eyes flood. You pull back, barely, lips brushing his, and whisper through the ache, “You must’ve been in so much pain…”

He stiffens. Then stills. You’re crying. For him. His gaze darkens with something ancient and raw. And then—he moves. He leans in, eyes locked on yours, and licks the tear as it slips down your cheek. Slow. Reverent. Like your sadness is sacred.

Then he kisses it. And the next one. And the next.

“I was in agony,” he murmurs between soft, trembling kisses. “When they took you. When you wouldn’t run. When I couldn’t save you. I burned every night with your name in my mouth. But this—” his voice breaks as he kisses your jaw, your cheek, your eyelids— “this is worse. Watching you cry for me. Knowing I did this to you again.”

You try to speak, but he cuts you off with a kiss. Tender. Then deeper. Deeper still. His hands slide beneath your shirt, not to take—just to feel. Just to touch the skin he lost so long ago. His fingers tremble as they trace the curve of your spine.

“You were too good for me then,” he says into your neck. “And you’re too good for me now.”

“Stop it,” you whisper, hands fisting into his shirt. “Don’t say that.” 

There’s a silence that washes over the room, a silent understanding, like he’s savoring your presence in his arms like this, in a way he never got to have you before. In a way that he thought only existed in dreams. 

You lean your forehead against his, and with a whisper you ask: “…What’s your real name?”

He stills. Then leans close—his lips brushing yours with infinite gentleness. “Seoha.”

You whisper it back, trembling: “Seoha…”

He exhales, like you’ve just undone him completely. “Say it again.”

You do. He lets out a sound between a sigh and a moan. He presses his forehead to yours like a prayer. “You don’t know what that does to me.”

You kiss him again. Longer this time. Deeper. And he kisses you back with every century in his bones. With every nightmare. With every echo of your name whispered in the dark, across lifetimes he thought he’d never escape.

“I’ll never lose you again,” he breathes. “Even if you hate me. Even if you run. I’ll burn the world before I let anyone take you.”

You curl against him, his skin hot against yours, his arms locking around you like chains spun from longing. Your tears finally stop. And just before you fall asleep in his arms, you whisper one last time into the quiet of his chest—

“Seoha…”

His grip tightens. And in the dark, he breathes against your temple:

“This time… I’ll keep you forever.”

TO BE CONTINUED

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A/N: Wahh I hope you guys enjoyed this one! I wanted to focus on Romance's actions and understanding his character and why he is the way he is. Given his backstory, it explains why he's more controlling and manipulative- because you didn't listen to him once before and it cost you your life. Which explains his need to control you and your decisions. I also chose the name Seoha to fit his character - it means “dawn river” — and it evokes something calm, seductive, poetic… but also inevitable. Like a current pulling you in, and feels like someone born of the night world who dreams of the sun: aka you!

Let me know if you liked this chapter! Every comment, reblog, like, I see it all and really appreciate it! <3 And as always, thank you for reading!

Willa x

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[dumpywrites]

Forget-me-not - Min Yoongi / Suga

Prompt: “Treat me like yours again for a week before you let me go.”

Prompt request: HERE

Genre/tags: Angst (happy ending), drama, idol Yoongi, engaged au, lots of hurtful pinning

Pairing: Yoongi x she/her reader

Word count: 7.6k

a/n: I've been really down the past couple of days and it turns out it inspire me to finish this story (I've been keeping it on my drafts for months T_T) Also, did you catch that ot7 live??? cus I'm still crying 😭😭😭

“You’re calling it off? Just like that?!”

The taste of the apple that you just bit was suddenly bitter in your mouth. It was a quiet Monday night when you were enjoying your alone time, eating fruits and reading e-books through your tablet. You knew your fiancé was going to come home around this hour. You just did not expect the news he brought along with him. 

It had been a little under a year since both of you decided to live together. You moved soon right after he proposed to you, but his schedule being so full, he was barely even home. 

It was just a blessing and a curse at the same time, him being an idol. While the group activities had slowed down recently, with the other members focusing on solo projects outside of BTS, Yoongi had only gotten busier. Just a few months after your engagement he got to finally establish his own record label. Of course you couldn’t be more happier for him, but higher position also came with higher responsibilities. 

The investor meetings, press conferences, artist assessments, and your man being Suga from BTS himself, still had some idol duties on the sides. 

But you were used to it. You were used to him being booked and busy. You had loved him for the longest time to understand that as much as you hated being far apart from him, you equally loved seeing him in his element, making music, putting smiles on millions of people’s faces. Because Yoongi’s happiness was yours too after all. 

So it was a shocking, humiliating even, for him to just come and said the vile statement he just said to you. He just got back from two weeks of his abroad job, and he chose to bring this news to you as a present. 

“I just think with how things are, I don’t have time for you. This is clearly hurting both of us so it’s better this way.” He said, expression blank and it was hard to read. 

“Yoongi, I’ve dated you for three years before getting engaged to you. I know your schedules and I’m used to it.”

“It’ll be different when we are married.” 

“It won’t.” You argued. 

“It will.” He sighed. “It will only get worse when we get married.”

“You do realize you get breaks and day offs, right? I can wait.” 

“I own a company now.”

You looked at him to see his expression. It was still blank as he stood in front of you. Sometimes you hated how stoic he could be, especially when he wanted to. It was breaking you, but you chose to remain collected. 

“If that’s your priority, then I get it.” 

You stood up from your seat with a big sigh. You saw his pupil moved in a frantic way for a second, before going back to normal. 

“I’ll move, you can have the—“

“One week.” You said, looking at him straight in the eye. 

He looked at you, stopping his sentence. 

“Treat me like yours again for a week before you let me go.” You folded your arms. “After that you can leave and we’ll be on our separate ways.”

Yoongi’s mouth opened, before it quickly closed to a stretched straight line. He looked like he was about to say something but he chose not to. He nodded his head at you, sighing. 

“Okay.” Was all he said to you. 

You took one last look at him before walking away, heading to the bedroom. You wondered if you could catch any sleep that night. 

When moonlight came Yoongi chose to sleep next to you, after all, that was what you had asked him to do. To treat you like his again, even just for the week. You had some hours alone with your mind, you had some thoughts of how you would act when he slip into the covers with you, but when it happened you really didn’t know what to say. For some time he only laid there, unmoved, and you started to wonder if he just fell asleep like that. 

You knew you had told him to do so, but it still didn’t hide the pain you were feeling when he slowly moved closer and hugged you from behind. He knew you were not asleep, of course he did. He always did. He didn’t say anything, just resting his forehead on your head, one hand over your waist to hold you close. You could feel his heartbeat and without knowing, the tears just started flowing on its own. You bit your lips, in hope that he wouldn’t notice, but then his thumb started to draw circles on your forearm. Maybe he noticed, maybe he did not. He chose to not comment about it though, which you were glad. That was why you chose not to say anything either when you felt your shoulder damp, some water droplets fell on your hair and onto your skin. 

DAY 1

The next morning you were awaken by noises coming from the kitchen. You thought he would be up in his studio at this hour, him being a light sleeper and all, but it seemed like he was cooking something at eight in the morning, judging by the delicious smell. You quickly brushed your teeth and head out to check on him. 

“Are you cooking?” You asked, slowly approaching him in the kitchen. 

“Yeah.” He said as he stir the rice on the wok.

You looked at him, giving him a funny look. 

“What?” He raised one of his eyebrows before turning up the stove’s heat, adding some minced meat on what seemed to be fried rice. 

“Nothing, it’s just that you don’t usually cook so early in the morning.” You said, retreating back and took a seat on the dining chair. You sighed, figuring it was just his acts for the week. 

“I haven’t cooked for you in a while.” He said, still string the food. “I also thought you would be up a little later.“

“I smelt the food, plus it was odd to find you in the kitchen at this hour instead of in your studio.” 

“You could, you know… sleep some more. If you want to.” He said with his back facing you as he cooked. 

“I’d rather watch you cook.” You smiled, even though he couldn’t see. 

Soon he came to the dining table with two plates in his hands, one that he placed in front of you, and one for himself. The smell of the food filled the room and you started to salivate. It was just a simple dish but knowing who cooked for you made it different. Yoongi went back to grab two glasses of water for both of you, before finally sitting down across of you. 

You were a tad bit anxious seeing the piercing look on his eyes, waiting for you to take a bite. And when you did, he immediately wanted a feedback. 

“So?”

“I like it. Has the right amount of spiciness.” You said with food still in your mouth. “You should cook this more often.” 

Your expression dropped when you realized that your request was soon about to be impossible, given the situation. Quickly, you looked down, choosing to focus on eating instead. 

“Glad you like it.”

You ate in silence after that, the kind of quiet that wasn’t as sharp as before. There was still pain between you, but it had been placed in the corner for now, like a box no one wanted to open just yet.

When he stood to rinse his plate, you said without looking up, “Do you remember the first time we made breakfast together?”

He paused at the sink. “You tried to make pancakes but used salt instead of sugar.”

“And you still ate them like an idiot.”

“I was trying to impress you.”

“By eating salted cement?” You asked with an amused smile. 

He grinned too. For a moment, the version of Yoongi you missed most stood there in front of you. Not the artist with the world on his shoulders. Just a man who once came to your apartment with multiple packets of different sizes of pads because he got too shy to ask which would be the appropriate one.

You watched him dry his hands, eyes focused on the towel. Something in his jaw tightened.

“Right.” You bit your inner cheek, trying to compose yourself. “How’s Namjoon by the way? I miss his little kid.” You started another topic, to drift away. 

“His son is doing fine and so is he.” He said and started eating as well. “I think his wife is expecting another…” 

“Really?! Wow, look at him… And to think he told us he didn’t want any children before…” You chuckled. “That guy is whipped. I’m happy for him.”

Yoongi looked at you and smiled. “Yeah.”

You and Yoongi had never mentioned anything about wanting kids in your life. The topic just somehow never came up. You used to want children in your family, but lately with how things with your work and Yoongi’s schedules, you figured it would be too much. Plus, you always had fear of change, and the idea of pregnancy scared you just a bit. But you had never heard anything from Yoongi if he wanted any or not. It would be too late to ask anyway. 

“Have you ever thought of having kids?”

You almost choked on clear water. “I’m sorry?”

“We never really talked about it before…” He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. 

“Do you?” You shot the question back at him.

“I never really thought about it but, I’ve always thought that I want whatever you want.”

Clearly not. You thought to yourself. “I… I used to want it. But seeing how busy both of us can be sometimes, I don’t think it’s possible. There’s enough people in this world anyway, we don’t need any mini me around.” You giggled. 

“A mini you sounds adorable.” His smile quickly faded when he seemed to realize his words. 

“I don’t think so. Kinda not possible with how we are now after all…” You gave a sad smile. 

“I—”

“No, let’s not talk about it.” You heaved a sigh and gave him another smile, even though you started to feel your eyes getting teary. 

The rest of the day was spent with the two of you just watching your old favorite movies together. You didn’t cuddle, but both of you rested your heads on each other and it was enough comfort for you. 

DAY 2

This time when you woke up, Yoongi was still asleep. Movie marathoning was fun until it was four in the morning and both of you overslept on the couch. You found Yoongi sleeping, head resting on your lap, and the urge to run your finger through his hair was high, but you didn’t want to risk waking him up in the process. He looked so calm, and you missed just seeing him like this. He always looked like a cat, especially when he was asleep. He would even sometimes let out noises that sounded like a purr. 

You let yourself sleep more, maybe another ten minutes. 

The sound of the phone ringing could be heard from the table, Yoongi’s ringing and vibrating on it. He took the call and sounded like he was never asleep. Sometimes you wonder how he could behave so inhumane like that. 

He looked up when he noticed you staring. “What is it?”

You hesitated. “Let’s go out after your call.”

“Out? Don’t you have meeting today?”

“I’ve taken the week off.” You simply said.

Yoongi hesitated for a moment, before speaking. “Where to?”

“The bookstore cafe. The one near the station. Remember? That place… we haven’t been there in a while.” You fidgeted with your fingers. “We used to go all the time.”

He didn’t answer right away, and you wondered if he’d say no. Maybe the week you asked for was already too heavy for him. But he just nodded. 

“Yeah. Okay. After the call.”

The cafe was exactly the same. It smelled like spiced tea and old pages, the lighting was still dim in that warm, cozy way, and the bookstore shelves remained haphazard and charmingly messy. There was a new girl behind the counter, but the man who used to run the place, Mr. Han, was still stood in his usual spot by the register, glasses perched halfway down his nose.

“Well, well! Look who crawled back from the dead…” Mr. Han said with a teasing smile.

You laughed. “Don’t say that, you’ll scare the tourists.”

Yoongi offered a polite smile, stuffing his hands in his coat pockets. “Sorry we disappeared.”

“You two were the royalty of table six.” Mr. Han said, nodding toward the back. “You left a hole when you stopped coming.”

That made Yoongi pause. You tugged him by the sleeve toward your old booth before he could slip into guilt.

The booth was still tucked into the corner, the cushions worn and soft from years of use. It had seen a lot. Your first real conversation after weeks of quiet flirting, being in all masks and hoodies, your first fight over miscommunication and missed texts, Yoongi’s confession on an evening when he looked terrified and brave all at once, to when you could finally date in normal attire after deciding to publicize your relationship. 

You slid into the seat and glanced across at him. “Do you remember that night you asked me if I’d be your emergency contact?”

He snorted. “I remember the shock in your face.”

“You asked me if I want to be the first one to get called if you die… with the straightest face.” You argued. 

“You still said yes.”

You shrugged, smiling as you looked to the ceiling. “I was so in love with you.”

He flinched. It wasn’t visible, not really. But you knew Yoongi too well. You knew how his eyes darted slightly when something hit too close, how his fingers tightened a fraction against the cup of coffee he had in his grasp. You didn’t push. 

You looked out the window and said, “We had some good memories here.”

“Yeah.” Was all he replied back. 

You spent two hours there, talking mostly about books you never had time to read and music he’d been working on. You showed him a ridiculous meme on your phone, and he actually laughed. He laughed like he used to. The wall between you cracked just slightly.

When it was time to go, you thanked Mr. Han and waved goodbye. Outside, the wind bit at your cheeks, and you tucked your hands into your coat pockets. Yoongi hesitated beside you.

“You looked really happy in there.” He said, his voice soft.

“Because I was.”

He glanced over. “It’s been a while since I saw you like that.”

You met his eyes. “That’s what happens when you disappear into work.”

He didn’t defend himself and just nodded quietly. But he didn’t walk away either. He walked with you to the car, his shoulder brushing yours the entire way.

At night before you head to bed, he pulled you gently and placed the lightest kiss on your temple. It could be just you but you saw a glimmer of hope in him. Or it could be the agreement playing the part. 

DAY 3

You were awoken by Yoongi’s eyes staring at you. He greeted you with a warm smile, uttering a good morning to you. You smiled back, scooting closer in his embrace, salivating the moment. 

This was how a normal morning goes for you, at least when he was home. Sure you would always miss him when he went away for his concerts, tour, or any other job that required him to be not home, but every time he came back, the feelings would always just reset. It was so easy, so effortless, to forget when you see his face and feeling him close to you again. He made it easy. 

“Any plans today?” He asked, resting his chin on top of your head, embracing you still. 

“This,” You smiled with your eyes closed. “This is the plan.” 

“As much as I’d love that, we gotta eat something.” He chuckled. 

“Nope.” You giggled. 

You ended up snuggling and sleeping in for the next two hours and a half, until you heard your own stomach rumbled. 

The day was supposed to be a slow day with little to no work to do. Yoongi had some songs that needed quick revision, but nothing he couldn’t do at the comfort of his home studio. 

You decided to bring him some coffee to his studio. There he was leaning back on his chair with his headphones on, bopping his head a few times to the beat that was unheard. 

“Yoongi?” You called upon entering the room. He didn’t seem to notice you until you placed the cup of coffee on his table. 

“Oh, thanks.” He said after removing his left earpiece and took a sip of the beverage. “Just a few tuning and I’ll be done.” 

“Take your time.” You said, taking a chair next to him. “I hope I’m not interrupting?”

“Never.” He said without meeting your gaze as his eyes went back to the monitor screen. 

You gulped, suddenly feeling a bit tensed and leaned against the seat.

“Do you wanna listen?” 

“Oh?” You were taken aback. “It’s done already?”

“It’s just the instrumental. Jungkook will sing the song.” He said after clicking some buttons. 

“What’s the title?” You rested your hand on top of the table. 

“Haven’t really decided on it but…” He stopped and removed his earphones entirely. “Here, let me show you the lyrics.” He handed you his notebook. 

You skimmed through the lyrics and wondered to yourself. Since when did Yoongi learn to write corny and cheesy love song? And the more you read through it, the description, the tiny mentioned details, it sounded like he was so smitten that he had to pour his entire feelings out on this song. Mind you this was the same guy who wrote and performed Daechwita. 

“You’re telling me you wrote this?!” You said while still re-reading the lyrics. 

“What’s with the judgmental look?” He looked at you in disbelief. 

“It’s just— Yah, have you ever even fell in love like this?! This doesn’t sound like you.” You frowned.

“I wrote this years ago.” He smiled, taking another sip of the coffee you made him. “This was way before we were even a thing.” 

Your expression turned sour. “So it’s about an ex?”

“Silly, it’s about you.” 

Your eyes widened in surprise. “It’s about me?!”

He puffed a breath and smiled, showing his gummy grin. “It clearly said, you looked through me beyond the glamour.” He pointed at the notebook that was still in your hands. “You were quite literally our makeup artist’s assistant for two years.”

It was true. You used to work under Big Hit for a while until you decided to resign. You and your friends took a huge risk and decided to start your own private brand, and so you needed to step back from the company. 

The job was how you met Yoongi and the rest of the boys. Somehow you would often get assigned to do his makeup. Yoongi was rather quiet the first few gigs, but judging by the cold exterior you thought he’d be rude, but he ended up being the sweetest man you had ever known. Second to Jimin of course because that man’s an angel. 

It was that one time you accidentally dropped a bottle of foundation on the floor. You just started the job, barely four weeks into it, and you already did something so fatal. You arrived early and there wasn’t anyone in the room, but the sound of the breaking glass was loud enough. The door soon opened and you were expecting it to be the head makeup artist, but much to your surprise, it was Yoongi who peeked through the door, asking about your well being. 

You were lost for words as your vision only went back and forth from your hands to the shattered glasses and the complexion colored mess on the floor. Seeing your shocked state, Yoongi calmly called the cleaners and told you to take a seat. There were multiple apologies and thank yous came out from your mouth before he just took out his phone from his pocket. He tapped on the screen and browsed through his apps before handing the phone to you, shocking you even more. 

“Here, just order the same one, the instant delivery is quite fast.” 

You were begging to pay him back, but Yoongi was a man of his words, so he kept resisting. One day you just showed up at the set and got him iced americano to show your gratitude, even though you knew the price tag wasn’t equal. And the rest was history. 

“Didn’t know you were into me like that.” Even though you were rolling your eyes, your cheeks couldn’t hide the pinkish glow. 

“I thought I told you that I basically had a huge crush on you when we first met.” He snickered. 

“You did, I just didn’t expect the romantic song…” You tried to avoid his gaze. 

“Come on, you genuinely think I would just buy you a bottle of overpriced makeup if I don’t have any ulterior motive?! Money was tight at that time, you know!” He laughed. 

You couldn’t help but to laugh as well. “To think that I fell for the sweet guy who helped me. Turns out he had malicious intent.”

“In my defense I would still help you nonetheless. I’d probably cover for you and makeup some bullshit. But the whole buying a new bottle was a smart way to get our connection going.” He proudly smirked. 

“We were so dumb back then, huh?” 

“I guess so.” He shook his head and smiled. 

“But I don’t regret a thing.” 

You said without thinking. You watched as the sparkle on Yoongi’s eyes went off and he quickly turned back to his computer screen. 

You spent that night looking at his back facing you, wondering if he ever regretted meeting you. 

DAY 4

You woke up with your bed empty. It wasn’t something that was new to you, in fact, you knew exactly where he was. 

This time when you found him in his studio, a low tune was playing. He turned his chair to your direction instantly upon hearing the door creaking open. 

You peeked with a tea in hand. “Were you up all night?”

“Only been here since five.” 

You carefully took a seat next to him, studying his facial features. He seemed distressed, you could clearly see the creases forming on his forehead. 

“What’s bothering you?” You asked. 

“You said we’d treat each other like before, right?”

Your eyes widened, but you remained calm. “Yeah?”

“Then let’s play music and just sit with me.”

At first you didn’t think too much about the song choices he made. Sure you had listened to them but so what, you were aware that both of you had similar taste in music. But by the time the third song played, your heart clenched. It was your playlist. The one he’d made for your third anniversary. 

When “free love” by HONNE started playing, you knew it was over for you. You could recall exactly when the song started playing, and Yoongi had a bouquet of peonies in his hands, walking sheepishly to you in your old apartment. He had never gotten you any flowers before. You just couldn’t see the appeal in buying impractical things when there were many more ways to show love. Everyone who had ever dated you were made aware of that. But one day you randomly mentioned that you sometimes wondered how would it feel to receive flowers romantically. Hence, why he did it. 

You remembered how it was awkward at first, both of you bursted into laughter for a good minute, before you took the flowers from his hands, and took his lips in yours. 

You turned to look at him, surprised. “Is this our…”

His eyes stayed on the screen. “Yeah.”

“I didn’t know you still had it.”

“I never deleted it.” He leaned back on his seat. “It’s a nice playlist to come back to when I’m stressed.”

You didn’t know what to say to that so you didn’t say anything. Instead, you stood up and moved to the center of the studio room. Yoongi watched you with confusion in his eyes. 

Then you held your hand out. “Dance with me.”

“Are you serious?!” 

“Very.”

He raised an eyebrow. A small smirk appeared on his lips. “You know you suck at dancing.”

“You see women who dance well all the time, I’m seasoned differently.” You giggled. 

That made him laugh. A real one. The kind that showed his gums a little, made his eyes crease at the corners. You hadn’t seen that laugh in months. 

He did take your hand.

You danced barefoot in the studio, swaying slowly across the carpet as if time hadn’t moved at all. Your fingers curled in his shirt. His hand rested on your lower back, warm and familiar. It wasn’t romantic, not fully. But it was close. Too close.

I can't get you all that stuff

But I can give you all my love

Free love

Are the simple things enough?

I got to give you all my love

Free love

When the song ended, neither of you let go right away. And when you looked up at him, he was already looking down at you.

“Do you ever miss us?” You asked without giving further thought.

His breath caught. For a moment, he looked like he wanted to say something. Like the words were right there, sitting behind his teeth, waiting to be let go.

“Let’s not talk about missing things today.” 

You nodded slowly, expression turning cold. “Okay.”

You stepped back, but your fingers lingered on his. He let them go last.

Soon he went back to his chair, eyes glued back to the multiple screens in front of him. You sat there in silence, not wanting to bother him but reluctant to leave. Your tea halfway empty, now cold, sitting on the desk. 

There was an opened notebook on the far left corner of his table. With some torn pages stuck in the middle, some looked crumpled and had torn edges. Some crossed-out lines, lyrics with arrows leading to new ones, some even scratched out entirely.

Your eyes fell on a section dated not many weeks ago. 

Daydreams don’t have deadlines. But love does, doesn’t it? How long can she wait before she stops?

Your whole body froze after you read the words. 

“I wasn’t going to use those lyrics.” He suddenly said, noticing where your attention was. 

“Is this about… us?” You asked with a cracked voice. 

Yoongi heaved a big sigh. “I didn’t know how to let you see me break.” 

“You thought I can’t handle it?” You asked, feeling offended. 

“I couldn’t handle you seeing it.” 

“That’s selfish.”

“I know.” 

A beat passed.

“Did you write that song for me? Or for you?”

“Both.” He simply said. 

Out of the blue, your phone buzzed in your pocket. You got a text from Namjoon’s wife, Jieun, asking if you were free for the day.

Retreating from your seat, you told Yoongi about it and left him be in his studio. After giving her a call you found out that she wanted you to join her picking some baby clothes with her. Said because this time she was having a girl, maybe she needed help from you, with your background in stylist and all. Most importantly, she just wanted to catch up with you. 

“Do you think we got too much pink items for her?” Jieun said as she picked another pink baby dress. 

“There’s no such thing as too much pink.” You said, humoring the lady.

“It’s a bit stereotype-y though…” The mother frowned. 

“We could get some purple stuff too, her daddy is a Bangtan member after all…” You giggled. 

“With that logic, if you and Yoongi ever decide to have one, you should buy purple clothes for them as well.” She laughed. 

Your expression dropped gradually as you heard her words. You laughed away in hope she wouldn’t notice, but it seemed that it was already too late. 

“I’m sorry, was that a sensitive topic?” She asked with a worried look. 

“No, don’t worry.” You smiled, assuring her. 

“Your expression dropped when I mentioned that.” She walked closer to you. “Is everything alright? You could always tell me.”

You shook your head, sighing. “Things aren’t doing well between me and Yoongi…” You said as you took a seat on a random bench at the mall. 

Jieun gasped, immediately taking the seat next to you. “What happened?” 

“He wants to call off our engagement. It was just so… sudden??? He literally just came back from being away for weeks, and he came back just to tell me that?” The tone of your voice hitched. “Even told me that he’s gonna move out from our house… I… I don’t understand…” You looked down, tears started to form in your eyes. 

Jieun rubbed your shoulder, feeling herself getting teary as well. She hugged you. “Have you guys talk through it?”

“We have, and his only reason was because he thinks he’s too busy and it’s just gonna hurt both of us in the long run.” You sighed. “I told him that I’m already used to him being busy. I think I’ve told you before that even though I miss him, it’s always worth it the second I get to see his face again.” You bit your lips, trying to muffle a cry. “All he said was that he got a company now, which I can’t argue. So, I ended up agreeing…”

“Goodness… So that’s it? He’s just gonna leave???”

“I told him I want him to treat me normally and toss our problems aside for a week before leaving me.” You shrugged, mustering a grin even though you had tears rolling down your cheeks. “It’s what I came up impulsively…”

“I can’t believe Yoongi just decided it like that. I thought he was a rational person… You guys have been together for years, for heavens sake!” She said with anger. “When is he leaving?”

“I don’t know exactly, we haven’t really talked about it but our agreement’s supposed to end in three days…” 

“You should definitely try to talk to him about this again. It doesn’t sound like him to just decide things recklessly like that.” 

“I don’t know… he seems pretty content with his choice and I don’t think I can change his mind.” 

“You have to at least try, but if he still won’t budge, screw him. He doesn’t deserve you then.” She then gave you a hug again, caressing your back.

You let a few more tears flee as you hugged her back. 

On your way home you got a call from Yoongi, telling you there was an urgent meeting he had to attend. 

You spent the night alone again. 

DAY 5

By the time you woke up Yoongi was already up eating a toast with a coffee on his hand. You didn’t know when he got back or if he even slept in the night before, but you weren’t opposed to see him nonetheless. 

He fixed you a tea, added the right amount of honey, and asked if you wanted the same toast like he had. 

He seemed… calm. 

“What do you have on your schedule today?” You asked.

He glanced at his phone, then shrugged. “Nothing urgent. I’ve moved some things.”

That surprised you. He never moved things. Not for anyone. Not unless it was extremely crucial. 

You stared. “Why?”

“You asked me for the week.” Yoongi looked up, brow furrowed. “What do you want to do today?”

You swallowed a big lump. “I want to spend today with you.” 

You ended up in the park. It was the one near your old apartment before you moved into the bigger penthouse. Before tour dates. Before investors and board meetings and five day vanishing acts. Just the park with the willow tree you liked to sit under. The one where you had your first big fight but shared a kiss right after.

You brought boba tea. He brought a notebook. You sat beneath the willow and slurped the drink in silence, watching as Yoongi occasionally scribbled something down in that same black notebook from the studio.

“I thought you said you’ve moved things, but you’re writing lyrics?” You asked as you leaned closer to sneak a peek. 

“It’s nothing, I’m just scared that I’ll forget this…” He said, turning another page. “And I don’t want to.”

The wind rustled the tree above you, and you watched the way sunlight flickered between the leaves, golden and soft. Your heartbeat raced. 

“Well, I wouldn’t.” You said with a smile. The wind blew to your hair and you closed your eyes, feeling the breeze. 

“How do you know?”

“I don’t forget things that mattered.” 

And once again, Yoongi quietly nodded without a word. But he did put down the pen and stopped writing. 

You followed your heart and rested your head against his side, hugging his arm as you did. He still turned tense every single time you did something touchy in public. You knew it came with the job. He probably had it embedded in his mind that he had to do the least physical contact with the opposite gender, knowing eyes and cameras were everywhere. Even after you went public, it took him months to get comfortable going out without the coverups. 

You figured the habit would had stopped by now, but apparently not. 

“I’m sorry.” He suddenly voiced out. 

“If you’re sorry then don’t give up on us.” 

“I don’t want to continue hurting you.” 

“Yet you’re doing it right now.” 

He didn’t answer.

But you didn’t move away when his fingers slipped in between yours.

That night, you lay in bed beside him. You didn’t talk. You just curled toward each other, the space between you finally gone. And when Yoongi reached for you in the dark, tentative, slow, afraid. You let him. You let him hold you the way he used to.

Because tonight, for the first time in a long time, you felt like he truly meant it. 

DAY 6

You woke up to the sound of rain.

It wasn’t the light, soothing kind. It was heavy pounding against the windows, tapping hard against the glass like the sky had something urgent to say. You rolled over instinctively and found Yoongi still asleep beside you, his arm wrapped loosely around your waist. He was still holding you. He looked peaceful. 

For a long time, you didn’t move. You just watched him breathe, watched the way his lashes flickered slightly like he was dreaming. His features, usually so sharp with exhaustion, looked softer in the morning light. Younger. Like the version of him from the early days, before the CEO titles, before the international press, before he started measuring time in missed calls and delays.

He stirred, opened his mouth without opening his eyes. “You’re awake.”

“You’re sleeping in.” You commented. 

“It’s raining.” 

You stayed in bed most of the morning. No alarms. No calls. No meetings. It was the first time in… God, months that there wasn’t something else tearing him away. And maybe it was the weather, or maybe it was the way his hand found yours under the blankets, but something about it felt different. Softer. Realer.

Eventually, you wandered into the kitchen together, sleep heavy and still in your pajamas.

Yoongi made pancakes. He burned the first batch and cursed under his breath, and you laughed so hard you had to sit down. He pretended to pout, but there was color in his cheeks that hadn’t been there in weeks.

Yoongi turned off the stove and came to sit across from you at the small dining table. He carefully placed the two plates on the table, with as he bit his inner cheeks, admiring his artwork. You ate in comfortable silence. 

You were washing the dishes when he suddenly asked from where he was seating. 

“Do you still believe in us?”

You didn’t answer right away. You were done with the dishes but you still had your back facing him, as you busied yourself wiping the plates just to avoid looking at his face. 

Part of you did. Part of you still saw the man who made you laugh with flour on his nose, who kissed your forehead when you couldn’t sleep, who wrote a love song in a spiral notebook just to keep from forgetting.

But there was another part. Smaller, quieter, but louder in recent months, that had grown weak and tired. Tired of holding everything up alone. Tired of waiting for your fiancé to look up and see you again.

So you told him the truth.

“I want to.” You sighed. “But I don’t want to keep holding onto something that you can easily decide to let go.” 

“Don’t say easy.” He quickly defended. “It was never an easy decision.” 

You finally turned and met his eyes. They looked slightly red and both of his hands were balled into fists. 

“I was tired.” He said softly. “I can bear the work but I can’t stand listening to you on the phone being all happy but then catching you cry yourself to sleep.” He looked down, feeling ashamed. “And I know you keep saying that you don’t mind, but I do… I mind it. I don’t want you suffering like that.”

“Honest to God, I don’t care how many times I have to cry.” You snapped. “I cry because I’m a human being with emotions. But it pays off. It always pays off seeing you come home to me. Because I love you, damnit. I fucking love you and I hate you for giving up.” Your voice shook, a single tear fell down from your right eye. 

Yoongi’s face crumpled like he had been slapped.

“I can’t give you a normal life…” His voice sounded so helpless and it broke you. “And I can’t just leave the responsibilities of the dream I’ve built in years.”

“I understand.”

Of course you did. You could never make him choose. You wouldn’t even dare. That wasn’t even logical. 

“I have my closure.” You said as you harshly wiped your tears. Forcing a smile, you took a deep breath. “We still have today and I don’t wanna waste it.”

The rain continued into the afternoon, thick and steady. You stayed indoors, the two of you moving through the house like a memory you both wanted to relive. Watching old dramas with your legs tangled on the couch. Sharing a blanket and a single bowl of popcorn. Pausing the show to argue about plot twists like you used to. You played the old board game that had been sitting on the rack for so long that it sprayed comically thick dust when you grabbed it. 

He kept reaching for you. Little things. A hand on your knee. His pinky curled around yours. Resting his chin on your shoulder when you went to get more snacks. 

And you let him. Because unlike what you said to him, you too were afraid of forgetting this. 

You ordered pizza and had Korean bbq for dinner. It seemed improper, impersonal. But both of you loved just sitting down and indulge in random what ifs, while sticking some beef and alcohol down your throats. 

You missed seeing his gummy smile. You missed him being a smartass and hearing his random philosophical thought about the whole society. You missed… him. 

If you knew it was going to be like this, maybe you shouldn’t had asked for the week. It would had been gentler for your heart. 

And when he climbed in beside you that night, he finally reached in and kissed you. You kissed him back. His fingers moved slowly across your body, like he was afraid you’d break just by a mere touch. His lips moved from your mouth, your cheek, down to your neck. By the time he reached your chest, your tears had fallen freely. 

It didn’t take him long to substitute the small hiccups to loud moanings of his name. 

DAY 7

The sound of items being stuffed and moved woke you up. Zipper dragged loudly, your mind immediately picked up on the situation. 

He was packing. 

It was the final day. Of course you didn’t expect him to stay much longer but it still felt so surreal seeing him packing his clothes and knowing the real intention behind it. 

You got up with your body still bare nude, you pulled the bedcover slightly over your chest. Your eyes met for a second, but he still kept going. You wanted to ask. Hell, you wanted to scream, cry, beg him to stay, but nothing came out from your mouth. 

“I ordered lunch.” He said, still busy with the packing. 

You didn’t realize that it was already noon. You quietly nodded and went to quickly shower yourself. You convinced yourself that you had accepted it all during the shower thinking session. 

You were about to get up and wash the dishes when he suddenly asked you. 

“Dance with me?”

You looked at him like he had gone insane. “There’s no beat.”

“I don’t care.” 

So you stood and you danced. No rhythm. No real steps. Just swaying and vulnerable, his forehead pressed to yours. And even now, no tears. Maybe it had all been dried up at this point. Maybe you really had finally came to terms with everything. 

“Do you remember when we danced like this in my old apartment?”

“In your old kitchen. I tripped on the rug and took you down with me.”

He chuckled lightly. “You kissed me afterwards.” 

“You looked beautiful in that moment. Like someone real.” You confessed. 

“I think I forgot how to be real for a while.”

You looked up and were surprised to meet his glassy eyes. 

And here when you thought you had accepted everything, he cupped your cheeks and your walls broke down again. 

“Give me a chance.”

“Wha— Yoongi, I thought you were leaving today.”

You panicked, cupping back his face so now both of you just grabbing each other faces like a couple of idiots. 

“Give me a chance,” He repeated. “But not out of obligation. Not because of what we had. Because I know we still can be.” 

Your heart thumped painfully. 

“I’ll find someone to train and take over my day to day. It’ll be a long process but if you’re willing to wait, I will have time for you…” A single tear quickly fell down and a desperate smile appeared on his lips. “I can’t promise you anything really, I hate myself for that. And I hate myself even more because I know you deserve better. Even though I know you deserve someone who would never make you feel neglected… I still can't think I can live without you.”

His voice finally broke as he sobbed. It was the very first time in years and years of knowing him. Sure you had seen him cry once or twice, whether from a good movie, to actual sadness. But never like this. 

Funnily enough, still, both of you were holding each other faces. You started breaking into tears too, finally after being in state of shock. 

“You don’t get to say all these things now and expect me to forget what it felt like when you asked to give up on us last week as if I meant nothing to you.” 

“I don’t expect that,” He said. “I just want a chance to earn your trust again, and a chance to be strong for myself.” 

“If I say yes,” You shuddered. “I don’t want it to be a restart. I want a repair. You have to rebuild from the cracks, not erase them.”

“I know.” He nodded, sniffing. 

“I need time.”

“You have the rest of my life.”

Your breath hitched. “I need you to stop thinking I’m weak because I can take it.” Finally, a smile appeared on your lips despite the tears raining down. “Because I can’t imagine living without you too.”

Yoongi exhaled, shoulders sagging with relief. But he didn’t reach for you right away. His hands were shaking, you felt it against your skin. He finally dropped his hands from your face. He waited.

You didn’t though. Instead leaned forward and pulled him in. You wrapped your arms around him, burying your face in his neck. He held you back like someone who knew exactly what he had almost lost. He then kissed you like you were oxygen he desperately needed to survive. 

There was so much to learn, so much to fix. But you were sure you could face anything as long as you got him by your side.

Thank you for reading! 💍

[pineconepie]

CHARACTERS: Vincent, fem!reader

WARNINGS/TAGS: Parental yandere, light infantilization, fem+afab reader, periods, period comfort, embarrassment from periods, non-sexual nudity, reader implied to be younger, cuddles, Vincent doting on Reader

WORD COUNT: 1.7k

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is the other part of a commission that was done with Octavian!

You're sure you've never felt as miserable as you do now; your cramps feel like they're going to kill you, you've been nauseous all morning and you just want to stay curled up in bed all day, hiding under your covers.

Unfortunately for you, however, today Vincent is off work. Normally you'd love that, because then you could spend more time together. But right now, it feels like a curse; because how else are you supposed to hide this from him?

You're not ready to deal with it, nor do you want to.

To seem as least suspicious as possible, you try not to clutch your stomach as you descend the stairs towards where he sits, drinking his morning coffee.

Vincent looks up at you with a warm smile. "Good morning, sweetie."

Despite everything going on inside of your body and mind, you force yourself to return his greeting. "Hi."

You walk past him and quickly gather some cereal for yourself. You can tell Vincent notices, because he watches you with curiosity. "What's wrong? No 'good morning, Dad'? Just 'hi'?" He chuckles, but you can tell he's going through a million different possibilities as to what's wrong.

Instead of answering verbally, you shrug, pour yourself a bowl and grab a spoon. Then you make your way over to where he sits, taking a seat beside him instead of across.

Maybe that way his gaze won't be fixated solely on you.

Unfortunately, your plan fails, because he's still staring at you when you glance over.

"I was gonna ask if you wanted pancakes or waffles," he says finally.

"Nah, its fine, I'm alright with cereal this morning," you reply.

Vincent raises a brow, raising a hand to feel your forehead. "Are you sick? Getting a fever?"

"No, no," you stutter. "Nothing like that. I just, um, didn't sleep well last night..."

"Really?" Vincent asks. "Did you have any nightmares? Anything you want to talk about?"

Great. Now you're cornering yourself and lying even further than before. You're pretty sure part of him can tell you're lying, because he's so used to working with other liars. He reads people better than most could, which is probably part of his profession.

Knowing that just makes you more anxious.

For all you know, he probably sees through your facade completely and is waiting to call you out on it.

"I dunno... maybe? I don't remember my dreams," you say quickly.

"Hm." His expression shows that he's not entirely convinced by your answer.

You try changing the topic to distract him, and hopefully yourself. "Do you have anything specific planned for the day?"

Vincent blinks, then smiles fondly at you. "I'm going to leave it up to you. If you want to go shopping or go out to eat, that'd be fine with me. Or we could have a lazy day watching movies together. Anything you like, princess."

You feel nervous at his choices of options, considering you'd prefer not leaving the house today if you can avoid it. Maybe watching films together sounds nice, though even that gives you anxiety.

"I guess some movies would be nice," you mutter.

Vincent smiles, much to your relief. "Sounds good to me. Why don't you pick one for us to start with?"

So you do.

You get settled down on the couch after turning off the lights in the living room and opening the curtains for maximum viewing experience, snuggled tightly beneath a large fleece blanket. Vincent joins you moments after setting things up.

He wraps a strong arm around you, pulling you closer to his side.

Throughout the movie, he glances down at you occasionally as if checking up on something. Which makes sense since he seems worried about you for whatever reason. You pretend to pay attention to the screen while your mind races on elsewhere.

Every now and then there's a painful twist in your lower abdomen causing you to flinch slightly, although you try hiding these reactions from Vincent.

About halfway through the film, you start getting fidgety, wanting to switch positions constantly.

When you decide to curl up into a ball and bury yourself deep within your blankets once again, Vincent shoots you another glance. "(Y/n)?" he asks quietly.

"Huh?"

"What are you doing, honey?"

"Oh..." You look down embarrassedly. "Just getting comfy."

Vincent pauses for a moment before continuing. "Are you sure nothing is wrong? Nothing you want to talk about with me?"

Your heart pounds faster than normal and butterflies swarm your stomach. Your fingers tighten their grip on your sleeves as you answer: "Positive."

"Okay."

The movie continues playing, but neither of you speak anymore during the remainder of it. At certain points you catch Vincent giving you concerned stares again, especially whenever your hands wander absentmindedly underneath the blanket to press against your belly. When the credits roll around, however, he breaks the silence.

"I don't buy that."

You laugh nervously. "You love buying things," you attempt to joke.

He usually always finds amusement in your jokes, even the bad ones, but now he just looks frustrated. Its a rare expression on him, and definitely not one you like. "I'm serious."

You shrink back. "Sorry..."

Vincent's expression goes from stern to guilt-ridden immediately at your scared reaction. "I'm not mad. I'm just worried about you. Please talk to me."

"There's nothing to worry about." Your voice shakes as you say those words.

"(Y/n)." His tone sends shivers throughout your body. "You're lying to me." A pause. "Please don't lie to Dad."

You chew on your bottom lip anxiously. "...I... I don't wanna talk about it... please." Your voice cracks. Tears build in the corners of your eyes.

Vincent coos at you, pulling you into his lap. You bury your face in his chest as you cry softly. He rocks you gently, kissing your head every few seconds.

"Its okay, it's okay, sweet girl. Shhh..." Vincent hushes you soothingly. He keeps rocking and swaying slowly. One hand rubs calming circles along your upper back. His other cradles the back of your neck tenderly.

After a couple minutes of crying like this in his arms, he leans away slightly to lift your chin. With a thumb, he wipes the tears streaming down your face away carefully.

Then he smiles brightly down at you. "Hey there, kiddo."

You hiccup and sniffle. "Hi." Your voice quavers. "I feel so gross."

Vincent grabs a tissue from the tissue box on the coffee table, using it to clean off your runny nose and damp cheeks. "Much better now, huh? Crying is healthy for the soul. Even if it breaks my heart to see you cry, I'd rather you cry than hold it in. Just means I get to comfort my baby." He teasingly squishes your cheeks, which manages to bring a smile to your face. "There it is," he chuckles fondly. "How's about I go draw you a nice bath?"

That sounds appealing, honestly. "Yeah... sure," you agree.

"Perfect. Up we go." He hoists you into his arms and carries you upstairs, setting you on the counter in the bathroom.

He rolls up his sleeves before leaning forward and switching the faucets to get the perfect temperature.

You watch as the water fills up the tub, making little splashing noises when it hits the ceramic.

Once he gets satisfied with how full the basin is, he turns the knobs off.

Vincent hums as he searches through various cabinets, grabbing some scented bubble bath bottles. "Orange mango or watermelon?" After you give your answer, he tosses the opposite bottle back into the drawer, pouring the other into the bath. He stirs it in, letting the suds rise. "Let me know if it should be warmer or colder, kiddo."

He turns to grab shampoo and conditioner, giving you the privacy to step in. It feels nice, easing your cramps ever-so-slightly.

"Feels great," you sigh dreamily. "Thanks, Dad."

"Anything for my favorite daughter," he sing-songs.

"Your only daughter," you snort.

He laughs at that, placing the shampoo and conditioner in convenient reach. "Still true." He grabs a cup. "Now tilt your head back so I can..." he trails off.

You're quick to realize why. The water is a brownish-red hue.

To your relief, Vincent doesn't freak out. A look of realization spreads across his face, only after the initial shock. He chuckles in relief. "Oh, thank God. It's just your period." His expression turns to serious again. "Right? You aren't injured, are you?"

"No," you squeak out. "It started this morning. I'm sorry."

He holds his hand to his chest in further relief. "I was just a few minutes away from calling a doctor, you know that?" His expression softens. "Why would you hide this?" His voice seeps with genuine confusion and worry.

"...'cause..." You pause. "Because its embarrassing." You hug yourself anxiously. "And gross."

Vincent looks heartbroken. "Princess... you know periods are natural, right?" When you shrug, he frowns deeper. "(Y/n), I promise its okay." He rubs your shoulder. "Its nothing to be ashamed of. I'd never judge you for anything, let alone this."

"Thank you," you murmur. "It just feels so awkward."

Vincent laughs softly. "I've been preparing for this conversation for a while. Not really a fan of how we ended up here, but I'm just glad you aren't hurt." He sighs fondly. "I'll order you some pads, and when bathtime's done, there'll be a heating pad with your name on it."

You smile gratefully. "Thanks."

"Of course. My little girl is not allowed to suffer," Vincent says lovingly. "No, sirree. None of that allowed under my roof. Got it?"

"Got it," you laugh back. "Um, can we continue our movie marathons after I'm done washing up?"

He smiles warmly. "Of course. Since I'm such a good dad, I'll even let you pick one extra movie."

"Only one?" You groan dramatically. "All your movies are boring."

"They are not."

"They absolutely are. They're either the same 80's comedies over and over again, or the same superhero action movies over and over again."

"You're just saying that because you're a baby with a baby brain, and I have good taste." He sticks his tongue out playfully, showing he isn't actually upset. "Real movies, made for people who know good cinema."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," you roll your eyes. Your face softens. "Thanks, Dad. For being not-awkward."

He beams proudly. "Anytime, kiddo. I'm just cool like that."

You roll your eyes.

[laserbobcat]

Soap box moment but bad world building triggers me, I'm annoying like that.

No shade to people who like these tropes as is, I don't want to shit on your porn with plot, and I believe in well tagged free from judgment content. Policing what people draw or write is step 1 to puritanism and other pleasantries like whole works getting deleted and all lgbt content being bagged in with all that. Fiction is a great way to explore and get things out of your system, and the line between what's acceptable and what's not is too easy to move further and further until it's only squeaky clean right wing approved content. Just don't interact with people you think are weirdos that you don't agree with and keep moving. They're just writing weird shit in their little corner, and you are someone's weirdo in your little corner, you wouldn't want people to barge in and shame you to stop because you're a problem to society. Don't create a line at all. Idk we have bigger problems, like all these motherfuckers who actively go out of their way to interact with as much people as possible and actually changing mentalities IRL with shit like "women should be in the kitchen and men can't help themselves and black people are always angry and the lgbt are annoying they're so out there, subscribe for more wisdom"

ANYWAY

Talking about furry sex and leshycat "lore" stuff :3 It's LONG, I'm way too talkative.

Heats: yeah that's all hot and fun, "Oh no shit happened and now we have to deal with the awkwardness. In my defense you jumped on me and I was a bit drunk. No I'm not angry at you. Idk, do you like movies, do you want to see Fast and Furious 27 with me friday?"

BUT LIKE if most of your characters work like that, your society should be entirely different. Ours work with our biology in mind, which is "Let's assume people are horny all the time and show naked women to sell yogurt" or "There's no such thing as "I couldn't help myself" go to jail" (in theory I mean, not talking about how society fails us you know)

Fun fact, I read LeGuin's book The Left Hand Of The Night before I was terminally online and learned the hilarious unholy existence of ABO and stuff, I'm already picky with worlbuilding and this one definitely upped my standards really high. It's a book about bringing a instantaneous communication technology to another planet, it's really cool. Love this series. People on this planet have the particularity of being sexless unless they're going through a heat cycle. It's very casual, it's just how people work. There's places you can go to get it out of your system and whole different social norms around that. The "Oops I'm stuck with someone while in heat that's embarrassing" thing is there too lol. There's no sexual scenes in it though. The hero is a regular human and it's interesting to see how the two protagonists see each other. Good, book, high recommend.

Love how I'm told ABO and these kind of animal instinct based work are either rough kinky porn with maybe plot, or super detailed commentary about society and the way we view sex, so funny. I like the furry tropes way more because there's no nonsensical anatomy and butt babies. Please no butt babies.

But while I like the chaos that SuperHornyForaWhile™ brings to relationships, I am extremely triggered by lack of consent. It's up to you to change whatever you don't like with tropes, I just make the whole thing softer by taking the "out of control" aspect out. Yes they are desperately horny but no they don't completely lose it. Someone in heat would feel like seeing your super hot coworker tits out "Well great, I'm gonna have to do all their work alone this week while they're at home AND I have a boner now. Fml."

Casual sex is way more common. Though there's a lot of social rules about carefully treading around this to make sure there's no pressure or regrets later. The power of communication. Almost everyone has some embarrassing stories to tell about the subject too, they come out when drunk and oversharing to make everyone laugh.

Maybe monogamy is thrown out the window more often than not "Oh my god I just want to netflix and chill, I don't have the energy for that today, go fuck the neighbor you have my blessing. Tell them to give me back my tupperware by the way."

Everyone has grandma tips and tricks to ease down the whole thing when you just want to wait it out. Most of those tips and tricks are hearsay bullshit, but everyone knows the ones that legit work. Some people don't experience heats at all. And they tend to change depending on age and mental and emotional state.

And like, it's fun to play with the differences between different animals and their perception of the world. Some of them know when there will be an earthquake, or what's the weather will be for the week. Some of them can tell what you ate yesterday by smell alone, and who you interacted with this morning. Again, social rules around that to respect people's privacy.

But the comedy potential. I mean I've seen a lot of it already and I'm never tired of it. "Why do you smell like you slept with that person you say you hate." "Why do you smell like they specifically rubbed on you possessively." "Are you ok? Do you want me to kill them? No?" chef's kiss. Poetic cinema.

Back to Morgan and Leshy

Morgan's well known to be 100% not interested in anything, people think he's legit aroace. Man's so repressed and emotionally unavailable that he's not even horny anymore these days, no more heats. It comes out as aggression, which he has to take out on random monsters in Darkwood. "Morgan's so brave and useful by going on missionary trips regularly" yeah no, he needs that to stay so sweet and polite the rest of the time. Thena teases that it would be easier and less dangerous to just jump someone from time to time and he DoesNotHear. I drew that here btw. Since Leshy's arrival, he gets a lot of steam out by punching each other on the regular. Despite the Denial™, feelings grow and the bottled up drives start to act out. He's incredibly confused about why his body started doing the whole cycle thing again. Very inconvenient, very annoying. No explanation for it whatsoever. Complete mystery. Now he's missing work days too, great.

Leshy has the strongest sense of smell of the whole cult, and did not get the memo about the whole social rules things. He doesn't really care what people do, but he does not really care about their feelings either. "Of course you're moody and nauseous, you're pregnant. What do you mean you didn't know, your scent changed two weeks ago. What do you mean I'm not supposed to say that out loud in front of everyone. What does invasive means, like the plants?" Animals with good sense of smell are very useful to doctors, since they detect a lot of things, but Leshy is the worst person imaginable in terms of communicating it. He finally learns to shut the fuck up though, and when he senses something weird he goes to snitch to the head healer Ilona. Some very perceptive people notice when he barges into the healing tent, talk to her for a while and leave, and then someone's called in for a "random health check up" and ends up with a treatment. Drew that here. Leshy 100% keeps tracks of what his brother is doing and absolutely makes fun of him whenever he smells a bit too much like "The annoying lamb and their annoying spouses." He notices when his brother isolates himself (Ew disgusting, brothers can't have hormones) and he absolutely knows what happened when he eventually comes back to society very relaxed, and still smelling like the trio under all the soap he used to try and hide it. "Woah finally, I hope they weren't too disappointed, I mean it's not like you would be enough for one person, imagine three lol" and there goes the fighting. Cain instinct. Now, about Morgan. There's no denial from Leshy at all, he's been down bad for the cat almost from the beginning. The dumb factor here is "I will not make a move, like, ever" because what if Morgan doesn't want him around anymore, like when he breaks something, but permanently. The horror. It's not that bad since they spend a lot of time together and he doesn't want to date anybody, so at least Leshy doesn't have to kill anyone. Great news. Except that one time when this cute stoat hit on the cat and gave him a hug and was a bit difficult to get rid of, and Leshy had to tackle and wrestle him until the scent was gone. He got his ass kicked but it was worth it, and it's not like he's not asking for it anyway. (I need to draw that) Morgan in heat is HELL. Absolutely impossible to ignore. He has to keep constantly busy/distracted the whole time to resist just knocking on his door -or knocking the door down really. The angel vs demon war in his head is particularly funny because they both argue for and against making a move alternatively but for different reasons. The sanity is gone. Burrowing 20 feet underground and breaking rocks down with his teeth helps.

That was long I talk too much.

[goobstars]

Hello goob! Could we get more of jealous Jax? Please 👉🏻👈🏻 I love reading when he is jealous

𝐉𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐘

summary : headcanons about what jax is like when he's jealous.

tags : jealousy, reader & jax are in a relationship, and romance.

notes : i'm trying to work on my headcanon skills because i have a lot of headcanon requests, so enjoy!

— despite the fact jax acts like he doesn't care about anything, he's actually a pretty jealous person.

— does he tell people he's jealous? no, but does he sure as hell show it? yep.

— the way he shows it is funny, though. since he's technically a rabbit, he does rabbit-like things when he's jealous.

— he'll thump at you, nip at you, nudge you with his head, and he just gets more clingy. also, rarely, he'll circle you. like, you could be giving gangle more attention then him and he's just circling you both the whole time while glaring at gangle.

"so, how long have you been drawing for?" your words rang out as you smiled at gangle, and despite the tears on her mask, she smiled back. "a while. i actually went to community college for it—" thump. confusion sprawled across her face at the sound, and she peered over your shoulder to stare at jax. he was looking at her with a scowl as he stood somewhat behind you with his arms crossed, and you just waved your hand. "ignore him. how was community college?" gangle only paused for a moment before slowly returning her attention back to you, "it was okay. i dropped out—" thump. "jax." your tone was firm, but the rabbit only scoffed behind you. once it fell quiet, and he seemingly stopped, you continued to talk to gangle. "why did you drop out?" "reasons, i guess? i don't know, it was just a lot..." she mumbled, and as much as you wanted to keep your eyes on her, your gaze wandered to jax as you noticed him walking around, and only around you. he'd go in between you and gangle just to continue his path. he was circling you. "jax!" you called, and he stopped behind you before wrapping his arms around your waist. "what? i'm not doing anything!" you frowned at him before rolling your eyes, and once you turned back to face gangle, he took it as his opportunity to rest his head on your shoulder while staring down gangle. the conversation continued just like that.

— it's assumed that jax wouldn't show affection to you around others because he doesn't want them to think he has emotions, or that he doesn't want to get attached to you. but, i feel like he would be clingy because he fears you're going to abstract. that's also why he gets jealous.

— he's already lost a best friend, and he doesn't want to lose you. he wants to cherish the time he has with you while he fears that you're going to abstract, or that he's going to lose you to someone else.

— so, given that, he's typically always around you.

— of course, he wouldn't be all up on you. he doesn't want everyone to think he's a big softie, but he would hold your hand during adventures or put his arm around your shoulder.

— if you pushed him off or told him to back away, he would pout about it.

— not just a little pout, but like full-on frowning while looking at the ground. it's especially worse if you're making him go away because you're talking to someone.

— he'd think that you like them better than him. he'd tell himself that he's amazing and that you don't like them better than him, but there's always that thought in the back of his mind.

— also, the people at the circus are used to how he acts. they don't end conversations early just because jax is there.

— he'd try to appear intimidating so they'd leave early, but it never works. they know he won't do anything while you're around.

— now, does he feel remorseful for trying to make them go away?

— no, no he does not. he does not care.

— the only thing he cares about is you, so there's that.

— also, every time you try to ask him why he's such a jealous person, he does not answer because in all honesty, he doesn't want to tell you he's worried he'll lose you. it won't help him or reassure him because you've said it so many times, yet he still gets jealous. it's just who he is.

— or he'd deny that he's jealous.

— he's a very big denial person.

"jax?" he let out a muffled him since his face was hidden in your shoulder, and you were laying on your back as he was curled up at your side. "why do you get jealous?" you were left without an answer for a few seconds before a quiet sigh left his throat, "i'm not..." "you literally tried to chase ragatha with a centipede because we were talking—" "for too long..." his voice came out in a griping tone as he looked up from your shoulder, and a frown was on his face. "she's boring, anyways. why talk to her when you can talk to me?" "because it's nice to talk to other people?" your remark only made jax roll his eyes before he placed his head back down on your shoulder, and he shrugged. you raised an eyebrow, "still think you aren't a jealous person?" you watched as jax lifted one of his hands to place his index finger on top of your mouth, and he shook his head. "yep." "you're clingy..." you mumbled against his finger, and you felt him grin against the skin of your shoulder. "you love me..."

[kitkat5628]

I didn't do my homework well so I gotta ask: I mean... I absolutely adore DickBabs but what's the actual reason DC keeps "pushing" for it if it's so "disliked"?

DC acknowledges that DickKory is more popular, they know. And I... Really really doubt they're supposedly afraid/don't like making money😭🙏 If they were I guess many series that didn't sell well would have been longer than they ended up being, yk...

Is it really a bat and titans editorial problem? Because I know people blame the bat editorial but isn't it DC that makes the final decision? — Actually unsure about how all those editorial things work and are, never really looked up😔

Like genuinely ain't no way a ship that is apparently "hated/disliked by many" has been going on not for a decade, but almost 30 years. DC literally drops everything the moment it doesn't make money??😭 No way they're "pushing" it because of the BatFamily when they broke TimSteph up. No way they're "afraid of making money". No way it's because "they're bias about it"???? There have to be another reason.

Can't even say they're trying to "push" a new thing for a few years to see how it goes cause y'all, we're talking about 30 years. Not just, idk, five or six but thirty.

Something that wouldn't make them make money, after so much years, would still exist and they would be trying so hard to keep it up??

DickKory surely has more fans but if DickBabs had none it would have been gone yeeeeears ago, I think🤨 We comic fans that have been reading for years can argue that Tom Taylor run wasn't... The best. He did give us some nice content but it ain't the best of the best (Depends on your tastes too though!)... But it did get more new fans into Nightwing. Like, many, many new. And while we know that the couple doesn't really feel like themselves, new fans seems to have enjoyed it. So I can guess his run did get many more DickBabs shippers — and with Watters writing them even better there might be even more later in the future, if they do keep things up like this. Now that Tom Taylor's books sold a lot, there might be even more DickBabs? Not... sure how it works ahah;; — it'd make sense if they would be trying to "push" it but what about before?😭

Since Tom Taylor, if I'm not mistaking, wanted to get them married but DC stopped him, it means that the bat editorial doesn't have control over everything, obviously... Their decisions do need approval, we can't blame it all on them.

So again there has to be an actual reason that... Makes sense? Other than the "afraid of making money" or "bat editorial being possessive of Dick" or "DC wanting to push BatFamily".

↓↓ !!!READ BEFORE LEAVING A COMMENT!!! ↓↓

This blog is always open for discussions! However, it has to be civil, since it's all about fiction and there's absolutely no need to actually get heated up and start a fight over it. Discussion civil comments are very welcome, but if you're here just to be mean, please do leave.

Mean comments will pretty much be ignored, but if your comment starts: Insulting people, degrading the characters and/or the shippers of a ship, is xenophobic, is racist, contain misogyny and ableism or generally cross a line, it will indeed get deleted. Don't bring negativity here, thanks 🫡.

On a little side note, I'm tagging this as DickKory/Kory/Starfire because it's kinda about it too? But, if you believe it shouldn't, let me know in the comments and I'll make sure to remove the tag :).

[trannyradfem]

You are seemingly OP, although your blog name is different now, and I am aware of that, rendering most of your reblog above the cut... entirely irrelevant. Based on your writing style you sound young, and you've confirmed you definitely are younger than me but still an adult, so I actually was 100% on point about that.

I also marked the post as having adult content, and tagged it excessively with content warnings. If the minor could see it at that point, it's because they lied about their age and bypassed all means of age protection. I am not responsible for that.

Does being accused of being a groomer all the time make you do the same to others, or something? Seriously, where the fuck did that vile shit come from?

I also don't check the profiles of every single person who responds to me, I do not have time for that with the amount of interactions I constantly receive. Maybe you should encourage the minor to not interact with TERFs if we're so dangerous, stay away from political tags, and to protect themselves by not lying about their age. But that would require you actually doing something that benefits others.

You're acting like I was screaming and swearing at this kid in the single reblog to them, which did not include any of what you're saying. You all seriously need to go touch some grass. I mean that in the most loving way possible. This is not the end of the world.

No, I will respond. You think that's a boundary, but that's not how boundaries work. You are choosing to participate in a massive online platform and directly tagging me to speak to me directly. You don't get to do that and go, "But you're a predator if you respond!". Demanding others do not respond to your replies is a childish form of manipulation so you can have the last word and I am effectively silenced.

Exactly why do you think you don't deserve to be treated the same exact way you treat others?

Furthermore, the readmore prevents me from seeing the rest as I type. But, man, if you cannot understand the collective damage trans rights activists have done, that's your own privelege and ignorance. You are also far more upset about my trauma than I am, that's a laugh. You can't even see that I was using it all as examples. How self centered. Do you always make other peoples' traumas about you?

If you gloss over the word "inherently" when I talk about the pain involved in living as transgender, as if I'm trying to put you down instead of acknowledge the shared realities we go through as marginalized people on a day to day basis, that's your own ignorance. Your inability to read this in anything but the worst bad faith interpretation possible is not my problem.

All I'm getting from you is that my identity is not real or valid, because I do not think like you. The antithesis of the mainstream TRA movement, invalidating another trans persons identity. And if what the TRA movement believes is not what you believe? Congrats, you're a TERF, too. You are no different from me. That is what I mean when I talk about how reactionary TRAs are, and you're feeding right into that.

That's been my entire point all along. You either agree with the mainstream TRA values and belong, or you're a TERF, per the trans community itself. I did not say you're pro rape, but the community at large very much so is, and if you can't see that then it's because it's not been directed at you yet. If it's not extremely disturbing to you that the trans community does that to perceived TERFs, regardless of if they actually are one or not, and even when they're trans, you probably are pro rape deep down.

There apparently is no other way, as you have been upholding that very strict binary of "us vs them" so hard from the beginning that there's no need to pretend that you believe otherwise, unless you actually say what you believe. Which you still haven't done, at all, aside from that one sentence where you say you believe in bodily autonomy, people being entitled to housing, food, etc. Which is honestly very, very basic, and no different from what I believe, nor what I expected you to say.

You've actually exclusively spent most of your time here writing paragraphs analyzing and insulting me. For hating TERFs you sure spend a lot of time focused on one instead of the topic at hand, which has always been how the conduct of the community is deeply bigoted in ways nobody is brave enough to admit. You also refuse to answer any questions I did ask about what you believe, so again, that's on you.

You say I assumed your beliefs, but refuse to correct anything I said, and parrot the same exact things I fully expected you to say. Yeah, I'm so presumptuous. How are you 27 and not mature enough for this conversation, my god... Aren't you the one who's been waving "trans exclusionary" around this entire time despite not knowing my beliefs? For the record, I believe the same wrt clothing, food, housing, bodily autonomy, etc., but you're the only one who suggested one of us doesn't believe in that.

You are ridiculously easy to figure out because your arguments are entirely empty and mimic the mainstream, which is precisely what I have a problem with. You're not engaging with the content on a real level or thinking about it critically, and haven't been since the beginning of this interaction because you still hold the mindset that "collaborating" (read as treating us like human beings) with "TERFs" is always bad. You say what feels good even if it totally contradicts your actions. So, what exactly are you doing here? There are no accolades or praise I can give for that, and if you want to be entirely free of criticism, you should just simply get off the internet.

In case you haven't figured it out by now, you are not entitled anybody's respect, and you lost mine as soon as you stereotyped my arguments in the same exact way I responded in kind to yours in my next reply. Doesn't feel very nice, does it? Do you understand why I did that, now? Again, why exactly should you be given a special exception and not be treated the same way you treat others?

You say I'm angry, that I'm yelling. This is text. There is no yelling, and I didn't use any indicators to remotely suggest that beyond using indicators for brief emphasis. Yeah, that's projecting. You are clearly upset and wishing that upon me. Sorry, that's not the reality. I'm enjoying waking up with my cat on my lap and my best friend at my side while going through one of many of my notifications. How many times do I need to say this isn't the end of the world, this isn't war, this isn't extreme, etc. for you to understand that it really isn't that dire?

You deleted the reblogs "out of respect for your followers" when you simply could've put all of it under a readmore, and then wildly mischaracterized my responses trying to make me look like a groomer in a public space. Yeah, that IS trying to exert power over me in a deeply malicious way. You don't need to know someone personally to use gaslighting as a technique of abuse. You are not some innocent sheep fighting the big bad wolf, your actions have power and consequences.

Acknowledging differences is not inherently hateful, and the TRA movement at large does it constantly... when it benefits them. If your response to me acknowledging these pressures and injustices boils down to, "you just hate yourself!", why exactly should I even take your opinions seriously or regard them as anything more than yet another attempt to prioritize transfems over transmascs? That's what it's called when you're complacent with the inequality that exists in the trans community, it doesn't matter how you personally treat people if you can't acknowledge the reality in front of you. And you very obviously can't, not even after excessive amounts of examples.

uvb76fan is posting in this tag talking about all the ways trans men have it “worse”, while misrepresenting the statistic she is citing. most likely banking on no one looking closer or reading the links.

this person is a terf. if you search trans on her blog it is immediately clear, i am not using terf loosely she is literally actually a terf.

we cannot let our weariness at not being heard by some of our community push us into the sick and malformed arms of transmisogyny and radical feminism, these people do not care about us at all, they are trying to harm every single one of us. our solidarity with trans women, men and people as whole should cause us to slam hard on the breaks. no matter how many trans women you see being antitransmasculine it does not mean that there are not so many more who are our genuine allies, do not let the algorithm pushing hateful person after hateful person your way skew your understandings. the transphobes want dissent, they want us to tear each other apart. we do not need to contribute to the harm to have ours lessened. (causing harm to a vulnerable minority is never morally correct no matter what got you there in the first place. also straight up trans women are easy to love and are inherently deeply deserving of community solidarity, and fascism (which terfs are) should not have any appeal whatsoever no matter how hurt you are but i digress.)

on another note: we cannot and must not reactively take on the mentalities of trans rad fems, no gender in the trans community needs to be the most oppressed to be taken seriously and given respect in our community, the equality in our suffering is immense and must be acknowledged without each group needing to prove we are the most victimized to get the care and community support we need. this is harmful no matter who is doing it. we absolutely must nip this kind of thinking in the bud.

push back on terfs in this tag everywhere you can, and if there is a reason you cannot comment or reblog to shut them down, block them on sight.

[bluudsucka]

Ooh can you do smoke x vamp!Reader tag team bullying Remmick oneshot pweez 🥹

can't take the heat? - vamp!stack x vamp!reader x remmick

summary: you and stack love to clown on each other, its how the two of you bond. but after being turned by remmick you both found it hilarious for him to be the butt of your jokes.

word count: 1.3k

warnings: teasing, slight bullying, use of the n word (it's stack we're talking about lmaoo he finna get in that ass lmaooo)

author's note: omggg, here's somethin' fun and short! listen, i'm a bit rusty on my ribbing so PLEASE if it's cringe i'm so sorry lmaoo! but this idea was cute and funny! enjoy boo <3 (i misread smoke as stack but i already wrote the shit so we just gon keep rockin lmaoo)

──⭒─⭑─⭒────⭒─⭑─⭒──

Roasting, joning, ribbing, teasing, clowning, or just plain out talking shit. That was what you and Stack love to do and you two were especially good at it; always egging each other on with hoots and hollers. It was how you two bonded, how you two dealt with the trauma of being stuck here indefinitely, and how you both empathized with each other.  

"You gotta laugh to keep from cryin'."  

That was yours and Stack's motto - and you both followed it down to the T. After that hell of a night that transpired at the Juke, you and Stack were bonded together, and that also meant you were bonded to him. 

Remmick. 

He was your sire, but you were Stack's sire also, so the chain of command between the three of you were murky. Even so; Remmick had the authority to read both of your minds. Diving deep within your shared psyche to truly understand your wants, fears, and desires. He understood you and Stack like the back of his hand; and that pissed off Stack to no end.  

But what Remmick couldn't comprehend - no matter how long he'd scour your minds - was your odd 'love language' of insults you and Stack would share amongst each other. Remmick wasn't gifted with a fast mind and sharp tongue, he'd always stumble over his words or stand there looking lost when you and Stack would enter into your shit talking. Remmick would avoid the two of you when it got like this, but alas - no one could avoid Stack's heightened senses.  

"Boy, stop!" 

Remmick dreaded hearing that... 

Stack would always laugh out that phrase, dragging out the word 'stop' dramatically to the point where Remmick's stomach would drop to his ass. Freezing in place the older vampire would sigh in defeat - if he would've left the conversation he wouldn't hear the end of it - it's smarter to just suck it up and take his lashings now.  

Your ears would perk up at Stack's mischievous voice, and a grin of pleasure would tug on your lips, leaning your weight onto Stack's strong frame. With glinting eyes of excitement, you sang out: "Boy, look at them pants! Goddamn high waters - you know floodin' season is over, right?"  

"He got the audacity to wear them suspenders and a belt, I'm sick! Looks like he got dressed in the dark." Stack chuckled, pointing at the belt that sat high on Remmick's stomach - holding his pants up that were a size too big on him.  

"Parent's musta not loved him; you can tell he ain't never got dressed up for Easter Sunday!" You replied, your arm hung lazily around Stack's shoulder. 

"You can tell he ain't never got dressed up, period..." Stack shook his head in dramatic disapproval, biting on the wooden toothpick that rested in his mouth. Remmick sighed and rolled his shoulders, he was starting to regret turning you.  

"Alright, guys...I get it - I don't know how to dress." Remmick groaned out as he walked past the two of you, he was ready to head out to feed, yet that was the first mistake he'd make tonight. 

He should've kept quiet.  

"Haha, 'alright, guys, i get it'," you laughed out, deepening your voice to mock Remmick. "If you 'got it' you wouldn't be wearin' them beat up ass shoes, my god! Looks like you've been walkin' for forty days and forty nights!"  

This earned a booming laugh from Stack, his head resting on top of yours, and his body shook with each thunderous chuckle that rolled off his body. Remmick was growing tired of this, grabbing his coat he walked past the two of you again, but this time he bumped into Stack's shoulder. 

Another mistake he made. 

"Damn, you smell that shit?" Stack asked you, scrunching his face up as if he smelt something deadly. You didn't reply but you looked at him, awaiting what he'll say next, and with a flick of the wrist Stack spoke again: "You smellin' like a roll of nickels, partna. When's the last time you washed your ass - when Jesus rose from the grave?"  

That struck a nerve. 

"Even if I did smell like a roll of nickels, is that bad?" Remmick shouted out, which made you and Stack pause your laughter, vampiric eyes gazing into each other's as you both processed Remmick's remark. 

"Uh, uh...You ain't never beating the musty allegations. Bad enough your breath smells like ten cans of bounce that ass." You whispered. 

"It's true! I gotta hold my breath every time he talks to me, smells like fuckin' onions." Stack cackled as his hand was shoved within the pocket of his well-tailored suit.  

"Nah, smells like fuckin' tooth decay - you know Remmick, you should still brush your teeth even after turning. Every time you speak it feels like I'm dyin' all over again." You chimed in, your face twisting in that of faux worry, the look on your face was getting under Remmick's skin.  

"And floss too, all them fuckin' blood clots in your mouth. You got all that gold but can't buy some toothpaste and a goddamn toothbrush?" Stack sucked his teeth, and his eyes looked at Remmick up and down with utter disgust.  

"Y-You two ain't nothin' but some damn idiots; the peanut gallery!" Remmick yelled, his chest heaving in annoyance and his face beat red. A long pause lingered over the three of you, and Stack's once playful aura melted into that of malice. 

"The 'peanut gallery'? The fucks that supposed to mean?" Stack asked and his hold on your frame disappeared, stepping closer towards Remmick - but Remmick didn't back down. He stared straight into Stack's eyes, not bothering to break eye contact with the fledging.  

"You heard what I said! All you do is pick an' pick; as if I ain't give ya'll the gift of eternal life!" Remmick seethed between sharp canines. 

"Gift?" Stack asked, turning his head to look at you before gazing back into Remmick's cold stare. "Nigga, you killed us! And I suggest you stop right here before I really get in that ass; don't play with me."  

You quickly stepped in between Stack and Remmick, placing your hands on both of their chest, creating much needed distance between the two. Stack wasn't the kind of man to spit out threats just cause - he was serious. But you didn't blame him, being turned into a vampire without your say so can make anyone testy.  

"Aight, Aight! I think shorty had enough." You said, referring to Remmick as shorty. Remmick flinched at your crude nickname for him, but he backed away, shrugging on his coat before speaking: "I'll be back - can't stand neither of ya'll."  

"C'mon! We're just playin', Rem!" You shouted but your pleas were met with slamming of the heavy wooden door. 

"And make sure you get some clothes that fit, you raggedy ass bastard!" Stack shouted out. 

"Stack!" You laughed, playfully slapping his arm. He rolled his eyes and shot you a wide toothy smile - showing of his golden capped fangs. "What? You know I'm right, girl." He spoke. 

"Yea', but still though, we probably went too hard on 'em. He's not cut from the same cloth as us, y'know." You stated, crossing your arms over your chest, leaning into Stack's strong frame. 

"So? I don't give a damn..." 

You sucked your teeth and pushed away from Stack, your hips swaying as you walked towards the upstairs of your shared living space with the two other vampires, but before making your way up the steps you stopped dead in your tracks and smiled.  

"Hopefully when Rem gets back, he'll pocket a few breath mints, I was fightin' back tears." You sighed which made Stack chuckle out in amusement. 

"Right? How you damn near a thousand years old but walking around with a yuck mouth?" Stack questioned, chewing on the thin wooden toothpick within his mouth. You shrugged your shoulders made your way up the mahogany staircase.  

"Who says I was talkin' about Remmick?" 

"Girl, stop!" 

[idrellegames]

If you haven't already answered a similar ask, I'm kinda curious, how many variables do you have in your story? How do you keep track of them all?

I hope you have a good day! Thank you for taking the time to read this! ^^

Uh.... many. Very many. 🤣

There's a lot of different ways of storing and keeping track of information in a SugarCube game (naked variables, temporary variables, checking history, passage tags) so it's kind of hard to get a firm number on it. I use the <<if visited>> macro a lot to check the player's history and trigger certain events if they visited a specific passage rather than creating a new variable for it, which makes doing continuity checks for referencing specific lines of dialogue very easy (it's like - if Aeran said "this thing here" in Episode 2 and I'm referencing it in Episode 3, I don't need a variable, I just need to find the title of the passage where he said the line and call it with if visited).

I also unset variables once I'm done using them, so at any given point there some players may have more variables in a specific section of the game than they do at another point. And of course, not all variables trigger on all routes through an episode because it depends on player choice and where you end up.

This is by no means a comprehensive list, but according to my excel spreadsheet:

Prologue — 7 variables

Episode 1 — 180 variables (most of these are unset at the end of the episode since there's a lot of information that does not need to be carried over past the encounter with the Count)

Episode 2 — 150

Episode 3 (in progress) — 83

So roughly 420 variables give or take (not including the CC because I never recorded the CC variables in my spreadsheet 🙈), but many of them are not active at the same time.

[princesa-querida]

¡Feliz Cumpleaños Nanami!

A sequel to this fic.

Pairing: Nanami Kento x Latina Fem! Reader

WC: 3.3K

CW: Fluff, angst, light smut. Mentions of Jujutsu sorcery.

Notes: I wanted to keep writing for this type of reader. I know that being Latina/Latinx has many layers and components, so I kept some details vague. I hope that you can connect with this in some way. Also I don’t use accents lmao

Tags: @pixelcafe-network, thank you for the beta-read @lazyjellyfish300, @haithyums

Timing wasn't on your side the last time. You met a wonderful man who swept you off your feet before you departed back home. For an impromptu date, he took you to the small corners of Tokyo; you remember he took you to his favourite bakery. He didn't show a lot of emotion when he bought you his favourite pastry, a buttery croissant. You told him that butter croissants make your stomach hurt, so he quickly rectified it with a pastry of your choice. All you wanted from him was to tell you about the croissants.

Every passing moment with him made you wish you didn't have to go home. You wanted to stay with him. The way he held your hand a little tighter when you walked together told you that he must've felt the same. The day turned to night.

"Did you pack everything before your flight?" You nodded. You didn't say much because if you did, you didn't want him to see you cry. He understood the silence between you and pulled you gently into his arms.

"Could we stay in touch?" The only words that left your mouth as a few stray tears fell.

"Of course, who knows. I might be in your city at some point."

You look up, and he plants the softest kiss on your lips. You ignored that you had to step on your tippy-toes to be able to reach his lips. With that, you exchanged information before he left another kiss. It was a shadow from the last one, but you knew then you'd never want to kiss another pair of lips again.

The plane ride home left a hollow hole in your heart. You cried on and off, eventually letting the exhaustion wash over you. Your most ardent wish was that he'd never forget about you; you'd never forget about him, even through the chaos of your day-to-day. When you arrived back home, your dad came to pick you up from the airport. He observed that there was a sadness in you, but he couldn't pinpoint what was causing it. He pats your hand; he's just trying to tell you that he missed you at home. You live with your parents, and you don't want to tell them about the most wonderful man you've met. Your mom is in bed when you arrive late in the evening; she fell asleep watching a novela. You go to your room and just let the tears come again. You send Nanami a message.

[You:] I'm home. Thank you for the most wonderful last day.

[Nanami:] I'm glad to hear it. I'll let you know when I visit. As you said, let's stay in touch.

You smile and don't respond to his message. You're a million miles away from him. Would he feel the same way you do right now?

Back in his apartment, he wonders when he's supposed to go on this business trip. It's always work and money on his mind. It's better than the alternative of being a Jujutsu sorcerer, but nothing is rewarding about his job as a salaryman. He does get to travel, but it's all for work. He glances at his phone and looks back at the picture that you took together.

"I'd do anything to see that smile on her face again," his lips curl up slightly. He finds your message thread and types a message, sending it. There's no anxiety; he's confident that you'll be excited to hear from him. In the meantime, he scrolls through his contacts and highlights a name. He is reluctant to reach out to Satoru Gojo.

The following morning, you find your phone in the palm of your hand. You don't know when you fell asleep, but you see a text message from Nanami.

[Nanami:] I have set aside some time to visit in early July. I'd love to spend more time with you then, at your convenience. I hope you'll say yes and pick up from where we left off.

You're smiling ear to ear; It hurts so much. You want to say "yes, yes, a million times yes." However, this isn't a marriage proposal. He isn't a man who would do something impulsively either. You meet your parents for breakfast; they ask you about your adventures in Japan and if it was everything you dreamed of. You tell them that it was, and your smile conceals a truth that you're afraid to share with them: you met someone. You don't want to tell them because then they become overprotective.

"¿Conociste a alguien?" Did you meet someone? Your mom asks.

"No, why? You look at her.

"Estas media rara." You're being weird. Taking a bite of bread with some beans on it.

"No, no paso nada." No, nothing happened. Your smile fades, confirming your fears to tell them about him.

"Well, you're back, so there's a long list of things you need to do. I know you have to find work tomorrow, but that doesn't matter to me."

You sigh, acknowledging that your trip is over. You're back to the reality of living with your parents, which at times feels like you have no peace.

"I need you to do this for me. Could you drive me here, please? Don't you have anything better to do than just lie there?"

You never thought your life would turn upside down from meeting him, but you count down the days until he arrives. It's already June, so what's a couple more weeks until July?

You and Nanami go back and forth for the rest of the month. You share with him your joys: you found a job where you'll work with underprivileged youth. You tell him how you grew up with very little and how you've always wanted to give back to your community. You never want to abandon the place that you grew up in, but you feel a little nagging voice in your head telling you that you're meant to see more.

The low being that you live at home with your overbearing parents. The trip to Japan was your escape from them. You share how much you love them, but you also share that you can't simply do anything without them knowing where you are and who you're with.

"I told them I met someone." There's a silence on the other side of the line.

He's glad that you told them, but he can hear the hesitancy in your voice.

"What did they say?"

You pause. You know what they said, but you can't find it in your heart to tell him.

"Darling? You can tell me."

"They…said…" You sigh. "That loving from far is for fools."

He knows that you're something significant at this point in his life. He can't describe it to you either. You both know that it's not love, but you want the room to explore it.

"I can't wait to see you soon. I should probably mention, my birthday is on July 3rd."

"Oh! Why did you tell me?!" Your excitement radiates from the other end of the line. "Do you understand how much we have to do now?"

"I don't see the need why. It's not a big deal."

"It is to me!" You tell him firmly. The change in your voice tells Nanami that there is no reason to fight this. He's seen you at your most determined; there's no point in stopping you. He's going to spend his birthday with someone who's becoming less and less of a stranger every day, taking hold of his heart.

He omitted telling you that he arrives on his birthday. You scolded him briefly, but then you knew that you'd do anything to make anything special. On the day you pick him from the airport, you stop yourself from running into his arms. Instead, you wave at him. It hasn't been that long since he last saw you, but he notes how the sun has given your skin warmth, contrasting with your hair. The weather differs here from Japan, but he welcomes the dry July heat when he exits the airport. He takes your hand as you cross the street together. You ask him where he's staying, and he tells you the directions.

You turn on the car radio, observing that you are listening to Spanish music. "What's this?"

"Oh, this is one of my favourite bands, Caifanes. They're kind of like the Cure, but in Spanish. I like them a lot."

He notes the melancholy tone, but it differs from the way you sing along to the songs. A giant grin appears as you're driving out of the airport, unfazed by the wave of cars.

"No dejes que nos coma el diablo amor, que se trague tu calor…" You sway in your car seat, thrilled to show him where you're from. It'll be different from Japan, but you're hopeful that he'll see the beauty of it, too. When you arrive at the hotel, you wait in the lobby, not trying to worry about how the day will go. You play with the hem of your dress, impatiently waiting for him.

"The room is adequate to my liking. I'm ready when you are." You nod and lead him back to your car. You're a distance away from the first location you had in mind. Nanami quietly observes how the neighbourhoods change; city landscapes staying in the background for more active sidewalks with vendors and pedestrians. When you arrive, you take his hand and tell him about being a patron on this block for a variety of different eats. You tell him what pupusas, atole, and the various snacks you can find here. For today's blistering heat, you choose to get him a mango cut like a rose. His sleeves are rolled up, his tie loosened, and in awe of the creation you hand to him.

"It'll be a little messy, but I think this will help you stay hydrated."

You giggle, blushing as you watch him try to eat the mango delicately.

"You don't have to be neat about it. It's mango, it's meant to be messy."

He grumbles a little, but lets himself go as he gets mango all over his lips. You hand him a napkin, enjoying seeing him let go, little by little. During your phone calls, he would laugh when you would tell him about yourself and the happenings of your day; you only hope that you can see that in person.

He's annoyed at how messy mango is to eat, but seeing your smile makes this embarrassing moment worthwhile. When he's finished, you take his hand, ignoring that it's sticky, guiding him to a bakery. The bakery has a variety of pan dulce; you grab a tray and tongs, selecting the breads that Nanami should try. You went with the empanadas de manjar and the conchas. He's a man of few words, when he takes a bite of the concha he feels the warmth fill his body. The empanada's colour intimidates him at first, but you explain it's done with achiote, but then the custard filling reminds him that he needs to get out of his comfort zone and appreciate the various pastries of the world.

"This won't be the only sweets you'll have for the rest of the day." You assure him, your smile never fading away. "We still have plenty to do and see, but I hope you're hungry."

"You know I'm here for a week, right?"

"Yeah, but there's no reason why we shouldn't have the best day ever. It's your birthday!"

He can't deny you. He doesn't care that much about his birthday, but you do. You are going out of your way to show him everything about you; he's grateful. He wants to tell you about his former life, but he's afraid. "Will this end whatever this is?" He thinks to himself.

"Everything okay? Oh, am I pushing you too hard? I'm sorry!"

He takes your hand and kisses your palm. "I assure you, I'm alright. Show me what else we're going to do next."

You show him the other neighbourhoods that you frequented often. You take him to a record store, and he feels like he's been transported back in time. He remembers his days as a teenager buying CDs, but the popularity of vinyl is intriguing to him. You show him the world section to show him the variety of artists that he's never heard of, and find a few treasures for yourself. He thinks about how much he's been missing out as a salaryman, but how much more he'll miss when he returns to life as Jujutsu sorcerer. Your conversation about giving back struck a few chords in his heart. "She'll understand, but there's no good time to tell her. Today isn't the day."

You observe the shift in his facial expressions; he was becoming more relaxed, but his stance was more rigid. "Are you sure you're okay? We can have dinner and then go back to your hotel?"

"I think it's just exhaustion from the flight." You keep moving along the aisles of records, but you feel something pull you back. He's pulling you back and resting his hands on your arms. "You really don't have to do all of this for me, but I'm so glad that we can spend time together."

"Si tu solo supieras cuanto te quiero." You smile and nod. He's unsure what you said, but he'll ask you later to clarify what you meant.

For dinner, you chose to take him to one of the oldest Mexican restaurants in your city. You tell him how it's been around for nearly 100 years, and how they've been able to expand due to popularity. You select a combination plate with a chile relleno and a chicken enchilada. To become too full, you order the same. Nanami is in awe of how expressive you are when you talk to the servers. He watches your demeanour when you say something to the server and chooses to point at Nanami. You give him a slight wink and return your attention to Nanami.

"What was that?"

"What was what?"

"That wink."

"Oh, it was nothing." Your voice betrays you.

"You're up to something."

"No, I'm not."

"Mija" You recognize that voice. Oh, not tonight. You turn around and it's your parents. You want the Earth to swallow you whole. Of all the times to run into your parents, you run into them here.

"Nanami Kento, it's a pleasure to meet you."

"¿Estas en una cita?"

Your palm rests on your face and nod.

"Nanami, these are my parents." You signal to your parents who he is so they can make proper introductions.

"¡Esta guapo!"

"Please stop talking." You beg your mom.

"Bueno te dejo. Adios." Your dad scowls at Nanami, but you know it's him being protective.

There's a smirk on his face. "What did she say?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"What does guapo mean? Your face turns into a shade of scarlet, but the dark lighting in the room makes it hard to see.

"I'll just have to find out another way if you won't tell me."

"She said that you're handsome. Please stop." You release a nervous laugh.

"Oh? Would you agree with that assessment?" He's teasing you.

"I think a lot of people would agree with that assessment," you take a sip out of your drink. "Haven't you noticed people have been staring at you all day?"

"I'm not paying attention to others when I have my attention on someone else."

A comfortable silence ensues between the two of you. You know that there's something that Nanami is hiding, but his charm disarms any doubt that you have. He wants to tell you everything, but he wants to enjoy the peace that exists now.

Out of nowhere, the server comes with a slice of Tres Leches cake and a candle that is lit candle. There are no servers to sing him a happy birthday, just the intimacy of the moment between you and Nanami.

"Feliz cumpleaños a ti, feliz cumpleaños a ti, feliz cumpleaños querido Kento, feliz cumpleaños a ti. Ya queremos pastel, ya queremos pastel aunque sea un pedacito, pero queremos pastel."

In this moment, he wants to say, forget the cake and kiss you here in front of everyone. However, he knows your parents are in the vicinity. He blows on the candle to make his wish.

"I hope your dream comes true." You say quietly.

"I think it will."

He hands you a fork to share the cake. He covers the bill, he insisted. When you take him back to his hotel, you're just waiting for him to bid you farewell until tomorrow.

"Do you want to come up?"

You're taken aback, but there's no time like the present. You nod.

When you're in his room, he sits down on the edge of the bed. He pats it for you to join him. You sit, with a small distance between you.

"What did you tell me at the record store earlier?"

You know exactly what you said, but you're scared, trying to use your primary language to conceal what you're really feeling.

"Darling, you can tell me."

The term of endearment helps you muster the strength to tell him what you said. You grip the sheets of the bed tightly. "I said that you have no idea how much I like you." You're telling him a half-truth, not telling him the real meaning. In a sudden move, he moves closer to you, tilting your chin. "Is that what you meant?"

You nod, the words stuck in your throat. "Are you sure, darling?"

"I…" you sigh as his lips ghost yours. "I'm afraid to tell you the real meaning."

"There's so much going on between us, but I just want to tell you that this birthday is so special. I never know if it's going to be my last."

"I hope it's not your last…" His lips graze the corner of your mouth.

"There's so much to tell you, but…tonight, I just want to be here with you." His lips find yours, sweet and tender, just like him. You lose yourself as he lays you down on the bed. His weight on you isn't suffocating. Each shared kiss, growing hungrier, undressing you and him. When he gives himself to you, you feel yourself holding on to him like an anchor. You cry out his name in pleasure. "Te amo…pero es muy pronto."

"Shh, darling…" He consumes every word with a promise that he won't go anywhere.

When he holds you against his chest, peppering your beautiful skin with kisses, placing his arm around your curves, he wonders if you'll run away from him.

"Nothing you say or do can scare me away," you close your eyes, beginning to drift off.

He kisses your forehead. "I'm glad. Are you still awake?"

When he gazes at your face, your peaceful smile indicates that you won't hear him. He holds you just a little tighter, sighing, releasing whatever anxiety may be brewing.

"I'm a Jujutsu sorcerer…it's dangerous, and every day my life will be on the line. Birthdays are a milestone for many. My only wish is to keep sharing my birthday with you. I'll do my best to always come back for you."

You didn't hear him, but you're dreaming of the day that you'll grow old together.

[porcupine-girl]

Would you like a gift?

For the second year, I'm participating in Battleship - a 2-3-week long fic exchange game where teams try to create fanworks to clear boards full of several hundred tags! Last year we generated over 2,000 fanworks (fic, art, and podfics), and this year we have more tags so there will probably be more fanworks!

Since Battleship is in the spirit of an exchange, every fanwork created has to be a gift for someone in response to a prompt they've left. Which means we need literally thousands of prompts to make sure anytime someone goes "ok I need to write a fic that features either Arranged Marriage or Fake Relationship AND either Grief/Mourning or Haunted Architecture" (yes all four are tags this year), they can find a prompt to fill using those tags.

Leaving prompts doesn't guarantee you'll get a gift, but the odds are definitely with you.

How do I leave prompts?

Go to the Battleship 2025 prompt collection and click "Sign Up" - don't worry, you're not actually signing up to play. Signups are closed, so you can ignore anything in the instructions about signing up. You're just here to leave prompts.

DO read the instructions, though! There are some things that can cause your prompt to get thrown out. The ones that are most likely to trip you up are:

Do NOT click that you want the prompt to be semi-anonymous. If you don't want your AO3 name listed on the prompt, you'll have to make a sockpuppet account.

Do NOT put any tags other than the ones in the collection's tagset in any of the fields!

DO make sure your account can receive gifts! (Preferences -> Collections, Challenges, and Gifts -> make sure "allow anyone to gift me works" is checked)

DO write something in the Optional Details section, even if it's just "I don't have any DNWs" (are you sure you don't have any DNWs?)

If the fandom and/or relationship you want isn't in the tagset yet (over 1000 fandoms already are, so check first!), you can nominate them at that tagset link - note that there are also pretty specific formatting rules for those, and tags will be rejected if you don't format them correctly. You'll probably have to wait a few hours for a mod to approve them before you can prompt with them.

For each prompt you'll need to specify:

A fandom that is in the tagset (gifter will have to work within this fandom)

1-20 characters or pairings that are in the tagset (gifter will have to include at least one of these)

0-4 archive warnings (only check off ones you DO want, but the gifter isn't required to include them even if you opt in)

1-3 mediums (fic, art, podfic) that you're willing to receive (these are listed as characters, ignore that)

1-576 Freeform tags from the tagset (gifter will have to include at least one - see notes under cut for more details on these)

A list of things you Do Not Want (if you've never made a DNW list, see details under the cut) (your gifter is NOT allowed to include any of these)

A list of things you do want, whether specific prompts or just vibes (you're not required to provide this but it's recommended; your gifter is not required to include these, but most will try their best)

Let me know if you have any questions! If I don't know the answer, I'll ask around for you.

A few other notes to keep in mind under the cut:

If you check off an archive warning, you are opting IN to receiving that warning (though your gifter isn't required to include it). However, even if you don't check one you could still receive it unless you list it as a Do Not Want (DNW).

There are 576 Freeform tags to choose from (the first 20 can go in Additional Tags, the rest in Optional Tags, these fields are treated as the same). You have to choose at least one, but can put as many as you want. Much like warnings, even if you don't list a tag, you might get it unless you DNW it, so it's a good idea to go through the list and compile a DNW Tags list.

Luckily the mods have set up a spreadsheet here to make all this easier - just check off tags and it will create a magic list for you to copy and paste, whether into the tag fields or for a DNW list!

Your gifter will be required to use at least one relationship and one freeform that you've selected - but be aware that they can choose ANY relationship + ANY freeform, so if there are, for example, some kinks you like with ship A but not ship B, you'll want to make separate prompts so you can choose different freeforms for the two ships.

All DNWs (whether warnings, freeform tags, or just other things you Do Not Want) must be listed in the Optional Details box for every prompt. Many times your gifter will not even see your other prompts, so don't expect them to read what's on another prompt. Just copy and paste that shit. Be as specific as possible - just saying "no kinks" will leave potential gifters wondering what you think is kinky. Don't worry about your list being too long, as long as you don't DNW anything that you chose in your tags (like a brother/sister pairing + DNW incest).

Do NOT explain why you don't want your DNWs - that's your business, and sometimes it can sound judgmental even if you don't mean to be (hopefully I don't have to tell you not to intentionally write anything judgmental, but: don't). Just list what you don't want, and gifters will avoid it without questioning why you don't want it, whether it's scat/watersports or Modern AUs or a specific character.

Note that if you choose an individual character, gifters are allowed to put that character in a pairing, so DNW any pairings you don't want them in (or you can just say "DNW Mr X in any romantic/sexual pairing")

You can (and should) also put things you like, either generally or for that fandom/ship, as well as specific prompts, in the Optional Details box, but these are optional, both for you and the gifter. The gifter only has to hit one relationship and one freeform (though most will do their best to make a gift you'll like).

You can submit up to 50 prompts per AO3 account.

Prompting will stay open throughout the event (which starts July 12 and ends 2-3 weeks later), so don't feel like you have to submit all your prompts at once!

If you do get a gift, be sure to leave a nice comment! ♥️

[rogue-durin-16]

THE CAB FARE

Summary: To culminate the already chaotic night at the Ball, a veteran nurse finds herself unable to pay the cab fare. With money, anyway.

Request: here

Pairing: Joseph Liebgott x nurse!OFC

Genre: smut and also low-key comedy

Tags:

co-authors: @luvrottt @fromjupitertocentauri @writingfranticallyforjup @digging-trenches @jetjuliette

Band Of Brothers: @fernando-jpg @chubbypotatoepie @tvserie-s-world @clumsy-wonderland @lordndsaviorwinters @lanadelray1989 @chanshugsaretherapy @hoddystark @gotxpenny @ecompstolemysoul @torchbearerkyle @easily-obsessed-with-things @fromjupitertocentauri @luvrottt @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @metrofae @jetjuliette

Permanent taglist: @randomparanoid @karlthecat15722 @thebutchersdaughtersblog @amourtentiaa @comfort-reads

Warnings: language, smoking, explicit sexual content, oral, protected sex, voyeurism, a cab

A/N: this was a group effort! Started out as a joke, somehow landed us here. Speaking of where it landed us, please meet The Dolls! A lovely little group of OCs that HOPEFULLY you'll be seeing more often, not only in my fics but around too 👀. That said, enjoy this unholy piece of work I will never look at again<3

The Dolls' introduction

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The first thing Elsie registered was the bathroom floor beneath her knees—cold, sticky, and blessedly still. The second was Dolores's voice, floating somewhere above her like a radio turned down too low.

"Oh honey, just breathe through it, okay? You're doing great."

Elsie groaned. Or maybe she vomited. Again. In her defense, she didn't expect the alcohol at a veterans' ball in a small San Francisco dance hall's would be that strong—the goal was to celebrate women who served, not to send them into a full blackout.

Someone was holding her hair back. That was good. Nice of them. Could've been Dottie. Could've been Jesus. Either way, Elsie made a mental note to thank them later with something strong.

The tile wall was cool against her cheek, grounding her mildly while her stomach staged a full mutiny. The sounds of swing music and warbling vocals pulsed through the dance hall walls; a hangover wrapped in a trumpet solo. The ball was still going strong outside. Here, it was just bile coming from the bad decisions of an Italian brunette—and the helping hands of a blonde too dolled up to be crouching by a bathroom stall.

The door slammed open, two pairs of clicking heels puncturing Elsie's head.

"—tu puta madre, Wexler!" Veronica's voice cracked through the bathroom like a gunshot, the reflection of her agitated figure catching on the mirror at Elsie's far left.

"Oh, come on," Sandy chimed in right after her, sugary and smug. "You walked into it, Ronnie. Can't be too mad at me." the former Cover Girl's dress swayed around, shielding Veronica out from the intoxicated woman's sight. Elsie heard—or she thought she heard at least—Dottie question the pair.

"She spilled—you spilled your goddamn wine on me!" Elsie didn't have to look up to know Ronnie was pointing an accusing finger at Sandy.

"It's a red dress. You can't even see it."

"It's expensive, that's what it is"

"It's red." Sandy sing-songed.

"Are you blind or just stupid?" Veronica hissed back.

"You could always, y'know—"

A faucet running. A splash of water hit porcelain. Veronica's gasp followed by a low 'I'm going to kill you' told Elsie that Sandy must have aimed the splash at the supposedly ruined dress. She couldn't care less, though—specially considering how the ridiculously loud noise made her brains jackhammer behind her eyes. "Please I can't—" Her stomach lurched again, and the rest of her sentence drowned in the depths of the toilet.

"Can you both shut up for five seconds?!" Dottie snapped—a bit too loud, a bit too exasperated. Elsie wasn't able to recall when Dottie had decided taking care of her drunk self was a better way to spend the night than mediating between Sandy and Ronnie. "Sandy, go get Flo before this poor thing dies on me."

"Don't be so dramatic." Veronica retorted, sparing a mildly concerned glance at Elsie's frame that clashed with her words.

"Says the gal throwing a fit over what? Barely a stain." Sandy's voice was accomplished by a blurred flash of her form strolling to the bathroom's entrance in the corner of Elsie's peripheral vision.

"Barely a stain my ass." Ronnie stomped into the stall next to them and rattled her purse. "Dot, you got a handkerchief?"

Dottie handed one over without looking. "Don't ruin this one too."

Elsie could hear how Veronica dabbed furiously at the dress due to the silence reigning between the three women. It didn't last long before Ronnie threw a curt "what" at the blonde holding Elsie's locks up in a loose ponytail.

Dottie shifted. A shrug, maybe. "Nothing."

"No, say it."

"I'm not doing this again."

"Sorry, you're not doing what?"

"You know what I mean." The blonde whispered at Veronica, as if trying to keep calm for Elsie's sake. "You two brawling out again. Can I not bring you anywhere?"

"Right." A scoff mashed with a snort. Elsie would've rolled her eyes if she hadn't been about to topple over. "Did you miss the part where she spilled her fucking wine on my very much expensive dress? On purpose?!"

Too loud.

Elsie, face still in the bowl, lifted a trembling hand. "My head's gonna… blow up—" She gagged.

"No, I didn’t see it," Dottie spat. "I was a little busy making sure Elsie didn't choke on her own vomit!"

The bathroom door banged open again, but this time Sandy was trailing after yet another fair haired girl, who stepped into the bathroom with the same resolve that carried her through the war.

"Jesus, what happened in here?" Florence's voice pitched high at the embarrassing sight of her older cousin slumped over the toilet like a ragdoll.

"Elsie can’t hold her gin." Sandy said sweetly, leaning in the doorway like she didn’t have a care in the world.

Flo was already down beside her, slapping Elsie's cheek. "C'mon, El, up you go." The veteran nurse half hauled up the brunette. "I told you to pace yourself, didn't I?"

Elsie groaned something that might’ve been 'fuck off' or an 'I love you'.

"Sandy, grab her other side." Flo grunted as she hoisted her upright. "We're getting out of this piss-scented coffin right now."

"Gladly." Sandy said, and took Elsie's limp arm like she was handling a rolled-up rug.

"Yeah, I've had enough of these two for one night." Dottie quipped as she got up, aided by Veronica's helping hand, who was quick to let go.

"What the fuck's that supposed to mean?"

"You two are impossible." Flo backed up her fellow nurse, who rushed out of the bathroom to find the girls' purses. "If it were up to me? I'd lock you two together until you learned the lesson."

"Is the lesson killing each other?" Sandy joked, throwing a look over her shoulder at Ronnie as they all exited the stalls.

"Sweet Jesus." Flo muttered, accommodating Elsie against her. She wondered if Sandy was pulling any of her cousin's weight. Elsie was pretty sure she wasn't. "I meant getting along."

"Highly doubt poster girl here knows how to do that." Veronica muttered. Although it probably was louder than a mutter if Elsie managed to catch it loud and clear.

"I'm not just a poster girl."

"Mhmm, you're also a bi—Ouch!" Dottie, back into Elsie's hazy view, slapped Ronnie's arm with a purse. "Dot, I swear to God—"

"Why don't you let Sandy breathe and come help me get the coats, huh?"

Elsie felt herself slip into a state of half consciousness, but still felt Sandy's shoulders shake with a single laugh before Dottie and Ronnie disappeared into the crowd, supposedly to gather the group's belongings. Elsie didn't care much about her coat, she thought, and her purse—well, she couldn't carry herself, let alone her purse.

The cold night air did little to sober her up, but at least brought some awareness to her inebriated brain. Flo—bless her—, announced something about hitching a ride. A cab? And her careful yet firm grasp left Elsie in the hands of Sandy. Technically.

She blinked at the lamppost she was now apparently married to, held upright only by Sandy's idle arm and a will to survive. The woman's free hand fished out a cigarette and a lighter from... from where? Her purse? And she muttered a "don't die." To Elsie before fully letting go in favor of her smoke.

The purses. Dottie and Ronnie hadn't joined them outside yet. Elsie tried to turn and face the door, her shoes slipping when she tried to shift her weight, but only caught sight of a stressed out Flo stopping a yellow cab right by the sidewalk.

The cabbie Flo had summoned halfheartedly stepped out of the car, like he didn't feel like doing so but felt obliged nonetheless. He was wiry, sharp-featured, with an angular jaw and locks just messy enough to suggest he didn't care, but styled enough to say he definitely did.

His eyes skimmed right over Sandy and Elsie, then locked back squarely on Flo. Elsie didn’t catch the words between them—she could barely catch her breath—but she noticed the way the man stood just a little straighter as he talked to Flo, like gravity worked differently around her. Not unusual, Flo's unintentional charm had that effect.

Elsie’s knees gave out slightly—a reminder of her precarious state—and she slid a few pathetic inches down the lamppost; a slow, unceremonious descent into disgrace.

The cabbie—Joe Liebgott, Flo had just learned after introducing herself—tilted his chin toward Elsie. "Uh—she's slipping."

Flo whipped around to see her cousin melting down the pole. Her legs rushed to the pair before her mind could catch up, the man she'd just met following along on instinct.

"I leave you two for thirty seconds," she groaned, stomping over, her grip triggering a sucked in breath from Elsie when she pulled her up. "and suddenly she’s auditioning for pavement.”

"She's fine," Sandy drawled, smoke curling lazily from her lips. "I was watching her."

"With what? Your third eye?"

Sandy only grinned. Flo didn't wait for a smart retort. She slid her arms under Elsie, heaving her up fully. Joe hovered nearby, hands half-lifted, unsure if he should help or keep out of the way.

Flo gave him a quick side-glance. He was smart enough to stay put.

"This is Joe." she introduced the man, jerking her chin at him as she shifted Elsie's weight. "He's gonna drive us home."

"What, the five of us?" Sandy gestured vaguely between them all and the dance hall gate, where two familiar silhouettes still hadn't emerged.

Flo winced. "Uhm... well, not the five of us, clearly."

Elsie squinted blearily at Joe, who seemed to be mildly amused at the situation under all the discomfort. "You kinda... look like a rat."

Flo froze. "Elsie!"

"I mean—" Elsie hiccuped, "—a handsome rat."

Flo's hand clamped over her cousin's mouth with military precision, but Joe simply scrunched his nose unimpressed. "Not the worst I've heard."

Behind them, the hall doors burst open. Dottie and Veronica came out in a flurry of motion and clacking heels, accompanied by him—Jack. All teeth and tan and no idea when to quit. Dottie looked like she was about to shake him off her leg like gum. Then she caught Flo's eye and, with a desperate little finger-point and a theatrical smile, deflected.

"There you are!" Jack beamed, pushing past Joe like he'd been born with right-of-way. "You disappeared on me back there."

Flo forced herself to fake politeness. "How odd."

Jack leaned into Flo's personal space, making her hold back a grimace. "I figured I'd hitch a ride with you, doll."

"Did you."

Not too far away, an argument that had been brewing between Ronnie and Dottie since they left the bathroom finally popped like a champagne cork.

"You're a brat, you know that?" Ronnie snapped.

"Oh, and you're so emotionally mature—"

"Girls!" Flo called without turning around. "Can we maybe save the breakdown for after we get home?"

No luck.

"I'm leaving." Dottie huffed, arms crossed, fury coiled tight in her shoulders.

"Yeah? Fuck, leaving where?" Ronnie shot back, already stomping after her.

"I'll find a ride."

As if summoned by pure narrative timing, a sleek black Cadillac slid up to the curb. The dark haired man behind the wheel leaned over and opened the passenger's door with drunken charm. "Need a lift, sweetheart?"

Dottie didn't miss a beat. She slid in, tossed a bitter smile and a wink at Veronica, and shut the door hard enough for the man to complain.

Veronica stood there, slack-jawed, arms in the air as they drove off. "Are you fucking kidding me?!" She trudged toward Sandy, shoes snapping sharp on the pavement. "got a smoke?"

"She'll come around." Sandy commented, lighting Ronnie's cigarette with the ease of a woman unbothered by chaos.

Flo, who didn't have time to babysit the apocalypse, turned to Joe, who stood a bit too close now. Not that she minded.

"This one's ours." she announced, nodding at Elsie for Joe to understand who the 'ours' referred to.

"Right." he muttered, and took it as a signal to help Flo hoist the girl into the back of cab like they were loading freight. Flo could've sworn she caught the man staring when she bent over to accommodate her nearly passed out cousin.

Predictably, Jack followed uninvited, brushing past Joe again like it was a sport, and slid in beside Elsie, who immediately sagged against him in a drunken heap. Lucky him. Or not. A leech with a good haircut, Flo thought. She would've been worried about using Elsie as a human shield if Jack hadn't talked her ear off about how he only liked blondes.

Joe lost no time to go back to the driver's seat. Flo moved to climb into the cab and take the free spot left in the backseat, but paused mid-motion. She turned to Veronica and Sandy, who were having one of those rare peaceful moments in which Ronnie let the Bostonian babble as much as she wanted without complaints.

"Girls!" The both perked their heads up at Flo's call. "You two gonna be alright?"

Sandy took a long drag of her cigarette. "You know I'll find a ride. And Ronnie's got legs."

"Sandra." Flo warned, but considering Veronica seemed anything but worried, she let it slide. "Get home safe."

"You too!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Maybe Flo would have enjoyed the ride to Elsie's boarding house more if Jack had not been constantly trying to reach for her over her passed out cousin for a total of twenty minutes. Her wristwatch tick tacked mercilessly; a countdown until Elsie was no longer a flesh-made barrier between them.

Flo heavily considered getting Joe involved on her rousse to dodge Jack's attempts at latching onto her. By the looks the cabbie shot at the stowaway turned third passenger through the rearview mirror each time he opened his mouth, the blonde was very much in the positive about Joe not minding meddling.

"Right there—" Flo pointed at Elsie's current residence. "waitwaitwait!" The three passenger lounged forward involuntarily when Joe pumped the brakes before reaching the entrance. The cabbie cursed under his breath, and Flo blurted out an explanation no one asked for. "She's got curfew."

"Oh Jesus Christ," Joe tapped the steering wheel with the frustration of a man who would've rather die than put up with the bullshit going on in the backseat of his cab. If he were to be honest with himself, his shift had been over for a hot minute. The only reason why he pulled over in front of the dance was because of Flo. He was starting to regret it.

"It won't take long, I promise." Flo assured him in a half apologetic, half flustered tone; she lost no time to scramble out of the vehicle, almost dragging Elsie out with her by the girl's limp arm.

Flo had moved heavy weight during wartime—twice as heavy as Elsie—, but this wasn't '44, this was 1950 and the last time the nurse had to lift someone's body had been poor Winifred's after the girl had drunk half a bottle of bad whiskey during one of her breakdowns.

Winnie was quite the opposite of a heavy weight, though, and hadn't been wearing heels that constantly got caught up on a muddy yard.

"Oh, c'mon Elsie— sweet fuck, help me out a little."

Meanwhile, in the cab, Joe lit a cigarette with the kind of precise irritation that comes from keeping hands busy to salvage one's sanity. He watched through the windshield as Flo all but manhandled her cousin across the muddy patch of lawn beneath a yellow porch light. Her skirt kept riding up, her blouse clinging a little too well to her back and arms as she wrestled Elsie upright.

It was Flo's cleavage though, dipping dangerously when she crouched to dig out a small pin from under the trashcan, that killed Joe. He blinked once, twice. Took a drag and looked away because when Flo got Elsie halfway through the window—arms first, head flopped sideways like a tragic marionette—her dress had hiked up further.

"Damn," Jack murmured from the backseat. "Those tits are something else, but the legs? Fuck."

Joe's eyes left the two women to stare at Jack through the rearview mirror, blank and cold, as if he was filing away the information for later use—when he wasn't on the clock, when there weren't witnesses and a fare involved.

Maybe it was hypocritical of him—or maybe it was just the fact that he grew up taking care of four sisters—, but in any other situation, Joe would've leaned over the seat, grabbed Jack by the collar, and knocked his teeth loose against the door frame.

Instead, Joe flicked the ash out the window and pretended he didn't hear him.

Jack huffed a little laugh, almost piqued. "C'mon, you're looking too. Don't be a fucking priest."

Joe took another drag, smoke leaving his lips as he warned, "You talk like that again and you're walking home."

Jack scoffed. Probably didn't take it seriously, considering the little respect he'd been having for the three other people riding the cab with him that night. But Joe was serious and he was begging for Jack give him a reason.

Said reason didn't come before Flo returned to the cab.She slammed the door shut behind her, skirt hiked up from all the heavy lifting and one shoe nearly dangling off her heel. Her legs barely settled on the floor before Jack scooted closer—too close.

Joe saw it all in the rearview. He tossed his cigarette off the window for his hand to return to the gearshift. "Where to now?" he asked, voice rougher than before, eyes flicking to Flo, but only for a split second.

"My place." Jack said smoothly, like the suggestion carried some kind of weight.

"Need an address." Joe spat, a bit too rough.

Jack gave it to him absentmindedly, too busy leaning in close to Flo, a hand already halfway to her thigh before Joe's cab pulled away of the residential area. His voice dipped low. "You should come. We can… take the edge off."

Joe's knuckles whitened on the wheel.

Flo didn't answer right away; her gaze was fixed on the window, shoulders still. "No, thank you." her tone might as well have been the audible version of a slap for someone with half a brain.

Jack, who didn't seem to have half a brain, let out a short laugh. "C'mon. Don't be like that." His arm shifted—Joe couldn't see where it landed, but it was too close. His jaw ticked, and pointed eyes snapped to the rearview again.

"Jack." Flo's voice had teeth.

Jack ignored it. "We had a moment, doll. You don't wanna—"

She snapped. She didn’t raise her voice. She didn’t have to. The sharp movement of her elbow jabbing into his ribs, the vicious twist of her body, the way her fingers found his wrist and flung it away from her lap like it was a dead rat—that was loud enough.

Joe hit the brakes before his brain caught up to the motion and the cab screeched to a jarring stop in the middle of a quiet San Francisco street. Tires protested against asphalt. Jack yelped, thrown slightly forward, barely catching himself with a palm on the window.

"What the fuck, man?" he barked.

Joe turned in his seat, elbow hooked over the backrest, and looked at Jack like he was something he might scrape off his boot.

“You can get out,” Joe said evenly.

Jack blinked. “What?”

Joe’s voice came out like gravel and restraint: “You can walk.”

"What?"

Joe didn’t even flinch. "You can walk. Get out."

Jack scoffed. "You kidding me, man? It’s half an hour away."

"I’m not fucking driving another half hour. My shift is over."

Jack leaned forward, incredulous. "The shift is over when I say so."

Joe exhaled slowly through his nose, eyes darkening as he took in those words. His palm hit the steering wheel once, loud and sharp. He scoffed under his breath, head tilted as if trying to decide whether to laugh or commit a crime.

In one fluid motion, Joe threw the car into park, popped his door open, and stepped out into the night. The cab rocked slightly as the door shut behind him. His boots echoed against the quiet street as he circled the vehicle to open Flo's door.

He yanked it open so hard the frame nearly bounced.

"Front seat," he told Flo, short and calm, not taking his eyes off Jack. "Now."

Flo didn’t argue. She slid out wordlessly and made for the front, brushing past Joe’s arm without a word.

Jack hadn’t even moved before Joe grabbed him by the arm. Firm. No dramatics, just authority. Joe pulled, dragging Jack half out of the cab like dead weight.

Jack stumbled, caught himself on the doorframe, and whipped around chest-to-chest with Joe. “Okay, fucking cabbie—who do you think you are—”

Joe shoved him.

Not a slap, not a punch—just one solid hand at the center of Jack’s chest, fast and merciless. Jack’s back hit the side of the cab with a metallic thud.

“I said you can fucking walk,” Joe told him, his voice calm and razor-sharp. “So go do that, buddy.”

He didn’t wait for a reply.

Joe turned, slid back into the driver’s seat, and started the engine with an annoyed exhale.

Flo was already settled beside him up front, legs crossed, hand braced on the dash. She didn’t look at Jack once as they pulled away. Not until the cab had started rolling. Then she flipped him off—middle finger up, elbow on the window, chin tilted high to meet Jack's incredulous expression through the wing mirror.

The city rolled by in silence, streetlamps carving stripes across Joe’s face. The roads were nearly empty, save for the occasional couple wandering home, arm in arm, laughing into the night.

In a desperate attempt at finding a topic to fill the silence, Flo's eyes scanned the cab and soon landed on the dog tags hanging from the gearshift.

“You served?” she asked in a curious tone.

Joe cleared his throat, shifting slightly on his seat, maybe uncomfortable, maybe still annoyed. “Yeah. Airborne. Europe.”

“Me too,” she said, then smirked faintly. “Well. Not Airborne. Nurse Corps.”

He glanced sideways at her. “Guess that makes us coworkers.”

A soft chuckle left her. “Didn’t peg you for the type to talk shop.”

“I’m not.” he said, a bit too fast.

But he didn’t look away.

They sat in that mutual silence again. Not awkward. Not exactly comfortable either. Just tight. Like something was being held back on both ends.

Flo leaned her head lightly against the window, but her eyes stayed on him.

“You from around here?” she asked.

Joe gave a noncommittal shrug. “Not for long."

"Mysterious."

"I could go into detail on a date, you know?" He dropped, tapping his thumb on the steering wheel.

Flo tried to stop her face from breaking in a smile. This was not how she expected the night to go, but no one would hear her complain about it.

Joe pulled up in front of her building. Three floors, a narrow stoop, and the glow of a single room spilling out of her apartment's window. Winnie was still awake, Flo realized. Shame.

“That’ll be…” Joe leaned forward to check the taximeter, but his eyes lingered a second too long on her instead. “A dollar seventy-five.”

Flo blinked, then looked down at her lap. No purse.

Shit.

She twisted in her seat, bracing a hand on the dashboard as she leaned back over the seat. Her cleavage pulled tight. Joe’s eyes flicked—he didn’t even try to hide it.

Flo caught it. Didn’t say a thing.

“Damn it,” she muttered, half to herself. The purses. With all the chaos going on at the entrance of the dance hall, Flo must've forgotten to ask Ronnie and Dottie for her and Elsie's purse.

"Uhm," she turned back to Joe, who surely awaited a shit excuse by the way his brow was quirked. "My friend's got my purse."

He puffed out a laugh. Flo did too, out of nervousness if anything.

"I could go up to my apartment," she suggested, already curling her fingers around the door's handle. "Get the money and come back."

"Yeah, fuck, how do I know you're gonna come back at all?"

"You don't."

"Exactly."

Flo pondered her options. Maybe, she thought, she could let this work in her favor to end the godawful emotional rollercoaster in a fun note. She'd gone to that shit celebratory dance with the goal of taking a man home either way—she just didn't know said guy could be a cab driver.

"Maybe we could reach an agreement." She tried with a shrug that faked confidence poorly.

"An agreement." Joe kept tapping the steering wheel. If he saw where Flo was driving up with this, he didn't let it show. "An agreement won't pay the gas."

"But I'm pretty." She joked.

"That's an understatement." Joe seemed to ponder how stupid would it be to follow along. He hadn't been taking the best choices today, so what harm could another messy turn do? "What kind of agreement?"

There it was. Flo didn't expect the situation to even be able to escalate, but now that they were there and that Joe's eager eyes were anything but subtle, she dove right in.

"Depends. How much of a gentleman are you, Joe?"

That got a huff of laughter out of him. He looked away, toward the building, then back at her. His jaw tensed—maybe trying to keep from smirking. Or maybe to stop from talking himself out of this.

“I was a lot more of a gentleman before you got into the cab.” he stated, too low not to mean anything past a quick comeback.

His words hung in the cab like smoke—thick, heavy, slow to dissipate.

Flo didn’t give them time to.

She leaned forward, bracing one hand against the seat between them. Her mouth was on his a moment later—no hesitation, no asking. Just pressure, intent, and the sharp click of teeth from the speed of it. Joe kissed her back like he hadn’t been waiting for it but sure as hell wasn’t stopping now. One of his hands caught her waist, the other tangled roughly in her hair. Their teeth knocked again, and Flo let out a sound in the back of her throat that made him groan into her mouth.

Heat flashed under her skin like gasoline catching spark, fast and all-consuming, but she pulled back first, breath shallow, mouth flushed, fingers slipping from the collar of his jacket.

“Out,” she whispered, certain. “Get out of the cab.”

Joe didn’t ask why. He just opened his door and stepped out into the night air, the slam of it echoing off the empty street. He stood there, leaned against the side of the cab with the door still open beside him—a physical shield for what they both knew was about to happen.

Flo slid out after him, slower, more deliberate. The hem of her dress caught a bit of wind and shifted around her legs. She didn’t look at him until she was rounding the back of the cab, heels barely making a sound on the pavement.

She stopped when she was in front of him.

Their eyes locked for a second longer than necessary.

Then, with deft fingers, she reached for his belt, undid the buckle with practiced ease. Her knuckles brushed against his stomach as she tugged his pants open, and he exhaled sharply through his nose.

“Jesus,” he muttered, head tilting back just a little, throat working as she slid the zipper down. Her fingers found the waistband of his briefs next.

“Relax,” she said, voice honey-thick.

She dropped to her knees.

The pavement was cold. The wind brushed her cheeks. Joe’s hand twitched by his side, unsure where to go—until she looked up at him through her mascara-tinted lashes, and his hand tangled on her hair, gentle. At first, at least, when the warmth of her breath hit the tip of his dick, lips teasing and calculatedly careful.

But then her tongue flicked around the head, mouth wrapping around it with expertise precision, slow and teasing, and Joe's fingers tightened around the blind locks without meaning to. Although, if he was being honest with himself, maybe he meant to.

Her hand stroked what her mouth didn’t yet take, building a rhythm meant to undo him faster than Joe imagined.

The street was dead quiet except for the occasional car in the distance—yet every sound felt ten times louder in the dark. Joe bit down on a curse; for all the noise discipline he had been submitted to during the war, he had always loved to run his mouth, and Flo wasn't making things easier for him to stay quiet.

“Christ, you’re—shit—” His voice broke in a whisper as she swallowed him deeper, hand braced against his thigh for leverage. Her other hand still worked the base, slow but steady, in perfect sync with her tongue. “You don’t—god, fuck, sweetheart—don’t play fair, do you?”

Flo hummed around him, smug as sin, and the vibration made his hips jerk forward before he caught himself.

She liked that.

She also liked the tension in his arm as he gripped her makeshift ponytail like he was holding himself back from thrusting forward.

The way his thighs kept tightening, the way his fingers trembled against her scalp—he was close. She could feel it in how hard he clenched his jaw, trying not to groan, how he kept muttering half-formed words through grit teeth.

“Shit—Florence—”

He wasn't asking her to stop; he was warning her he couldn't hold out much longer, and judging by the way she picked up the pace, the soft pop of her mouth every time she let him slip out, that was exactly what she wanted.

Joe came with a hoarse groan, every muscle in his body tensing, hand fisting in Flo’s hair as she took all of him, swallowing his load, her lips dragging just slightly as she eased off him.

For a moment, the world was nothing but the sound of both of them breathing, heavy and uneven in the cool night air.

Joe's eyes fluttered down at her, chest still rising and falling fast. His hand slid from the back of her head to her shoulder, then lower, fingers curling around her arm as he pulled her gently up onto her feet.

“Come here,” he murmured, voice roughened, and dragged her flush against him.

The kiss that followed was deep and filthy and possessive—like he hadn’t just finished, like he was already aching again. His hands gripped her hips, hard enough she’d probably find finger-shaped bruises tomorrow.

“I’m not done with you,” he almost growled against her mouth. A warning and a promise all at once—one that made anticipation pool inside Flo. “Alright?”

The blonde grinned, a little breathless. “You got condoms here?”

That stopped him cold.

Joe pulled back just enough to give her a look. “The fuck would I have condoms in my cab?”

She figured that would be the case, but better be safe than sorry, because the alternative was a bit embarrassing. A girl's gotta do, what a girl's gotta do, though. Flo dropped her forehead against his shoulder and sighed like she was asking the heavens for strength.

“She’s gonna kill me.”

Flo didn't want to resort to Winifred; the reason why she was not out to begin with was that she had preferred to be left alone. Flo didn't have much of a choice at this point in time, and so the pair walked up to the quiet building, shutting the cab's door behind them.

Inside the warm lit living room, Winnie was curled up on the couch, wearing a cardigan too big for her that she didn't even remember getting, clutching a half-empty glass of wine in one hand and a dog-eared romance novel in the other. Her cheeks were damp, her nose red, and her pixie-long hair slightly disheveled.

The British woman had been in need of a good cry for what seemed ages; she just didn't know it'd come through a shit book she swore up and down she wouldn't read. She also didn't expect a pebble to hit the window behind her—hence why she nearly jumped off the couch.

"What—"

Tick!

Another rock made Winnie flinch, but this time she got closer to the window instead of jolting away from it.

Tick!

Third time's the charm. Grumbling through her wine haze with a frown, Winifred got up and opened the window just enough to stick her head out.

“Flo?” she blinked down. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Having a bit of fun,” Flo announced sweetly from three floors down. Joe was behind her, pants re-buckled but shirt rumpled beyond hope. “I need a favor.”

“What?”

“I need you to grab the condoms from my nightstand.”

Winnie's brows drew tighter, confusion turning into vexation. One single night of peace. She hadn't asked for a lot, had she?

"I'm having a breakdown!" She whisper-shouted, her voice cracking a bit in the process. The man behind her roommate didn't bother in hiding his snickering, which made Winifred want to go downstairs and slap the fun out of him.

"I know, sweetie," Flo reasoned in a kind yet impatient tone. "And I love you!" Winifred sighed at Flo's sweetness, the ghost of a pout crossing her visage. It soon vanished when the blonde down on the street finished her statement. "But I need you to toss me the Trojans!"

That did it.

Winnie shut the window hard enough to shatter it, and for a hot second, Flo started to hype herself up about going upstairs.

The window opened before Flo could make up her mind about how to proceed without having her friend murder her over breakfast, and Winnie's head peeked out the half open for a brief instant. Then her hand followed, tossing the condoms down with force that wasn't needed and aim that hadn't been accidental, since the protection turned projectile hit Joe's head dead on, making curse out of shock.

“Fuck—she could be a pitcher for the Seals.” the man muttered to himself, rubbing his crown while crouching to get a hold of the dropped condoms.

"I love her." Flo stated. She didn't wait up for Joe's reply—just wrapped her slender fingers around the man's wrist and led him back to the cab.

Florence hadn't really pictured herself fucking a cabbie out in the open in front of her apartment building, but now that it was about to happen, she didn't wanna waste time with pleasantries.

Joe barely had the wrapper torn open when Flo pulled him in by the collar like a woman on a mission—though one might argue he was the one following orders.

"Jesus Christ-"

If he had something to say—which was most likely the case—, the words got pushed back down his throat by Flo's eager mouth. Joe did his best to keep up with the woman, but considering the way her hands dove down to his buckle again not even a split second after his back hit the driver's door of the cab, he started to worry about matching her pace.

He wouldn't go down without trying, though; Joe's own digits helped her yank down his pants and skivvies, his half hard dick springing out to be immediately caught by Flo's impatient palm.

With an almost frustrated 'fuck', Joe gently slapped Flo's hand away to slip himself into the condom with close to no finesse. The blonde took the momentum to take half a step back and roll her own panties down under her dress.

When she returned to her previous position, her body hit his with purpose; one of her legs hooked high, slipping out of her underwear to grant Joe better access in a precarious way with medal worthy flexibility.

Her heel hung on for dear life; the other shoe stayed grounded, toe pointed, calf flexed. She was all curve and command, pinning him to the side of the cab like it was a shared vice.

Joe pushed into her, slow and as controlled as a man starving could be; he sucked in a breath hoping it might help him survive the next five minutes.

“Shit,” he breathed on Flo's flushed cheek. “Are you always this—”

“Efficient?” she offered, voice pitched low with a crooked smile, drawing dominance from her keenness.

"That's a—fuck—" Joe's jaw locked, head tilted back when Flo rolled her hips in a testing motion. "—that's a way to put it."

She laughed softly, warm and unhurried, and pressed her mouth to his jaw instead of answering. A taunt. Joe’s hands found her hips with practiced urgency, eyes going back to stare at Flo, a low curse gritting through his teeth as she dragged kisses up his neck.

Joe decided to do something useful and made sure to bracket Flo's leg between his arm and his side; it wouldn't stop her exposed knee from hitting the side of the cab when she moved, but it'd offer her some very much needed leverage to chase her own pleasure.

Somewhere between Flo's drawling rhythm and Joe's not-so-quiet grunts, her other shoe finally gave up and dropped to the street with a soft clack. She didn't notice. Or care.

"Keep your voice down, cabbie," she whispered, voice close to his ear. "I already had to beg for condoms. I’m not doing crowd control."

“You begged,” he scoffed, but it came out ragged. “You bribed her with love and yelled about Trojans.”

“You gonna lecture me?" Flo said, grinding forward just enough to steal his next breath, “or shut up and earn your tip?”

That got a sound out of him—half-laugh, half-moan—one hand slipping down to anchor her thigh higher, while the other palmed between their torsos to find her tits. God what Joe would give to see them bounce, but that was too much to ask. This was already too much to ask, but he wasn't about to turn down the highlight of his month just in case some San Francisco resident would walk down the street at ungodly hours.

“You’re gonna be the death of me.” he claimed, peppering her jaw with lazy kisses to stop himself from getting any louder.

“Maybe,” she murmured, hips shifting with delicious threat. “But what a way to go.”

His hands gripped her hips, tighter now, not guiding—anchoring. Flo was doing a pretty good job of driving them both over the edge with the way her pelvis rolled, making Joe be able to hit all the right spots. He wasn't sure who was holding who up anymore.

She stumbled a little when she picked up the pace, mouth against mouth to cage the unholy panting and mewling leaving their throats with each thrust. Flo's digits steadied her by digging into Joe's nape and shoulder blade, which drew a hissed curse from him.

“Jesus,” he complained under his breath, head tipping back against the cab. “You got nails or something?”

“I got motivation.” Flo whispered, brushing her mouth along the line of his neck. Her skirt had hiked up halfway over her thigh by now, and her hand held onto the hem of Joe's shirt like she was ready to tear it if needed.

“I thought nurses were supposed to be gentle.”

“I’m off duty,” she countered breathless against his mouth. “and you’re still talking.”

He groaned, softer this time, forehead pressed to hers like that might stabilize him. Joe’s hands slid up, fingers tracing the dip of her waist, the curve of her spine, her breasts, the shape of her shoulder blades under the fabric of that damn dress. He was a goner.

Flo bit his lower lip, chest heaving, hands roaming, hips bouncing against him, and Joe? Joe made another one of those strangled little noises that sounded like he was trying not to. A whisper of her name escaped his lips, and Florence almost laughed into his mouth.

“We’ll work on your volume.”

“Don’t you dare—” he warned, barely able to breathe, let alone finish the sentence. But she was already shifting her weight again, her bare foot slipping against the side of the cab for leverage as she tried to quicken the pace again, grasping at any part of Joe that would help her stay upright. She was close, almost gone, tipping over the edge; Joe saw that as an opportunity to shift the dynamic.

In a sharp, almost instinctive pivot, he turned them both around. Flo met the warm metal of the cab first with her back, then with her palms splayed on the hood when Joe spun her and bent her over it.

He leaned over her, pushing her down until her cheek met the curved surface, red lipstick nearly smudged on yellow. One of his hands on her hip, the other lining himself up with her pussy. “Still feeling cute now?”

"Fuck me—" Flo's go-to curse morphed into a loud moan when Joe thrusted into her again, the heat pooling her core working in his favor. He was not willing to waste time and whether or not Flo's sounds echoed in the nearby buildings when he started pistoning into her—hips slapping again ass cheeks—wasn't one of his concerns. "Oh—oh Jesus FUCK—"

"Shut up," Joe urged, "you're gonna get us arrested—" although his own grunts weren't helping his case.

"Then shut me up," Flo taunted, lips staining the hood of the cab with each articulated word. She caught Joe's breathed out curse, but she didn't expect him to turn her around again; a motion too fast to process properly before Joe pulled her up by her hair to sit up, his free hand yanking her cleavage down as much as the dress allowed him to.

"Now this is what I wanted to see." He mumbled more to himself than to Flo, mouth latching onto the now exposed flesh of her chest, his rhythm picking up a ridiculous speed that kept tearing broken sounds out of the blonde.

The noise would potentially be an issue for Flo the morning after, when the time would come to face the neighbors that she was pretty sure were being shaken awake by the best fuck she'd had in a long while. The morning had not come yet, and neither had Florence, so she stacked the problem on the back of her mind.

Not everyone was lucky enough to be too fucked out to care about the spectacle Flo and Joe were subjecting the neighborhood to.

Winifred, for once, was now glued to the telephone, eyes shut, trying not to gag every time a 'sweet fuck' or a 'right there' from Florence punctured through the living room's walls.

"They're still at it." Winnie talked through the transmitter.

"I can't believe she's fucking the cabbie." Veronica's amused voice cut through the nightmarish moans, Sandy's laugh reaching Winnie's ear through the receiver. "Thank God I didn't show up with her damn purse."

"She could've asked me to toss her my purse but no—" Winifred huffed, her breakdown long forgotten. "Asked for the condoms instead."

"—What are they doing?" Sandy questioned eagerly with a laugh, she had definitely taken the handset away from Veronica.

"They're uh..." Against better judgement, Winifred moved the curtain's hem to the side like it'd burn her if she got too close and peeped through the window down at the parked cab. "Oh goodness gracious!"

"What?! What is it?!"

"He's eating her out!" Winnie physically gagged, closing the curtain again and turning her back to the window like that would make it any better.

"Such a shame you don't have Ronnie's camera with you." Sandy joked, disregarding Winifred's horrified state. "This would make for great press, right Ron?"

"I'm about to puke." Winnie blurted out into the phone.

"—go away—" Ronnie shooed Sandy on the other side of the line. "Freddie just... Just go to sleep, alright?"

Winifred considered arguing, but given the late hours, the finished bottle of wine and the way Florence was screaming that cabbie's name, the best thing she could do was call it a night.

She'd make sure to translate how displeased she'd been to Florence over breakfast in the form of purposefully burnt toasts. She just hoped she wouldn't have that cabbie at the kitchen table too. Although having on account the way Flo was repeatedly screaming 'I'm coming' down on the street, it was a very plausible possiblity.

[lostintheljghts]

sincaraz fic recs pls!!! xx

ohhhh i was waiting for this one!!

a couple of disclaimers:

i've read a lot of sincaraz fanfictions and i couldn't possibly include them all. I'll try my best, but if you see this post and think of a ff that wasn't included, please do share it!!

there are a lot of authors that have written multiple sincaraz ffs (the first that come to mind are @deliriouslyshipping and @n1mmue), I encourage you to read everything they've posted!! but as they are a lot I'll only include a couple here.

please be aware of the tags before reading the fics, I switch a lot between canon compliant and aus.

last but not least, you might notice an abundance of vers/bottom jannik here. this is a matter of personal preference, all I have to say is that the recent bbl he got converted me skjfddj but again, a lot of the authors included write both dynamics!!

This Is How You Love the Sun by nimmue -a post rg final angsty one shot. what can I say, I love angst. Over You, Only Me by nimmue -this might not be everyone's cup of tea, but it def is mine. listen, I might be projecting, but I love the concept of mean top carlos (especially bc it's so starkingly different from how he is outside of the bedroom). abo is also really controversial but honestly idgaf ksjdfhskjh we're here to have fun.

let down and hanging around by shayvrides -another post rg final fic. what can I say, it left us traumatized. this time it's more spicy than angsty tho. the winner takes it all by bangonoscah -aaaaaaand another one!! loved the dialogues here.

the more i try to get a grip on it, i slip into you by pinkcaraz (litenvitkanin) -this is the filth I love eheh. did I mention I love angst? yeah, that also includes loving when a character thinks their feelings aren't reciprocated. add all this in a spicty context where one of them is so horny he can't help but say the other's name when they think they're alone...yeah, loved it

Way Too Deep (But I'm Into It) by deliriouslyshipping -it's way too difficult to choose only a couple of their works but how can I not choose the uni!au, AND WHAT I JUST SAW THERE'S PART THREE POSTED NOW SKJDFSKJHFSD CAN'T WAIT TO READ. part one might not be everyone's cup of tea with the fact that there's a girl involved too, but I loved it.

yeah it's impossible i can't choose. they have wayy to many great fics. do yourself a favour and read them all here deliriouslyshipping.

If you wanted honesty that's all you had to say by Cassie (BADFalcon) -small hilarious one shot, loved darren here

umiltà by niccolos -please please please read this. one of my fav sincaraz fanfics ever, I think. carlos subtly flexing might be one of the hottest things ever. I wish I knew you (back when we were both small) by serve_cunt  -i loooove f1!aus. like, I love them. Please writers feed me I need more sincaraz as drivers fighting for wc.

you pull my strings (and I like it) by liefde -this was a really interesting au. and honestly now that jannik singer became a reality with the bocelli feat, this is only more hilarious in how accurate it could be.

Can't you see that I'm melting by lostintheljghts -yeah im being shameless here...this one's mine. to be honest I haven't read it in a good month and writing it now i'd change a lot of things, but oh well...if you give it a shot lemme know what you think!

Flying In a Dream, Stars By The Pocketful by JujubeeJones -really light and fluffy one shot from when things were good and sincaraz fans were thriving :') I feel like im missing a lot of great fics, but my mind is blanking right now. I hope this will keep you sated for some time <3 Please people do add fics to this list if you want to!!

[life-series-soulmate-swap]

Life Series Soulmate Swap AU - Introduction

~♡~♡~♡~

The premise of this AU is simple: Everyone is role-swapped with their soulmate.

That means Tango is the canary, BigB is the king in 3rd Life, and so on. For the people who weren't in Double Life, I used a wheel to decide who they would be "paired" with.

~♡~♡~♡~

The formatting of this blog is inspired by @blueishspace, being a Choose-Your-Adventure type thing where readers get to play a part in the story by voting in polls.

Mod's name is Kazan, I go by he/they. I'm a system, but I don't mind going by singular terms.

My main blog is @kazanfamily! If you'd like to see more of my written work, check out my AO3.

~♡~♡~♡~

Anything relating to this AU will be under the #ls soulmate swap tag. Fan content is always welcome to be put in there! Tagging me is optional but appreciated.

Posts and chapters will be listed here.

And here is where you can read it from the start :>

~♡~♡~♡~

[loki-hargreeves]

Pretty in Rope

Pairing: Blue Jones x fem!Reader Warnings/Tags: smut [18+ // minors dni], bondage, possessiveness, dom!Blue & sub!Reader, praise kink, slight degradation [name calling], spanking, choking, oral, fingering, blindfolding, unprotected penetration, Blue gets a little emotional and possessive, squirting, creampie Word Count: 4.2k Summary: Prompt; Bondage. Blue takes great pleasure in tying you up and torturing you with pleasure A/N: This is for the July writing challenge I'm hosting. If you're interested in joining, you can read more about it [here] 🌺

"How does that feel, honey? Hm?" Blue asks softly after tightening the soft rope around your wrists and forearms. He's tying you up slowly and securely, as if he's working on a piece of art. Taking his sweet, sweet time but also making sure it doesn't hurt. His gold ring adorned fingers rub against your soft skin, checking that the rope isn't too loose nor too tight, but just right.

"It feels good," You reassure him and meet his intense gaze. Blue is restraining you but it takes restraint for him to be patient when all he wants is to taste your sweetness, taste what's his. The hard bulge in his pants is evidence of just how badly Blue wants you too.

"Yeah? Doesn't hurt? I wouldn't wanna hurt my pretty little thing," Blue purrs in your ear, his lips brushing against your skin and sending shivers down your spine. The urge to touch him is strong but there's little you can do with your arms bound together behind your back.

"No, it doesn't hurt at all."

"Good."

Blue grabs more rope and pulls back slightly, taking in the sight of your beautiful, naked body, the way your lingerie suits your complexion so well and the vulnerable look in your eyes as you trust him to restrain you like this.

"You're being such a good girl for letting me do this, you know that, right?" Blue praises you because he knows damn well that just a sprinkle of praise makes you squirm. It's amusing.

His words go straight to your core. Smooth and sweet like honey. The brand new panties you're wearing are getting soaked and you're just getting started.

Suddenly his hand comes up to your throat, squeezing lightly and he tilts your head. "What do you say to that?"

A wave of heat washes over you. Blue can be so sweet and caring but at the same time he can get dominant and rough. It's hard to predict what you'll get but it always feels good. He knows exactly what he's doing and when he takes control, it's easy to let him lead you.

"Thank you," You thank him for the praise and feel a little flustered.

"Good girl," Blue smiles and kisses your cheek softly, while his hand is still on your throat, his palm gently resting on your chest.

"On your knees," Blue commands and pulls your arm, helping you up. It's a bit challenging when you can't use your arms. Once you're kneeling on the queen sized bed, Blue begins to wrap rope around your torso, expertly tying knots and focusing on your breasts that are hardly covered by the lace lingerie. The rope squeezes your curves gently and creates a beautiful display. He's so focused, making sure that everything's perfect.

"I'm going to make you feel so good, sugar. You won't remember your own name by the time I'm done with you," Blue promises, making sure to tease you plenty before he actually touches you where you need him most.

"Mmm..." A moan escapes your lips just at the thought of what will happen soon. Patience is key but it's getting increasingly more difficult to wait.

"You're gonna be a good little slut for me, aren't you?" Blue asks and suddenly brings his hand between your legs. His fingers caress the wet lace panties, making you squirm.

"Yes, Blue!" You pledge eagerly, feeling another wave of arousal as he calls you his slut. It's a strange thing, how he makes that word feel good. There's something about him that makes you want to act like never before, hornier than ever, more eager to please than ever...

"Yes, what?" Blue smirks. He withdraws his fingers from your panties, not giving you too much yet. Then he ties a knot around your waist and brings the rope down to your thighs.

"Yes, I'll be a slut for you," You tell him and feel a tingly sensation as you have to say the words out loud. It's a little bit humiliating but damn it feels good.

"Atta girl," Blue smiles and pats your thigh.

Once your torso and thighs are decorated with ropes and knots, Blue guides you onto your stomach. He extends your legs towards the bedposts and caresses your calves.

"Tell me what our safeword is," Blue demands as he kisses your legs, peppering kisses down toward your ankle. He feels proud as he notices the nail polish you've chosen, looking all pretty for him.

"Red. Red means stop," You recall and shiver as his tongue traces the curve on your calf. The desire to feel him inside you is so strong that it's clouding your thoughts, especially all rational ones.

"That's right," Blue nods and gently bites your ankle, making you writhe against the silky bed sheets. Blue pulls back and finishes tying your ankles to the bedpost. Then he admires the sight of you in this first position - belly down, arms tied behind your back, legs pulled apart and tied to the bed while rope squeezes your curves in all the right places.

"Can you move?" Blue wonders while caressing you, now feeling your ass, being gentle for now. He's making you ache for it.

You try to move, tugging against the rope. It's pointless though, as your arms are securely together. It's a vulnerable moment but trusting him turns you on beyond comprehension.

"No, I can't."

Blue chuckles as he sees that you're completely helpless, at his mercy. He's waited for this for so long, to have you all to himself. He's sick of waiting, sick of everyone else thinking they have a chance with you. Tonight he's gonna ensure you don't forget who you belong to.

"You're so fucking stunning," Blue praises you, "All mine, all mine. All tied up and mine."

He swats your rear suddenly, making you flinch. "Oh!" You yelp and bite your lip, feeling a sting on your skin yet it feels nice. You tense up, expecting him to spank you again.

"Oh, you like that?" Blue teases you and spanks you again, this time on the other cheek. He can smell your arousal and see it dripping past the lingerie that barely shields your sweet core from his hungry eyes.

"Yes! Mmm.. thank you," You nod and make sure to thank him for each smack, wanting to stay in his good graces tonight and avoid punishment - although the thought of being a brat and seeing what happens is a dangerously tempting idea.

"Such a good girl," Blue chuckles darkly. He kneels between your spread legs which you can't really see, as you're face down against the mattress. You instinctively try to turn around to see but the ropes keep you in place.

"No peeking," Blue tells you and swats your inner thigh. Then his face gets closer between your legs, his hot breath landing on your skin.

"Please touch me," You pout pathetically.

"Oh I will," Blue promises and spreads your folds. He pulls the panties aside, finally exposing your wet and needy core. "So wet..." He mutters proudly to himself.

Then finally, finally, Blue licks a stripe up your slit. It feels like heaven after waiting for so long.

"Mmm..." Another moan escapes you, eyes rolling to the back of your head. All you can focus on is his tongue lapping up your juices, his hands digging into your curves and the rope keeping you still. You clench your hands because you wanna squeeze something but are unable to.

Blue inches even closer, not afraid to get dirty. His tongue teases your entrance a few times but then he settles on your clit, licking the sensitive bundle of nerves in a teasing manner. His nose brushes against your folds while he eats you out, making you melt into the mattress. He's gonna make you fall apart embarrassingly quickly.

Blue grabs your thighs tightly, making sure you can't even think about moving or wriggling away from his mouth. His lips close around your throbbing clit, sucking it in a way that shoots white-hot pleasure through your body.

"Ah fuck!" You cry out and try to squirm, but you can't. It's impossible to avoid the intense pleasure that's attacking your clit.

Blue pulls back, only to use his fingers on that sweet spot instead. "Swearing already?" Blue asks, sounding a bit disappointed.

"Ohh... sorry! Feels so good..." You mewl and bite your lip. It's hard to think straight when he's rubbing your clit hard and there's no way to escape the blissful torture.

"You want more?" Blue wonders and playfully slaps your clit, enjoying how that makes you gasp. He does it again a few times, not too hard but enough to make you lose control.

"Yes please Blue, I need you inside me."

"Oh really?" Blue tilts his head and just watches your reactions, enjoying the impatience. He keeps rubbing circles on your clit without giving you what you're asking for.

Fuck, this man. He's driving you crazy.

"Need you in my pussy," You whine again, hoping that he'll grant you this wish if you're more vulgar and direct.

"You've gotta tell me who it belongs to first," Blue insists. Without being able to see his face properly, you just know he's smirking.

"It belongs to you! You.. only you!" You cry out, going mad as he plays with your sensitive button. There's a warm, intense feeling deep in your abdomen that has you shaking in the restraints.

"That's what I like to hear. Good girl," Blue sounds so pleased with himself. He licks his fingers, tasting your sweet juices again. Then he pushes his index finger inside your eager hole and watches in awe how it sinks in with ease.

It feels so damn good. Blue immediately searches for that spot inside you that has you seeing stars. Another finger plunges in and he rubs against that familiar spongy spot, scratching an itch that he's created.

"Ohh Blue!" You gasp and curl your toes, struggling against the rope as the pleasure builds within those walls and deep in your belly. Suddenly, it feels like you're gonna come and hard. You hold your breath in anticipation, letting the orgasm build up.

"Fuck, baby... you're taking my fingers so well," Blue groans, getting insanely turned on by watching your pussy swallowing his fingers repeatedly. His other hand comes up to rub your clit again, hard.

"Ahh! I'm coming! I'm coming..." A cry slips past your lips as pleasure attacks all your nerves down there. It feels a million times more intense than usual as you physically can't move and you're forced to feel everything.

While your walls are still throbbing, Blue pulls his fingers back and dives right back in between those sweet, wet folds. His tongue begins to lap your arousal, both driving you even further over the edge and feeling like a soothing balm on your clit after coming.

"Ohh.." You pant out while Blue pushes his face into your cunt, getting all messy as he drinks your nectar. He's like a man crazed. He can't get enough. It just further arouses him when you cry out and try to wriggle away from the attack of stimulation. It's like he's pouring gasoline into an already burning flame.

"Blue I can't-" You pant, yet refrain from using a safeword. By now, your brain feels like pudding. You know you enjoy it, you want more but you're so overstimulated. All that leaves your mouth is pure blabber and you know that you can take the heat.

Blue pulls away though, lips and moustache wet with your juices. He's panting and so damn proud of himself. He pats your ass gently and gets up on his knees, still situated between your spread legs.

"You taste so good, honey," Blue purrs as he begins to remove his clothes, starting with loosening his tie. Once it comes off, he leans over your back, coming up to kiss your face. "You look so pretty when you're tied up and coming all over my fingers."

His praise only intensifies the pulsing in your walls as you're recovering from that mind-blowing orgasm. It's like Blue has a spell over you, making you feel good with just words.

"Thank you," You manage to mutter while catching your breath.

"Lift your head," Blue tells you surprisingly softly. As you do as told, he wraps his tie over your eyes, blindfolding you. He's careful while tying it behind your head, not wanting to do it too tight or get it tangled with your hair. Once you're unable to see anything but darkness, it adds another layer of intensity to it all. Your pussy misses him already as you wonder what it'll feel like when you can't see nor move.

"Is this okay?" Blue wonders and caresses your cheek.

"Yes."

"Good girl," He whispers in your ear, "I'm going to fuck you now, gonna take my time with your sweet little pussy."

Blue throws his dress shirt away, along with this belt and pants. As he pulls down his boxers, his cock slaps up against his abdomen with how hard he is right now. It almost hurts how hard he is, the tip leaking with pre-cum that you unfortunately can't see.

"Please Blue," You whimper, "I need you so bad. Need you to fuck me."

"Oh sweet girl," Blue laughs and positions himself at your entrance, rubbing the tip along your slit a few times to collect the wetness as lube, "I'm gonna fuck you okay? Gonna make sure you know who you belong to."

"I'm so wet and it's all for you," You insist, so horny that you no longer feel shame, only the desire to be good for him. Whatever it takes.

"Aww, that's right," Blue nods and pushes the tip in, spreading your hole so deliciously but then - he pulls out. "You're mine."

With that, he sinks into you fully. His length eases inside with the help of your wetness, making both you and Blue gasp in pleasure. It feels so good to finally be like this. Blue squeezes the sheets so hard as he tries to remain in control instead of ravaging you instantly.

"Oh baby, you take me so well," Blue moans and looks down to where his dick is disappearing into you. He takes a few slow thrusts, making sure you're good. Judging on your sweet sounds and the smile on your face, he's good to go.

"Oh! Yes..." You gasp as Blue picks up the pace. His chest presses against your back and he holds onto your shoulder and the ropes as he fucks into you. With each thrust, his breath lands on your neck, sweat builds between you but neither one cares.

"That's right! Yeah, see how this pussy was made for me?" Blue grunts, losing himself in the pleasure. Your walls squeeze him just right.

You'd answer if you could but now all you can think about is the intense sensations between your bodies. The sound of his cock using your wet hole fill the room along with the sound of skin slapping against skin. Unable to move or see, you get to just take it and wander in the pleasure. Somehow, being tied up is what makes you feel so sexually free.

Blue groans as he fucks you harder, chasing his own high. His hand slides up to your neck, squeezing slightly. Even when unable to see, you can feel his dark gaze on you, admiring your expressions as he fucks you. The way your lips part when moaning, the way you're glowing right now... "You're so pretty. My pretty girl," Blue growls in your ear and applies slight pressure to your neck, yet it feels oddly comforting, allowing you to melt under his touch.

By now, you're so wet that his thick length slips in and out of you without any trouble. Blue feels this as well and it allows him to go harder. He laughs a little as he feels this level of arousal from you. It's one of the hottest things he's ever experienced and he's so proud he can get you to this point.

"Fuck!" Blue moans and rests his forehead against your shoulder. He pushes himself as deep inside as he possibly can and stills for a moment.

"Ahh..." You moan, feeling how your pussy stretches around his cock. It's an addicting feeling. You just want more, more and more.

"You feel what you do to me?" Blue asks and grabs your jaw, "Do you?"

"Yes, Blue, I feel it," You nod. His thumb caresses you lip, prompting you to suck his finger. It tastes like your own wetness.

"You're mine, baby," Blue whispers and he almost sounds choked up, "You know that, right?"

You nod again, swirling your tongue around his thumb. His cock is throbbing deep inside you, distracting you from the rest of the world. All that matters now is him, that you're his, that he's several inches deep inside you. Yes.

"I'm all yours," You mewls as he removes his thumb from your lips, caressing your face instead.

"My girl," Blue purrs and moves his hips again, fucking into you slowly yet staying deep inside. "I'll be damned if anyone tries to touch what's mine."

"Ohh," You breathe out softly as your walls throb around him. It feels so good you want to cry. "I just want you!"

"Just me?" Blue smiles, somehow feeling a bit teary eyed. He feels such a strong, possessive feeling over you that it's overwhelming, soul-consuming almost. He hates sharing what's his.

"Just you," You promise and try to buckle your hips, only to remember that the ropes are keeping you in place. They won't budge.

Blue pulls back momentarily. As he pulls out, you whine at the loss and the empty feeling. He reaches down to one of your ankles and undoes the rope. Then he grabs your ankle and rubs the spot that the rope tugged against. Blue bends your leg up and groans as he sees your ass and slit when your leg is up like that.

"Fuck, you look so good, like a temptress," Blue tells you and gets closer. Now that only one of your ankles is tied to the bed, he can move you a little bit more freely. Blue lies down on his side and pulls you closer. He pushes himself back inside you and hooks his own leg over yours.

"Need to tie you up more often," Blue says between thrusts. He bites your shoulder, making you cry out.

"Yes! Please, please, please..."

"I'm gonna turn you into my good little rope bunny," Blue growls in your ear as his thrusts get harder and harder. His hand wraps around your throat, just holding onto you there without restricting your breathing.

Blue's other hand finds your clit. He's close so he wants to make you come all over his cock.

"Blue!" You whine loudly as he flicks your clit while fucking you. He pulls the tip out and pushes it back in, repeatedly because he knows that's what drives you crazy.

"You like that?" He asks smugly while seeing the evidence, as each time he pulls out, your wetness spreads over your thighs and the sheets.

"I'm gonna...oh fuck!" You curse, no longer caring about proper language at this point. You try to squirm, to escape the intense sensations of how quickly this orgasm is building but to no avail. Blue shoves his cock deep inside you and rubs your clit faster, aiming to make you scream and fall apart.

"Come for me," He commands, not changing anything about what he's doing, just playing with your clit just the way you like it while his cock keeps you feeling full.

That's all you need to hear.

You see stars as your second orgasm engulfs you, making your entire body tense up. You tug against the ropes while you rock it out, feeling such intense pleasure between your legs that your legs tremble from the strength of it all. Naturally, you're trying to move, to avoid getting overstimulated, but that is impossible right now.

Blue curses under his breath as he feels how tightly your walls squeeze his dick as you come. The grip is so strong that he's sure he'd struggle to pull out if he tried.

"Fuuuuck Blue!" You scream as he keeps thrusting after only letting you recover for a short while. He's awakened each and every nerve down there and they're on fire. With each thrust, he pushes you closer to the feeling of squirting. It's a deep almost tingly sensation that only Blue manages to make you feel. The pressure builds quickly.

"Take it!" Blue groans and squeezes your hip. He grabs one of the ropes around your waist and pulls you down on his cock, meeting his thrusts.

"I'm gonna squirt..." You warn him, feeling overwhelmed with all the pleasure he's tormenting you with.

"Yes, honey. Squirt all over my cock, be a good girl," Blue sounds completely lost in lust by now. He's just encouraging you while he chases his own high.

"Mmh, gonna make a mess," You whimper and moan pathetically.

Blue just laughs, "go ahead, baby. I don't care. I don't care how messy we get. I want that."

He slowly rubs your overly sensitive clit again and bites your shoulder. Blue moans deeply, revealing just how close he is, holding on by a thread. Once you fall apart under his touch, pussy clenching around his dick while your wetness soaks the sheets, Blue can't hold back anymore.

"Oh! Baby..." Blue groans and slams his hips against your ass. Then he buries himself as deep inside as physically possible, stretching your entrance even further. His balls tighten and you can feel how they're pulsing as his cum fills you up. A smile spreads on your flushed face as you feel the aftershocks of his orgasm.

"My god..." Blue whispers as ropes of cum keep shooting into you. You try to wiggle your hips despite the restraints, teasing his sensitive cock as he cums.

"My good girl," Blue whispers and goes limp against you for a while. His leg is still hooked around your and now he wraps his arms around your bound upper body. Hands caressing the skin underneath the tight ropes.

It surprises you when Blue pulls the tie away from your eyes, letting you see again. His nose nuzzles against your cheek and you turn to face him with a sleepy yet satisfied smile. Everything feels like paradise right now but something tells you this night is still young.

"You did so good for me," Blue purrs proudly and kisses your cheek tenderly, "I'm so happy you're mine. I won't share you, baby..."

"You don't have to worry, Blue," You reassure him with a voice barely louder than a whisper. Hell, you're sure your heart is beating louder than your words right now.

"I'm so tired of sharing, so tired of people even looking at you like you're available. They're pigs," Blue mutters, almost in a grumpy way. His hold on you is possessive yet comforting, wanting to stay close while enjoying the high of your shared orgasms. He's never been this emotional with you before though.

"You're the only one for me," You promise and take a deep, satisfied breath. His cock is slowly softening inside your wet folds.

"Mine," Blue whispers and kisses your lips gently. Then he pulls out carefully, making sure to watch as his cum slowly drips out of your fucked out hole. "So pretty," He purrs, enjoying the sight. Blue spreads his cum around your pussy, making sure to touch your sensitive clit while you're still tied up.

Eventually, Blue recovers and he begins to untie you from the ropes. For now, at least. He might be rough, cruel even, but he cares in his own way. He doesn't want you to get hurt by leaving you tied up for too long.

With each knot that he unties, Blue rubs your skin, especially the faint marks left by the ropes. He kisses your wrists as your arms are finally released. One by one, the ropes come off and he throws them on the floor.

"How are you feeling?" He needs to know, being genuinely sweet with you. Only with you. Blue never thought he could care about someone the way he cares about you - and that makes him dangerous. He knows how fucked up the world is so he wants to shield you from it. Tie you up and make sure you won't get in harm's way.

"I feel amazing," You promise and roll around to face him, wanting to cuddle. It genuinely feels like paradise, to be so fucked out yet blissful. Blue makes you feel safe because you know he'd protect you from anything.

"That's what I like to hear," Blue chuckles happily and caresses your face a few times, "You look so good, smiling, glowing from sex, with my cum dripping from your sweet little hole..."

"Blue..." You whine, his praise getting to you.

"What? I'm just being honest."

You stretch your legs and arms, getting used to the feeling of being unrestrained again. Then you hug Blue, not caring about the fact that you're both a bit sweaty and sticky. Definitely in need of a shower or a bath.

"I think that we have to try this again," You tell him excitedly.

Blue's eyes widen with surprise, "Oh? Does my little bunny like getting tied up?"

"Yeah, it felt incredible," You purr and caress his dark, short hair. Blue is a sucker for getting caressed, as he always leans against your touch. So needy despite the tough act he puts up at times.

"Maybe next time I'll tie you up," You suggest playfully, knowing damn well that Blue enjoys getting dominated as well.

"Oh, naughty," Blue sounds surprised yet very interested in your suggestion, "I would love that, baby."

A/N: I hope you enjoyed this!! If you did, your reblog would mean the world to me 💗 I was tempted to write something where Blue was tied up but I guess I'll have to do that another time :)

I reblog all my fics on @loki-hargreeves-masterlist

[aziraphales-library]

Hiii

Thank you for all of the work everyone has done for this library! It's truly a gift to the fandom and fanfic readers.

I have read almost everything on here regarding to Human AUs, and was wondering if you could recommend more? I really enjoyed Mon Horrible Chéri and Postcards from Paris by ghostrat, also Don’t be late by Ina_Sirena. The jobs don’t have be the same, but general meet cute vibes and fluffiness, slow burn would be a nice bonus!

Thank you again! Have a nice day~

Hey. Here are some fics to add to our #human au, #meet cute, #fluff, and #slow burn tags...

Rainbow Connection by Dragonfire42, QueenOfTheCute (T)

Need some fluff today? Have some fluff! (Btw, puppets are made of fluff!) Aziraphale/Crowley - as PUPPETEERS! “'What’s the show about?” Crowley asked. “Well, it’s about two friends, Mark and Book, who have opposite personalities and live in a magic library and go on story time adventures to teach kids to love reading. Together, they are BookMark. Get it?” Coming from anyone else, Crowley would have found the pitch cheesy. But coming from this kind and fluffy haired puppeteer, he couldn’t help but find it endearing..." This is my first AU human Good Omens story. And in real life, I'm a puppeteer (you can see some of my puppets here @dorkpixie on Instagram and TikTok) - and I'm over the moon excited to use all my random knowledge in writing this! Written for the Good Omens Theatre Bang, inspired by the art by Queen of the Cute (@queenofthecute on Tumblr). Special thank you to @fifthstiel for beta-reading! (Also each chapter title and intro will include a quote from a Muppet song, and I'll link the music video at the end, because everyone's day would be better with a Muppet singing in it!)

So Much Wine, Merry Christmas by DumbGayVampires (T)

In the aptly named South Downs village of Heaven, population 2,222, there is a bookshop. This bookshop, A.Z. Fell and Co., sits proudly on the corner of Main Street and Angel Avenue, and is almost always closed. But if you know who to talk to and what to look for, you may be able to get a special appointment with the man in charge, the eccentric Aziraphale. He’s always dressed like it’s 1949 and good fortune seems to smile upon those who cross his path. His strange ways have made him something of a town celebrity. Rumours swirl about him, is he a time traveller? Is the bookshop a front for something much more insidious? The mystery of Aziraphale has haunted the people of the South Downs for decades. But every year, on Christmas day, the enigma opens wide the doors to his shop and lets visitors take whatever they want, for free. Or at least, that’s what Crowley read in his brief about the man, 60 miles away from his office in London. ----- Aziraphale is an independent book seller, Crowley works for a chain trying to buy his shop, miscommunication and Hallmark movie shenanigans ensue

Trivia Night: A Love Story by MissUnderstoodLyrics (E)

No angst, all fluff and fluffy smut! Crowley just moved to the States and has already been roped into the pub trivia competition for all of the King Street businesses, which they take very seriously. He just wants to work and go home to his cat and his plants, but the promise of free drinks lures him to the first game, where he meets a gorgeous, witty, mischievous angel, and suddenly trivia night doesn't seem quite so bad.

Finding Love in All the Right Places by Mizmak (M)

Aziraphale adores his quiet village life, which is suddenly threatened by the Archer Corporation’s massive luxury resort plan. When their landscape architect, Anthony Crowley, turns up looking for a local guide, Aziraphale agrees to assist the “enemy” as a spy—hoping to thwart him. But it turns out that stopping the destruction of his ideal home might succeed if he and Crowley work together. And Aziraphale might find the love he’s been yearning for along the way.

The Tryst Before Christmas by pilatesandpinot (E)

Best-selling author and audiobook narrator Anthony J. Crowley is determined to not become a one-trilogy wonder. In order to overcome a stubborn stint of writer’s block, he and his loyal agent Muriel pack their bags and head to the seaside town of Tadfield. He hopes that the rolling hills, salt cliffs, his quirky neighbors, and those South Downs vibes will help him find the inspiration he needs. In fact, he might even audition for the town’s production of “A Christmas Carol”. What he doesn’t expect is to act alongside Aziraphale Fell, his neighbor and owner of the bookshop who seems to turn his nose at Crowley and his shenanigans.

Growing on Me by Hermiola (M)

Anthony J. Crowley isn’t up to much these days. In fact, you could almost say his days as a rockstar are pretty much behind him. Rotting in bed all day, with half-written songs plaguing him and no lyrics to speak of, everything points to his career being over for good. That is until Maggie, his manager, claims to have found him the perfect lyricist to get him out of his slump. And what better way to get the creative juices flowing than spending a whole month together in a secluded cottage on the Isle of Skye? Provided Crowley’s attempts at making the man run for the hills aren’t successful… * “You wrote these lyrics,” Crowley repeated just to make sure he’d understood correctly. “The lyrics about sucking dick. You wrote them.” The stranger wrinkled his nose, a blush appearing on his rounded cheeks. “Well, it’s actually meant to be an exploration of taste and touch as a way to connect with another person, as well as a metaphor for–” “Sucking dick,” Crowley completed for him. “Mmh,” the man hummed noncommittally, lips pursed in both annoyance and embarrassment.

- Mod D