#all of the other colours and then these lakes of... stillness? but also the way the colour doesn't sit against the rest? It's SO well judge

[mightymizora]

She stills, her brow furrowed for a moment as she looks over every corner. Then he sees her lips part ever so softly, and her hand moves to trace the edges of the lines.  “Is this how you see me, Enver?”

From The Portrait.

So I had the absolute bloody (ha) delight of being able to commission the incredible @lokorum to paint the sadly unnamed portrait of an anonymous sitter from Lord Gortash's private collection. I am just so thrilled at how it turned out, thank you for your patience through this process, your encouragement and your kindness. It's been a delight, and I love it so much, I can't stop looking at it!

[pizzaapeteer]

Springtime fun

Pairings: Enzo Berkshire x female reader Summary: 2.5 k. Enzo is infatuated by you in a sundress, so captative by you in it that he has to take you right now.

Warnings: nsfw, semi-public sex, female reader, swearing. Divider: Pretty divider found here!

a/n: I'm super glad to have finally finished this as it has been in my WIP since December 💀 Many of my friends will know about that so this one's for you. Ty for all the lovely encouragement for helping me finish it 💛 also heads up this is actually my first PIV smut.

Enzo loved spring. He loved the flowers that bloomed in the gardens, which he often picked to give to you. He loved watching alongside you the animals awaken from hibernation, listening as you listed facts about them. He loved being able to lie outside in the grass with his friends after class, enjoying the warmth of the sun as they messed around. But most of all, he loved that spring meant sundresses. He had grown fond of them and loved seeing the different colours that paired well against your skin tone. The delicate shape of the dresses and how they hugged your body. He loved how versatile they were. Sometimes you'd wear a long flowy, one that would swirl in the wind or a short flare, one that fell just at the mid of your thighs. Some of them had lacy sleeves that covered your shoulders with elegant necklines. Others were backless, revealing to Enzo that you weren't wearing a bra. On the whole, when you wore a sundress, he was in heaven. 

He can still recall the first time he saw you in one, the weekend before Easter break. Sprawled out on a spot of grass near the black lake, Enzo lay with his friends. The hot sun warmed his neck, a constant breeze drifting by. He had been attempting to catch the little daisies Mattheo had plucked and rolled into balls to launch at him. Theo watched, amused, before turning his attention to snicker at Draco’s arrogant attempt to teach Astoria how to skip stones. Blaise rested nearby on a picnic mat, not wanting to get grass stains on his pants. The sound of your laughter caught Enzo’s ears, whipping his head up to see you and Pansy approaching, carrying a jug of lemonade. His eyes rose, breath hitching as he took you in. Dressed in a royal blue sundress, scattered with white daisies, the colour popping against your skin. He dragged his eyes up your exposed legs, practically salivating at the sight of your curves fitting snugly in the frock. There was something about the sundress that made you look elegant yet sensual. Though, clearly not just to him, as he caught sight of his friend’s stares.

He stood up, licking his lips, still holding the slightly crumpled daisies in his hands. Walking forward, he embraced you in a hug, a smile pulling at his face. His hands wrapped around you, feeling the soft skin of your back. “Hey gorgeous,” he whispered, his face pulling back to give you a passionate kiss. He felt your hands slide around his neck as you leaned up on your tippy toes to meet his kiss. “I like your dress,” a flirty smirk stretched across his face. The sound of your sweet giggle was music to his ears as you thanked him. Remembering the daisies, he unfolded his hands, chuckling, “for you.” You beamed at him, your eyes sparkling with amusement at his ‘gift’. “Not your usual flowers, Enz, but I accept.” He smiled, satisfied, taking your hand and leading you to join the others. Gracefully, you sat down on the rug beside Blaise, noticing Pansy had already settled herself down next to Mattheo. Enzo watched cautiously as Blaise gave you a once over, taking his own seat across from you. He immersed himself in conversation with you, admiring the way you rambled about your day. His fingers found comfort resting on your thighs, tracing circles. The warm sun shone, as breezes of wind blew your dress up slightly. As you talked, he found his mind wandering, unable to fully concentrate. Because of his height, he overlooked you even when sitting, allowing him to peer perfectly at the top of your breasts, sitting snugly against the dress’s neckline. His fingers twitched against your leg, pinching your skin softly as he thought about your nipples. 

At Pansy’s offer of lemonade, Enzo’s gaze turned momentarily to accept. He reached out to receive the two drinks, passing one to you. Cheering with you, his eyes observed the way you drank thirstily. Too fast though, as some of the liquid spilled from your cup down your mouth. It ran rapidly, dripping down your cleavage, causing you to squeal at the cold sensation. Your outburst grabbed the attention of your friends as you looked up, smiling sheepishly while muttering about being clumsy. Blaise shook his head, chuckling as he passed you a napkin, watching you wipe the liquid away.

As you cleaned yourself up, Enzo's brown eyes caught your attention, his honey orbs twinkling with mischief. “We’re going to take a walk,” Enzo announced, grabbing your hand and pulling you up, leaving no time for you to protest. You stood, almost stumbling, over Blaise as you found your footing, trailing behind in Enzo’s firm hold. “Enzo, slow down,” you exclaimed, practically tripping over your feet as you trailed behind Enzo, his long legs striding down past the trees. He flicked his head, giving you a cheeky grin over his shoulder before he slowed down under a large pine tree. 

You took in the pretty scenery as you furrowed your brows, wondering why he had just pulled you away from your friends. Enzo seized the moment of your distraction to push you gently against the tree, grinning as you gasped. His lips invaded your neck, peppering hungry kisses across your soft skin. One of his hands reached down to grasp your hip, lightly pushing you further against the tree. You moaned into the kiss, your hands finding their way around his waist, the bark scratching your back. Enzo’s touch wandered down your thigh with his other hand, sliding it up under your dress. “Do you know what this dress is doing to me?” he mumbled against your ear, nipping at it. You looked up into his sweet brown eyes, his pupils conveying his lust clearly. He flashed you an irresistible smile and, in a moment's time, his arms enveloped around your hips, effortlessly hoisting you up. His muscles flexed, the clear evidence of his quidditch training shown as he secured you against the tree with one arm, the other trailing up to pull needily at the neckline of your dress. Instinctively, you wrapped your legs around his waist, your hands sliding up to grip his broad shoulders. The movement of your dress spilling, revealing further the tops of your chest, had Enzo groaning against your ear. “Fuck, and you're not even wearing a bra. You're driving me mad, baby.”

You squirmed against his eagerly aggressive hold, never having seen Enzo this feral before. The feeling of his hands tending to your exposed breasts, kneading at the complimentary flesh, driving you crazy. His fingers pulled further at the fabric, wanting to see all of you. You gasped, leaning your head back against the tree, his head moving down to capture your perky nipples in his sweet mouth. The taste of lemonade filled his senses, mixed with the sweetness of your skin as his tongue lapped at it. His tongue swipes at the soft buds, the sounds of your mews making his cock twitch against his now constricting trousers. 

He’d never seen a piece of clothing accentuate your figure quite like this sundress had. The captivating blend of your alluring presence and almost bewitching sensualness drove him wild. He couldn’t believe what sorcery this was. He craved you in a way he never had before, his patience lost in the moment, unwilling to wait. His hands scrunched up the fabric, pushing your dress higher, his fingertips grazing against your lacy undies. He dragged a whimper from you, pleading for more, the eagerness of Enzo’s movements and his desire to make quick work created a pool of wetness between your thighs. He rested you down for an instant before his hands shifted, hiking one of your legs up and pressing your thigh firmly into place against the tree. The cool air blew between your spread legs, making you shiver, Enzo’s hunger making you whine. He shot you a teasing smile at your impatience. “Gonna fuck you hard in your pretty little sundress.” 

His free hand pulled at the restricting material, snapping your panties and extracting an agitated gasp from you. His grin widened smugly, stuffing your panties into his pocket. “Got your knickers in a twist, did I?” he chuckled at his own joke. You roll your eyes playfully at your boyfriend, watching in anticipation for his next move. Still with your leg clutched by one of his hands, he skillfully maneuvered his belt and pants down with the other. Your eyes drifted, your core throbbing seeing his hardened cock, the pink tip already dampened with pre-cum. You bit your lip, eyes blown with lust as you yearned for him to fill you up. He rubs his throbbing cock along your slit, coating it in your wetness teasingly, his eyes locked on your whiney face. He smirked, leaning in to capture your lips in a kiss, aggressively slipping his tongue into your mouth. He took advantage of you being distracted to plunge his hips forward, sinking his cock deep inside of you, revelling in the way he heard your whines turn into muffled moans. His lips moved against yours, not letting you escape his ferocious kiss, his hand moving to caress your face. His fingers clasping at the nape of your neck, tilting your head upward. 

Your head spins, overwhelmed by the feeling of him pounding into your cunt and your breath being stolen by his sweet, ravenous lips. Your hands find their way into his hair tugging at his brown locks, making him grunt as his head jerks back, allowing you to catch your breath. He presses you further into the tree, his pace increasing as you throw your head back, mouth agape as moans fall from your lips. His grip on your thigh tightens as he uses you as his stability, his fingers kneading into your soft skin, no doubt leaving marks. 

“Fuck me. Look how well you’re taking me. Such a pretty little slut letting me fuck you out in the open.” His words have your lips parting, sensual moans falling from them. Your head tilts back to lean on the tree, your eyes scrunching shut. Your mind rushes with a state of wooziness, cheeks burning as your body rises in heat. He loves the way you fall apart at his words as hips thrust roughly, groaning as he watches the way your pussy clenches around his cock. His hand reaches to rub your clit, erupting a string of incoherent whines out of you. The feel of your shallow breath against his skin makes him shiver. Your heart thumping while your body convulses with each thrust, the head of his cock slamming repeatedly inside, hitting that perfect spot. The noises of slapping echoes softly around the forest floor, though Enzo is so consumed with how his body is feeling to question if he took you further enough away from his friends.

“Such a good girl, that’s it clench around my cock, baby. God. Your pussy is so tight, you sound so fucking pretty.” Enzo’s words were spilling out of him in mumbles as his muscles tightened around his own pleasure building. He leans his head against your forehead as he rubs your clit faster, holding off barely on his own orgasm. He desperately wants to hear you fall apart before he does, his lips brushing yours as he whispers, “come on pretty girl, be a good girl and cum for me.” His words of encouragement send you over the edge as your body shakes, a rise of pleasure exploding through you. Your pussy pulses, squeezing him as your hands grasp at his shoulders, nails digging grasping at his shirt. A series of your own incoherent words fall from your lips in lustful moans. Groans fall from Enzo’s lips, his eyes shut as you come undone, her unravelling triggering his own climax. His hands clench your thighs, pressing his hips further, enjoying how your pussy shakes at the feeling of him filling you up. 

He listens to the combination of your breathless pants blending together with his as your foreheads stick together. You two stay close, his cock resting comfortably still in your warm pussy, not wanting to pull out yet. As his eyes open, he takes in the gorgeous appearance of your flushed cheeks, the heightened desire fading from your eyes. A smile spreads across his face, his hand releasing your thigh back down. Tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear, his hand cups your cheek. “God, you’re fucking beautiful.” His lips are on yours in a moment, taking you by surprise. 

The kiss is sweet and passionate. The feeling of warmth and love radiating off of him. Your lips moved in unison in a fervent dance, matching each other. With your arms wrapped around his neck, you moan, feeling him twitch, still being nestled inside you. Enzo pulls back with a cheeky grin, before he shifts his hips, removing himself from you.

He tucks himself back into his trousers, a sense of satisfaction flooding him, his eyes never leaving you. Amusement pools in them, watching how those once feral hands now delicately smooth out the fabric of your dress. Merlin, that dress, was going to be the death of him. Watching you fix yourself up just made him admire once again how it captured such an alluring feeling within him. 

Your movements are paused, your attention caught by the feeling of cum dripping slowly down your inner thigh. His brows raised, chuckling, taking in the nuance of her reaction as your cheeks blushed a deeper red. “Uh Enz, my panties please.” Your hand reached out, prompting him to hand the stuffed lace back to you. 

He chuckles, “No no, they’re staying with me, princess.” He notices your concerned look at heading back to your friend's pantie-less. “It’s alright. Everyone will just think it’s lemonade.” His face breaks into a cheeky grin at his assurance, sliding his tongue over his lips. The idea of you sitting soaked in his cum for the rest of the picnic in nothing but your dress is sending blood straight to his groin once again. 

You roll your eyes at his stupid statement, lunging at him to grab your underwear back. He’s quick and is already running past you and back towards the group, leaving you no choice but to follow. While your attempt to catch him is not apathetic, his legs are longer than yours and he reaches the clearing your friends are still sitting in first. At the sight of them you stall your running, catching your breath, shooting Enzo a glare. He chuckles, manoeuvring between Draco and Theo to sit himself down, patting the picnic blanket for you to join. The others turn their heads at your entrance, noticing your slightly flushed expression and Enzo’s extra cheeky nature. Theo speaks up, always nosey to find out information. “How was your walk?”

Enzo watches with mischievous eyes as you plant a seat down beside him, as he replies to Theo. “Scenic, lots of pretty things down there.” He grins at you, trying not to give away too much. You blush, meeting his gaze already thinking about the next time you can wear another sundress.

Masterlist

[teabutmakeitazure]

Dissimulation Continued

>Yan! Mafia! Childe x Fem! Student! Reader (modern au)

>Word count: 4.9k

>a/n: childe "leave your degree and be my wife" tartaglia. i dont think anything in this classifies as yan since its just a continuation of the original story but still tagging that since the original is yan. also, i wrote the beginning during my flight lol

Being housemates with a mafioso isn't a very ideal situation.

First Part

Airports are holes in the fabric of time. Minutes and hours are blurred, the signature beeping sound before the limitless number of announcements causing an odd fogginess in your mind. They're surreal but comforting. You are forever a traveller there, only at the mercy of your own mistakes and mishaps.

A familiar hair colour stands out in the distance, rising above the lake of heads. Your luggage trolley is pushed closer and closer to that lake, but instead of relief, only a subtle feeling of dread settles in. It is true that in airports you are at the mercy of your own mistakes, but it is the same for the outside world. The only difference is that simply existing and being alive is not considered a mistake in the former.

The voice you've been hearing through your phone for the past weeks finally greets you directly from the source. Everything is a blur, your eyes focusing on the person who makes way through the busy crowd to get closer as the sounds become exceedingly loud. Slowly, you stop in your tracks, mind still under the haze of indistinguishable time. 

The first to go is your backpack, the item promptly removed from your shoulders. The next is the trolley. Your grip on it is gently loosened, and fingers snap in front of your face to dispel the haze from your mind.

"Earth to [Name]? Hey. You alright? The flight couldn't have been that bad, come on."

Your eyes blink a few times, the background chatter becoming more prominent and the face in front of you being focused on by your vision. Words refuse to form on your tongue, so you have to rely on your actions as a last resort. After closing your mouth with mild embarrassment, your eyes settle on his oversized t-shirt. Bare arms greet you when you look for a sleeve, so you settle with grabbing the side of his shirt instead. 

It’s still summer. Of course he’s wearing cap sleeves. The display of what one could easily pass off as clinginess causes him to take a step closer, his arm reaching to wrap around your shoulders. You refuse to directly look him in the eye, but allow the arm to slither around you. ‘I am with this person,’ the arm announces. ‘And we are more than what a first glance can reveal.’

“Are you feeling alright?” The arm pulls you inside a half-hug, the warmth of his body comforting with the smell of familiar cologne. “Did something happen?”

A shake of your head is all you can manage, but it is not accepted.

“Hey,” voice low, the arm around you travels upwards to gently run up and down your head. “Tell me. We’ve talked about this. Don’t hide anything from me. I only want to help.”

To yield and share your feelings with someone such as him is not easy, but you do so anyway, surprised at how easily you were able to speak. “It’s something silly,” you say, eyes glued to the floor. “I just miss home.”

The arm strokes your back comfortingly. There is more than just comfort in his voice. There is sympathy. “I understand.” Commiseration drips from his tone, a hint of melancholy behind the way he holds you closer. “We’ll get through it. Don’t worry.”

The hand grabbing the shirt is now wrapped with another, the warmth from both palms and the touch more noticeable than you would have preferred. Calluses are barely felt, but you know they are there. You saw them in detail right before you left for home. How could you ever forget?

With the other free hand, the trolley is pushed along as both of you walk to the exit. You say goodbye to the building and the odd feeling of time passing inside it. A familiar routine and life is welcomed in its stead, but the welcome is short lived.

You both have stopped walking.

“[Name]?”

You raise your head but do not meet his eyes.

“You haven’t looked at me since you got here.”

Pointing out your actions is cruel, but so is your treatment. Thus, you capitulate like you always do. The sight of the familiar dull blues is something you did not want to welcome but you do.

“Sorry.” You try your best to give a smile even if it’s shaky and uncertain. “I’m just… shaken up. I’ll be alright in a few hours.”

Unfortunately for you, the devil has another demand. “Say my name. You haven’t even said my name yet.”

“Childe?”

“No,” he shakes his head. “My name.”

A light bulb shines above your head, and you immediately respond. “Ajax.”

He smiles. “Again.”

“Ajax.”

You’re near the car before you know it. 

The sun is setting which paints the sky in a beautiful gradient of red and yellow, hints of magenta red peeking through the clouds. The car’s trunk opens and your luggage is promptly placed inside. Your company for the evening comes to stand in front of you, and your eyes instead go to the constellations of freckles dusting across his cheeks. Diverting your attention to him seems to please him because he’s smiling at you.

“It’ll be night by the time we’re there.”

Your statement makes Childe turn around and face the sunset as well. Somehow the mahogany coloured t-shirt is a perfect compliment to the sky’s colours, his hair glowing a fiery red with the sunset behind him.

“If it’ll be night,” he says, hand reaching for the phone inside his pocket, “you can go home and sleep. You need the rest.”

“No.” Childe turns to look at you, phone in hand, but you continue speaking. “I need to call my mom. She said to call when I reach the airport.”

The questioning look on his face turns into a smile. “What do you think I’m doing right now?”

You raise a brow. “Taking me home?”

“No,” he shakes his head. “With my phone. What do you think I’m doing with my phone?”

Your eyes widen when he clarifies, mouth agape before you compose yourself. “Oi. I’m supposed to talk to her, not you.”

Childe’s thumb presses something on his phone, cheeky grin infuriating you further. “Too late. I sent her a text. I told her I picked you up and that we’re on our way home.”

Mouth having fallen open again, you stomp towards him. Aiming for his phone doesn’t help, for he simply raises it above his head and takes a step back. Thus, you grab onto his shirt’s neckline and pull. The smile falls from his face only to return when he’s barely an inch away from your face, noses almost brushing.

“[Name],” he breathes, eyes staring into yours, “I’m sure this counts as public indecency. Let’s go home first.”

Unbothered, you simply sigh. “I told you. I’m supposed to talk to her. Not you.”

Childe pulls away, his hand gently undoing your grip on his shirt. “And why’s that? Maintaining a good relationship with your family is important.”

“If my mother finds out I’m with you so often, I’ll never hear the end of it.”

He blinks, obviously not having understood. “Isn’t that good?”

“No!”

Childe tilts his head, hair no longer glowing in the sunset. It’s starting to get dark now. “Explain.”

With a groan, you humour him, albeit begrudgingly. “She’ll scold me for being too carefree. I don’t want her on my case all the time.”

“Alright,” he whines. “Come on. Let’s go home. You need some dinner and rest.”

The car park’s street lights illuminate the area, and following Childe you get into the passenger seat. With a huff, you look at his smile - that upturn of his lips seemingly always present in front of you - and plop down onto the seat only to feel… ‘something’ under you. Childe raises a questioning brow as you halfway stand up, trying to grab whatever hard object was under you.

It would be a lie to say you weren’t daunted when a heavy, cold metal object sat in your palm.

Like throwing away a scalding hot piece of iron, you fling the gun to the back seat, eyes boring holes into the item as it lays in the back. Almost as on cue, memories of what had occurred pre-departure flood back in mockingly. It was foolish to be even slightly comfortable around him. Have you forgotten your differences?

“Woah! Careful there!” Childe glances at the firearm sitting on the back seat, but quickly turns back to you. Seeing how your chest is heaving as you look ahead, he breathes a sigh of relief. At least he used the safety lever so that it accidentally doesn’t fire. That would have ended badly.

He watches as you pay him no mind, eyes focused on what you can see through the dashboard’s glass. “Hey,” he whispers gently, “I left it there by mistake. My bad.”

You put a hand over your throat, fingers pressed to your right carotid artery. The continuously pumping blood grounds you. It grounds you, but it provides no comfort. Whatever strength remains in you after a long trip is what helps you compose yourself again.

“Let’s just go home.”

Your words are taken as a command, and Chide nods, immediately reversing the car out of the parking space. It’s completely dark now, the sky only illuminated by the moon and whatever stars are visible with the light pollution. As you exit the airport premises, you allow yourself to immerse in the silence.

Head resting against the window, you close your eyes. It’s a shame your family doesn’t know about your new living arrangements.

-

The first thing to greet you at your new accommodation is silence. The next is the sound of your phone ringing. The bag on your shoulders is eased off as you press the device to your ear, Childe leaving the thing on the sofa. Silver chalice coloured polished tiles stare back at you as you greet your mother while your new mafioso ‘housemate’ drags your luggage to your room.

After reassuring your mother that you have reached home safely, you excuse yourself with wanting to rest, something she respects and immediately cuts the call for. Now, your greatest conundrum faces you with crossed arms, dull blue eyes observing you instead of simply looking. It’s a test. You know it.

Thus, being the good student that you are, you play along. It is absolutely crucial that you do so because there is only one thing that may land you in hot water: your refusal to cooperate. Despite all that, there are boundaries you will not allow to be crossed, no matter how much he insists.

“Are you sure about the guest room?” Childe patiently eyes you as you mull over an answer. Eyes still taking in every minute detail of your body, he doesn’t miss you biting your lip for a moment.

With a meek voice that you know is his weakness, you mutter a yes. “I’m sorry,” you excuse yourself. “I don’t think I’ll be comfortable sharing a room just yet.”

“Well,” Childe tries again, grabbing the backrest of the sofa behind him for support, “maybe we could live in the same room, but uh, I’ll go to the guest room to sleep. Then we can slowly get comfortable with each other-”

“Childe.”

He blinks. “Yes?”

“Please.” You make it a point to slightly frown, just to garner his sympathy. “I promise I’m not being distant. I’m just… not comfortable yet.”

He sighs, the sound bouncing off the newly painted walls. “Fine. I don’t want to overwhelm you.” His commiseration, although begrudging, is welcomed on your end. Thus, to show your gratitude, you walk up to him and pat his cheek twice. The action makes his eyes widen as he looks at you, and you’re again reminded of how simple-minded he is at times. It’s almost cute… if you ignore the other stuff.

“Do you… want me to be next to you while you sleep?” Childe asks. “It’s a new environment for you. M-maybe my presence will help you fall asleep.”

You smile at him, thankful that he’s caring about your comfort. Nevertheless, you’ll be fine, so you decline. “Thanks for the offer, but I’ll be fine. I’m sure I’ll pass out as soon as I hit the pillow.”

He’s still looking at you like a sad puppy in hope you’ll change your mind. You do not. “Fine,” Childe yields. “Just call me if you need anything. I’ll… wake you up for dinner. You can nap until then.”

Just the thought of bed makes you sleepy, so you nod and head for your new living quarters. Unfortunately, you do not turn to look at your new housemate’s empty gaze.

-

It takes great strength to open your eyes, even if for just a moment, but you do not bother with waking up. Turning to the other side instead, you snuggle deeper into the cover with the contentment that your mother will come and wake you up whenever appropriate. And she does. The warm hand that rests on your cheek caresses the skin gently, a voice hesitantly calling your name.

The realisation that the hand and voice do not belong to your mother is cruel, but it suffices to instantly wake you up with a startle.

Blue. That is what you first see.

The mattress underneath you feels too hard for a moment, and you feel as though you are somewhere unfamiliar, somewhere you mustn't be. The feeling seems to be a mockery created by your mind, but you allow yourself to breathe before listening to the culprit of your disturbed sleep.

“Sorry.” You give no reaction to Childe’s apology. He continues, “It’s starting to get late, and I didn’t want to wake you up for dinner but decided against that because you probably haven’t eaten in a while.”

You continue to stare at him, giving him a look that says, ‘so?’ but he doesn’t seem bothered. Instead, he has the gall to grab your hand from underneath the cover.

“Let’s eat together.”

Childe ends up receiving a very tired raised eyebrow from you before you actually make a move to get up. However, before he could comment on your tired state and ask you to stay in bed, you have thrown the cover off your body and are already on your way to the living room. It makes him sigh, but he doesn’t complain.

Dinner is late and quiet. It’s around half past ten, but Childe doesn’t mind since you don’t have class in the morning. He took a day off as well, just to make up for lost time. The last time he saw you was weeks ago. Of course he wants to spend time with you.

You, on the other hand, down the home cooked meal without any second thought, brain still on autopilot. It makes you feel bad since you don’t have the energy to compliment his cooking, but hey. He woke you up from a deep sleep. He should feel bad. Nevertheless, the cook shamelessly asks about his cooking.

“Did you like it?”

You blink up at him, responding with a sigh. “I’m too tired to taste it.”

Hands folded over his chest, his portion of food is also gone. “I see. Want to go to bed again? I’ll lay down with you till you fall asleep.”

“I’ll be fine.”

Childe gives you a look again, one that reminds you just how easily his dull eyes make you acquiesce. Despite fighting it, you fail and give in like you always do. “Okay okay,” you grumble. His celebratory smile falls when you elaborate. “But no getting into bed with me. You can uh… just sit there.”

“Why not?” The tilt of his head is accentuated by his slightly furrowed brows. It honestly reminds you of a kid trying to negotiate a later bedtime with his mother. “I promised you I won’t try anything you don’t want me to.”

“That’s not it.”

“Then what is?”

Sensing an argument coming up, you decide to steer the conversation elsewhere. There is too much at stake to anger him just because you’re tired, and you would rather not act like a whining child simply to get what you want. No. You are better than his tactics. Better, but not necessarily perfect.

“I’m sorry,” you say, voice low and dejected, “I just want to be alone. I just got back from home and everything feels so weird.” You sigh, simply to make a point. “If I was living in the dorms, I would’ve still been in bed. I really appreciate you, truly, but I just want to be alone. Living alone isn’t easy.”

He counters almost instantly. “You aren’t alone.”

“I meant family,” you clarify. “Being away from family isn’t fun.”

A pensive expression takes over his face. Childe actually looks like he’s thinking, the gears in his head moving as he tries to make sense of your words. Though they were only to get him to back off and subtly establish your boundaries, not everything was a lie. Well, some of it at least.

“Alright,” he surrenders. “I’ll sit next to you.”

Funnily enough, sleep comes easy with his presence. The fact had baffled you when you woke up in the morning, but the plentiful rest ceased any thinking on your part.

-

Like a sponge slowly soaking up water as it’s left over a water stain, Childe has entered almost every part of your life. He has consumed it entirely, trapping you within his confines as every single activity remains scrutinised. You had first thought you were the sponge, but you were mistaken. Childe is the sponge. You are the water he has soaked up and gotten hold of.

The power is in his hands. Though it’s not unpleasant most of the time, his proprietorial behaviour never fails to remind you of the numerous differences in both your personalities and mentalities. At first, you were able to subtly manipulate him like you did when you first got back. Unfortunately, he has either realised your tactic or grown immune to your tired expressions with displeased frowns and sweet pleadings.

You have no idea what to do.

It absolutely does not help that you are under the added stress of your studies and with no means of clearing your mind because you aren’t sure how to go out with your friends. It also doesn’t help that you simply don’t have the time to go out with your friends. 

Rubbing your eyes, you cross out the name of a particular course before clicking on the submit button. The word ‘submitted’ appears in front of ‘assignment 3’, and you instantly put your head down on the table. As usual, your laptop’s screen turns off after its three minute timer is up, prompting your mind to start thinking over your next assignment.

There’s around five days to the deadline and it’s an essay. Perhaps having it drip with affectation might impress the tutor. She is one for grandiose after all. All you’ll need is to find synonyms of every other word and make them sound pretentious. Yes, that’ll do. Just make a rough draft and then edit it with the synonyms so that it’s easier to write and organise your ideas.

Wait… you haven’t even done the reading yet. How are you supposed to write it without doing the required reading? 

Taking a peek at the clock on the wall, you make a mental note of reading and writing down main points and ideas before bed. That’s the only thing you have the energy left to do. Maybe you’ll watch a movie tonight, forget any academic obligations and let the mistakes take over.

“Sulking? Or tired?”

Your beloved housemate’s voice calls out from somewhere behind. That gives you a very clear idea that he’s invited himself inside the room. The door was closed. You didn’t hear anything.

Without raising your head, you mumble out your reply. “Both.”

A chuckle, and you hear him sitting down on the bed. “Wow. You sound like you need a twelve hour sleep.”

“Maybe I need twenty.”

“Yeah,” he chuckles again, “you’re going to need drugs for that.”

With a sigh, you raise your head, eyes staring at Childe’s blurry reflection on your laptop’s screen. “Maybe a drug cartel-ish business would’ve been easier. How much do you make again?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugs. “I don’t really need to keep track. It’s more than enough.”

“Show-off.”

“To be fair there are no drugs involved.”

You raise a brow at his reflection. “Then what is?”

“Hm.” Childe crosses his arms, faking deep thought. “You would have to be assassinated if I told you. Which is obviously unpreferable.”

“Yeah. I’m good then. Keep your secrets.”

He laughs again, louder this time. “Technically, spouses are immune to that rule. You’re gonna have to marry me if you want to know.”

A click of your tongue and you turn to look at him. Your expression is anything but playful. “Keep your secrets.” Now that you see the burnt maroon shirt and black pants, you figure that he just came back home. He’s even wearing his gloves.

“Oh, come on [Name]. I’m not that bad.”

You don’t reply.

“I am…?”

“No comment,” you deadpan. With that, you turn back to your laptop and turn it back on. Quietly, you close the pdf files of your submitted assignment and open the ones relating to the essay you need to turn in. By your estimate, you need to do lots of brainstorming, so if you start right now, you can get it done in around three days.

A hand flat on the table next to yours and warm breath over your ear startle you as you attempt to start reading. “Week six,” Childe reads, “the emotional mind: emotion, reason, and consciousness. Discuss the argument the author of this document has laid out and present your own views on the topic he is discussing. There is no right or wrong answer. You will be graded over your coherency in your writing and skills in identifying any possible discrepancies or invalidity of arguments. Please feel free to contact me or your tutor if you need help. The format is the same as what we discussed in class. Good luck.”

You open the document that is your required reading for the assignment and hear a grumble from Childe. He moves closer to you and instinctively, you lean forward to maintain what little distance there was. Gently, he coaxes your hand off the touchpad and asks if there’s any unsaved progress in the tabs you’ve opened. Once you say no, he closes everything.

After shutting down the laptop, he picks it up and places it on a side table. “Take a break,” he says. “You don’t need to work so hard.”

Tired, you’re almost tempted into listening to him but snap out of it when you hear what he says next.

“I’m going to take care of you, so even if something happens and you can’t complete the degree, you don’t have to worry.”

The statement makes you frown and you clearly show your displeasure with your expression and words. "That's not very nice."

He simply shrugs. "All I'm saying is that there's no pressure on you. Take it easy."

"The kind of pressure you're talking about is irrelevant."

Childe shifts his weight from one foot to the other, hand on a hip. "Is it? In what way," he challenges. "You left home to come to a different country to study. Of course there's pressure to succeed. I'm just trying to ease that."

"No. You're not." You finally find the courage to look straight into his challenging stare, unyielding despite feeling your heart start to beat faster. "You might be trying on your end, but it just makes me feel worse."

Your chest rises with every beat of your heart, the lub dub clearly audible in your ears. Again, Childe shifts his weight onto the other foot. He’s still looking at you that way, and it’s freaking you out. How can his stare be so… overwhelming? 

“If you really think,” he says, “that what I say makes it worse, then I’m sorry.”

Out of surprise, you look over his expression but the furrowed brows fail to show any sign of insincerity despite his flat tone. The discrepancy makes you frown again, but you don’t bother explaining the expression to him. “Alright,” you say. With that, you go back to your table only to stare at the empty space in front of you.

There’s eraser dust around the table, your stationery haphazardly lying around and a single notebook open. There’s also your phone and a little packet of salted peanuts to munch on while studying. You hear a deep inhale from somewhere behind you but don’t bother pausing your aimless staring. It’s the sudden physical presence behind you that demands your attention back.

“[Name].”

Be mature about this, you tell yourself. There’s no need to be petty and say something neither of you will like.

At your silence, he continues. “[Name], are you… mad at me?”

Of course not! I love it when you say that you’ve cemented the idea of the both of us together. You start, “Childe-”

“Ajax.”

“Ajax,” you correct yourself, “gosh I’m still not used to that name. Anyway, I’m not mad at you.”

There’s a sound of disbelief that comes from behind you. “You’re not even looking at me!”

“I’m processing not having to use my brain. Give me a moment.”

He scoffs this time. “I don’t believe you. You’re doing the same thing. You’re being distant again.”

“I’m not,” you defend.

“Yes. Yes, you are. I know how this will inevitably go down. You’re going to grow more distant and talk less until there’s a confrontation that leaves you crying.” Childe continues despite your silence. “I don’t want that.”

It forces you to think he’s selfish, that he only thinks for himself when he says that he doesn’t want that, but despite wanting to think so, you know that he says that for you. His countenance gives away what his words cannot, and you still remember the face he made when it had happened.

That pure horror and regret is one of the reasons why despite his actions you still respect this man. Maybe it’s the only reason you don’t scream at him everyday, be acrimonious and cry yourself to sleep over your predicament. He may have taken over your life, but he also undoubtedly and unequivocally loves and cares for you. Even if he sometimes looks at you like you’re hiding something.

You will ignore the occasional watchful eyes in favour of the care he is capable of. Perhaps, or even most likely, it is the only reason why you think twice before speaking when you’re in a bad mood.

“So,” Childe says, a hand now next to yours on the table as he leans closer behind you, “let’s talk it over, okay?"

A question pops up in your mind, and you voice it after pulling your hand under the table. “Talk over what? I was just about to say that I’ll try my best not to do that again. And as for right now, I’m really just processing things. I’m tired.”

“Hm,” he hums. “The offer is still on the table. I can make your life easy. All you need to do is give me one chance.”

You scoff. “Easy? I think my life is easy enough. I don’t have to work, only study. Heck, you even do the groceries and cook more than half of the time.”

“I suppose you have a point.” In one swift movement, your chair is grabbed by the backrest and dragged to the edge of the bed. There, Childe seats himself, satisfied at the eye contact. “But I could make it easier.”

Arms now crossed, you respond to his offer with a question. “What, so you’re a magician now? I didn’t know you had a side gig.”

He laughs, boyish and charming. “Of course not. I’m just telling you what I can do for you. Nothing more.” 

The smile on his face unsettles you. It’s one of the scheming ones. The one he has when he’s cooking up something that definitely is not food. Nevertheless, his little ‘clarification’ is met with nothing more than nonchalance on your end.

“Alright,” you shrug. “Thanks for making me take a break. I really needed it.”

He’s still smiling, albeit differently this time. It’s morphed into something more sincere, something more warm and welcoming. The look in his eyes is no way the same. “Absolutely. There’s no way I wouldn’t help you.”

The conversation seems almost over, and you are about to get up to lie on your bed when a demand pauses your movements. “Say my name,” he says. “I love hearing my name from you.”

You know why he asks that of you sometimes. It grounds him, reminds him of who he is behind the red mask that lays next to the vase on the side table. Gloves are peeled off, and hypnotised by the reveal of the long fingers underneath them, you mindlessly give your reply.

“Ajax.”

“[Name],” he breathes.

You are just as breathless. “Ajax.”

Face now resting in his palm, his smile is small but affectionate. “[Name].” Eyes follow as well, turning into something more soft. You finally see the image of someone adoring and can’t help the almost desperate call that slips from your mouth.

“Ajax.”

You do not know who you were calling to.

[persphonesorchid]

Auburn Skies - MYG

Summary:  Everyone knows that if your best friend has a little sister, she's off limits. That, and the fact that your best friend will probably kill you if you even think about going near his sister. Yoongi knows this. There's no way he could tell Namjoon that once upon a time you kissed him, drunk in his living room after a break up. So much time's passed since then, too much time to bring it up now, but Yoongi still thinks about it, he's still a little hopeful. Now you're here at the lake house because Namjoon brought you and you clearly have something you want to say to Yoongi. 

Namjoon's gonna kill him.

Genre: 18+, fluff, angst, humor.

Word count: 12k

Warning(s): 18+, smut, oral (m+f receiving) unprotected sex, porn is mentioned. Yoongi and Y/n are BOTH stupid and they need help. Taehyung's trying his best, Seokjin is also trying his best but subtler. Yoongi's convinced that Namjoon's out to get him at every turn. Slight jealousy. Y/n and Yoongi have no idea how to actually hold a conversation like adults, until they do.

Notes: My addition to the Autumn Leaves Collab, hosted by the beautiful @bangtansmauyeondan !! I had so much fun working on this, and I met so many beautiful people that I'm so grateful for, so happy to call my friends 🥺 I love y'all! Please check out the other authors' fics on the Collab Masterlist! Everyone worked so hard, give my girls some love! Shout out to @blog-name-idk and @xpeachesncream for being absolute aNGELS, beta reading and helping me out when I panicked over this lol, and @madbutgloriouspond for helping me brainstorm. I hope you guys enjoy!! Please leave feedback, I'm nothing but a poor soul seeking validation (and motivation!) to keep going.

If you like my content, please, consider donating if you're able - Here

"You're staring." Seokjin nudges Yoongi's arm with his, snapping him out of his daze. He catches Seokjin's smirk, and there's a twinkle in his eye that promises nothing good. Yoongi pulls his eyes away from your form, sitting in a chair on the dock away from everyone else with a book in your hand. You're bundled up in a thick sweater and cozy sweatpants, completely lost in your book.

"Was not." Yoongi feels the need to deny it, distracting himself with cutting up onions, focusing on the way the blade of the knife cuts through the vegetable and definitely not the way Seokjin was wiggling his eyebrows at him.

"Sure. I believe you."

Somewhere inside, there is music playing. A Lo-Fi beat that plays softly under the sound of rain. It's kind of sad, if Yoongi is being honest, but he supposes that autumn is a sad season. Nothing but changes all around. The leaves change colours, mixing like paint on an easel in the hands of a melancholy artist drowning in his own solitude. They shift and the vibrancy of summer fades until they die, falling off their homes to go drifting in the wind, or land on the ground to become everyone's problem.

He doesn't really like autumn, when winter is right around the corner and he can feel the cold seeping into his bones no matter how many layers he wears. Always leaving his cheeks and his nose red, and his fingers hurting when the chill gets to them.

You enjoy it though, even reminded him when he picked up you and Namjoon this morning. You were kicking at the pile of leaves in front of Namjoon's apartment complex like a kid, laughing like you didn't have a worry in the world. You greeted him like you hadn't seen him in years, running up to him with Namjoon's scarf wrapped awkwardly around your neck like you were in a rush.

Namjoon is currently skipping stones with Jungkook near the lake's edge, and Yoongi can see he's halfway to giving up because Jungkook is on his competitive streak again.

Namjoon is one of his closest friends. He met him in college when they were both fresh out of highschool and riding on shotgun dreams of being more than what they are. He remembers meeting you during spring break of his junior year, and you were blabbering about getting accepted into the same college as Namjoon; determined to follow your brother to the end of time.

The only word to describe your first meeting was awkward, to say the least. He'd only ever heard of you, with Namjoon going off about you whenever Yoongi lent his ear. His baby sister who was doing so well in school, his baby sister, who to Namjoon, practically hung the moon in the sky. Now, Yoongi thinks he's naturally awkward when meeting new people, he can't help it. Getting to know someone is hard no matter how much you hear about them, even though you've got a pretty good impression just by word of mouth. There were shy 'hi's' and the most soul crushing 'See you later's' when there's little to no chance of ever seeing that person again. Sweaty, nervous hands meeting in shakes and straight lipped smiles.

Now, Yoongi was sure he wasn't too bad at it. And you were good, smiling brightly, not looking as awkward as he felt. What was awkward was the way Namjoon had excused himself to his parent's kitchen, pretending to get a glass of water. Yoongi had followed him with his eyes, because why was he leaving him standing in front of his sister alone?

Yoongi still remembers the chill that went down his spine that morning, as Namjoon watched him dead in the eyes over your head. A look Yoongi had never once received from him before, one that simply said: "If you think anything about my sister that isn't innocent; you will die."

As a best friend, Yoongi respected that. As a man, Yoongi valued his life. He wouldn't dare. It's the code, do not, under any circumstances, think about your best friend's sister romantically or less. You were off limits from the day Namjoon showed Yoongi that picture of you.

Off limits.

Yoongi heard that loud and clear and Namjoon hadn't said a word that day.

You were off limits, still, when you'd called him at ass o'clock in the morning - not Namjoon, your brother who trusted with everything - about some smarmy asshole who thought it was funny to break your heart. When he picked you up outside a bar where you were supposed to meet your boyfriend of a year, standing in the rain, soaked to the bone, crying and slightly drunk.

Looking beautiful even when you had stumbled your way to his car, asking what did you do to deserve getting cheated on. He didn't answer you then, he had too much to say and it wasn't the time, not when you were drunk and wouldn't remember a thing when the sun came up. So he cranked up the heat in his car, and white knuckled the steering wheel the whole drive to his apartment, because yours was too far and it was late.

Off the whole damn table, when you'd kissed him on the mouth, still drunk, still crying and clinging onto him in his living room. He pushed you gently away, even as he licked his lips to chase the taste of you. Keeping the distance between you both wide as he watched you shatter like glass in his hold. You apologized through your sobs, and Yoongi's own heart broke as he tried and failed to pick up the pieces of yours scattered at your feet.

You asked him not to tell Namjoon, and Yoongi never said a damn word. You slept in his bed that night, in his clothes that were way too big for you, and left the next day like nothing happened.

You're still off limits now, even as you've grown up and are going into your senior year. Now that Yoongi finished college and had a job like a responsible adult, now his biggest worry is the price of bread climbing up and whatever the hell was on the news.

"Namjoon, we agreed that you weren't gonna come within 10ft of this space."

Yoongi looks up to find Namjoon wandering aimlessly towards them, holding a bowl of something in his hand. He stops dead in his tracks though, frowning, "I'm not that clumsy."

Yoongi and Seokjin share a look, before raising an eyebrow each at Namjoon. He sighs, lifting the bowl in his hand, "Hobi told me to tell you that Jungkook told him..."

"For Christ's sake..." Seokjin sighs, "Just get over here."

Namjoon grins like a kid, hobbling over to place the bowl next to Yoongi's busy hands. The bowl filled with slices of pork belly that Yoongi forgot he told Namjoon to fetch for him a long while ago. Too distracted to ask about it when he was skipping stones with Jungkook, he didn't even notice when he'd moved to get it.

He wonders what else he missed, lost in his own thoughts, and his eyes dart around to catch sight of you. Of course, you were no longer in the spot you'd claimed, now standing next to Jungkook. Both of you are laughing at Jimin, who was struggling to reach a branch of a tree that Jungkook could easily reach without stretching. You attempt it, jumping to reach, but you just don't make it and it's Jimin's turn to laugh, all crescent eyes and round cheeks.

At least someone's having fun.

Seokjin was mumbling something as he pokes at the coals in the grill, and Yoongi avoids looking at Namjoon because he realised he's staring again. He's awfully quiet, and Yoongi isn't sure if it's because of him, and he really doesn't want to risk his life here.

"'Autumn is the season that teaches us that change can be beautiful.'" Namjoon says, and Yoongi finds that he wasn't even looking his way. Instead, he was watching the lake with an odd look in his eyes, distant, like if he was thinking about something too hard and struggling to grasp it. At the same time though, he looked like he knew exactly what he was talking about; smiling to himself. He pats Yoongi cryptically on the back - a little forcefully - catching him off guard, and says nothing more as he walks away.

"We all know what it means when Joon starts quoting." Seokjin snickers, "You're so screwed."

Yoongi hums, and Seokjin gives him a knowing look, a look that says way more than what Yoongi is comfortable with, and he wonders, briefly, if he was being obvious, or if Seokjin was more observant than he gave him credit for.

"I hope the weather holds up." Seokjin mumbles, head tilted up and leaning slightly forward over the table to see past the awning above, he watches the sky with a small frown, "Said it was gonna rain sometime today."

Yoongi is grateful for the subject change, dumping the seasoning he chopped up into a bowl. He glances at the lake, at the reflection of the clouds on the water, they look a little gray with the promise of rain. He doesn't mind the rain, though, if it does, Taehyung's plan of sitting around the fire with marshmallows on a wire would be completely dashed.

Yoongi's not sure he could deal with the kid pouting all night because of it, and he hoped that the weather held up, too.

When lunch was ready, it was a little after two pm. The picnic table was clear of leaves that were raked to the side and into piles to deal with later. Hoseok finally crawled out of the bunk room, hair sticking up in odd angles and eyes sleepy still as he helped set the table with you and Jimin.

Yoongi walks over to the table with the small cooler he'd brought with him, packed full with ice and cans of beer, because what's lunch without it?

Seokjin walks behind, still prattling on about the weather, hoping for a little sunshine later on so he could get in the rowboat and swing his fishing rod around. He may have asked Yoongi if he wanted to come with him, but Yoongi was once again distracted; your soft laugh tunnelling his focus.

He sighs, internally, because God forbid anyone hears and starts asking invasive questions. Taehyung, of course, was clinging to you, not letting you move two spaces out of his orbit. Which of course, wasn't strange, Taehyung was just clingy that way; always stuck to someone like a kitten that hasn't yet learned to regulate its temperature.

The sight of it though, makes Yoongi's chest ache in a way that wasn't unfamiliar to him. The kind of ache that squeezes tight and knocks the air out of him, the ache he felt that night in his apartment living room when you kissed him. Thinking about it now makes the ache worse, because Yoongi knows what that kiss was, he knows what it meant and exactly where it came from. You were reeling that night, fresh out of a relationship that ended in a way you never saw coming, and that's where it came from. You were drunk, hurting, and attached yourself emotionally to the first person to treat you nicely.

It just happened to be Yoongi at the time.

He hates to think about it that way, as though it meant nothing when he wanted it to mean something. Yoongi likes to take things the way they came, there's nothing more than what it was, nothing to decipher or to sit and mull over. Not like he did that night, sitting up late on his couch, long after you'd passed out, then beating himself up about the whole thing because he was this close to laying his heart out at that moment.

He's glad he didn't. When you left the morning after, he wasn't even awake, woke up to his empty bed and quiet apartment. No note, no text - not that you owed him anything - so he left it as it was; unspoken.

He passes everyone a beer, avoiding your gaze when your hand brushes his, ignoring the soft smile on your lips that brightens your eyes and makes his chest hurt. He moves around the table and takes his seat in between Seokjin and Hoseok. He's sitting directly across from you, and to his rotten luck, Namjoon sits to your left, which puts Yoongi within his direct line of sight. He wonders if he'll be able to keep his eyes to himself, not get caught staring at you, even if your brother wasn't even paying him mind. Yoongi is cautious, still.

The chatter that fills the air is gentle, with laughs and catching up with each other. It was hard to find the time to do things like this, everyone was busy with their own schedules; the younger ones had school, the rest of them had work. Shit always get in the way.

Yoongi eyes Taehyung, who sits to your right and was poking at your arm more than he was eating. He had half a mind to tell Taehyung to quit it, the little devil on his shoulder telling him that he should; poking at his cheek and pointing. It isn't his place, though.

There's a twinkle in Taehyung's eye when their eyes meet, something mischievous that Yoongi would normally see from him when he was up to something. He turns slightly to you, whispering something to you with a hand covering the movement of his lips.

Yoongi's curious, he wonders what he's saying that makes your cheeks flush a pretty shade. Wonders what it is, when your eyes meet his for a second and you swat at Taehyung's hand. The younger man was clearly pleased with himself, smiling eyes meeting Yoongi's for a second too long, and Yoongi busies himself with stuffing his mouth with food.

"Think the water's cold?" Jungkook was looking out at the lake, doe eyes curious, his tongue absently fiddling with the ring in his lip.

"It's still early in the season..." Jimin answers, piling a spoonful of rice onto his plate, following Jungkook's gaze a moment after. "Wouldn't risk it though."

"I mean, you can if you want." Yoongi shrugs, "Just don't complain when you catch a cold."

Jungkook pouts, leaning his weight against Hoseok with a groan. Everyone knows Jungkook well enough to know that's exactly what he'd do, and then abuse his position as the youngest for the rest of their stay at the lake house.

The table was silent for a while, everyone occupied with stuffing their faces with the food, interrupted when Namjoon laughed at something Jimin said and choked on the rice in his mouth and is now nursing a bottle of water.

Yoongi missed this, just hanging out with his friends like they were back in college sneaking beer into the dorms and laughing over their drunken rambles. Just being.

Once lunch was over, they cleared the table of the bowls and plates, carrying everything inside to be washed up.

"I'll do the dishes," Hoseok says, balancing the large pot with plates and eating utensils in his hands.

"I'll do them, Hobi." Yoongi takes the pot from Hoseok's lax fingers, not giving him room to complain before he takes everything to the kitchen.

Yoongi misses the way Taehyung pokes your side, he did hear the smack of you hitting the offending limb, though. "I'll help you."

Yoongi feels his shoulders tense, and he tries to ignore it, setting the pot into the sink, while the boys place the other dirty dishes. He watches you for a moment, as you busy yourself packing away the seasoning and packets of spices back into their rightful places. He starts on the dishes, hyper aware of your presence somewhere behind him, but tries his best to keep it as far from the front of his mind as he could.

At some point, you switch places, and Yoongi takes up the task of drying the bowls and plates, packing them where they're supposed to be. He doesn't question it, just grateful to have something to do with his hands, mindful, to keep his head empty, because if his mind strays just a bit, he'll be thinking of things he really shouldn't. Off limit things. Like how he wished he'd just suck it up and kissed you back that night instead of pushing you away like he did. But, that would've been wrong of him, no? It wasn't the time and you weren't in the right frame of mind.

Yoongi skirts by you, packing the bowls back into the cupboard. This is awkward, maybe he should have let Hoseok do it when he said he would.

"Can I ask you something?" You suddenly ask, and Yoongi almost drops the bowl he's holding, not expecting you to speak because you've been so quiet. He glances over to the living room, where Namjoon and Jin are starting up a game of Mario Kart before he turns to look at you. Why does he always do that? It feels as though he's sneaking around for no reason whatsoever, always looking to make sure that Namjoon isn't looking at him.

"Uh, sure?" God, is it just him that's awkward? You look perfectly fine, elbow deep in soap water, scrubbing away at something in the sink, a small smile on your lips. Yoongi wipes his sweaty hands on his jeans, bringing them back up to stuff them into the pockets of his sweater. Play it cool, Min. "What's up?"

You turn your head, looking at him, and he swallows. The sink slowly drains, making that odd sucking noise as the water goes down and you look like you're struggling to grasp your words. There's a cute furrow between your brows, and Yoongi doesn't miss the way you bite your lip and look everywhere but at him.

Jin swears at Namjoon in rapid fire, in that way he does when he's got too much to say and not enough breath. Yoongi could see his arms flying up and swatting at Namjoon's shoulder, yelling about the blue shell he threw.

You take a breath, eyes settling somewhere above his head, clearly trying to block out Jin's racket, "Well...um..." You glance at him and look away, and Yoongi's just a little hopeful.

You look nervous, for once, wringing the life out of the dish towel in your hand as you press your lips together. There's a crease at your brow and Yoongi wonders what's bugging you. There were times when you'd freely spill your thoughts, up with him all ungodly hours just talking because that's what brother's best friends do, right? Offer comfort and a space to vent that isn't in the viewpoint of your sibling? He wonders what changed.

He knows though. It was that night, after that, things have been tense between you both, Yoongi just wishes it'd stop. He misses you texting him to tell him how your day went, or you constantly reminding him that he's way cooler than your older brother. He watches you now, if just to see you get even more flustered, even though he didn't know why.

Hope is an evil, never necessarily a good thing, if all it does is make you believe that something would work even though there's a slim chance that it actually would. Yoongi hates that he's hopeful right now. Hates that he's hoping that the flush of your cheeks and your nervous fidgeting has something to do with him, he hates that he wished you'd just spit it out already and stop his mind from coming up with all these things.

"Okay." You sigh, nodding more to yourself in a self-assured kind of way. Your eyes find his, briefly, before darting away, "Okay, so, I wanted to-"

"Hey, Y/n. Wanna play a round of Mario Kart with me?" Taehyung asks, walking into the kitchen with a smile, eyes filtering between you and Yoongi before they settle on you again. He pauses when you snap your mouth shut, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth and slowly look at him. You and Taehyung share a look that Yoongi's not too certain he wants to know what's about; the silence between you three is too loud.

"What?" the younger man asks, "Did I interrupt something?"

"No."

"Yes."

Yoongi stares at Taehyung, trying his hardest not to glare at him, because what you wanted to say was clearly important. You were staring at him, Yoongi could feel it, but he's giving you an opening to say what you need to.

"No, Tae, you didn't. I'll play." You smile a little forcefully, finally giving the dishcloth a break and laying it down on the island counter. "I'll tell you later?" You tilt your head at Yoongi and he can only nod, hopeful again, that you really would and not find an easy out.

"Okay."

"Tae, can't we do this later or something?" You frown, speaking lowly as he wraps his arm with yours and drags you away, "I was actually really close this time."

"Yeah, no. You looked like you needed saving. So you're welcome." Taehyung shakes his head, curls swaying, "One day, little butterfly, you'll be free to spill your feelings." He sits you down on the couch next to Namjoon, who thankfully, has his earphones in his ears. Jin had already wandered off to do God knows after his defeat, leaving your brother to fiddle mindlessly with his phone.

You can hear Yoongi moving around in the kitchen, probably still packing away the dishes. Taehyung plops next to you, throwing his legs over yours and almost knocking Namjoon's phone out his hands. He starts up the game after passing you a remote, smiling at you, "He'll probably come over here to watch the game, so I'll lose and he could play against you, yeah?"

"Tae..." You groan, tilting your head back, and he pats your arm in a friendly manner, though a little firm in his delivery.

"If you don't tell him now that's fine..." He points at Namjoon with a tilt of his chin, trying to remind you of your brother's presence without being obvious. "But at least you could spend time with him. Never know what could happen." He wiggles his eyebrows.

Evidently, Taehyung's the only person who knows about that night with Yoongi. He was the one who picked you up from his apartment after all, firing question after question and not giving you room to breathe. Though he was a tad upset that he wasn't your first call when you were stranded, he understood why you'd called Yoongi. At the same time, he gave you an earful about just leaving the man hanging after you kissed him. Something you shouldn't have done in that moment, lord knows what Yoongi thinks of you now.

You've tried and failed so many times to tell Yoongi that you weren't as drunk as you seemed that night three months ago, you knew what you were doing. You were hurt, yes, but it was more out of realisation. Your relationship with your ex had been rocky at best, you'd given into his advances to hopefully put your crush on Yoongi behind you. It was easy at first, to have someone to put your focus on and give yourself to rather than to waste it on someone who didn't see you the way you saw him.

Yoongi has always seen you as his best friend's sister, nothing more. And you'd kissed him that night hoping that even for a second he'd realise, but he pushed you away and you knew there was no use hoping.

Even now, embarrassment still burns at your chest when you think about it, because what were you thinking? You'd left without saying anything to him because you were positively mortified. There were hundreds of unfinished texts that started and ended the same, with you contemplating if you should tell him or not.

More often than not, a tipsy night would find you huddled under your sheets with your finger hovering over Yoongi's contact.

It was more likely that he still saw you as the fresh out of highschool kid who followed him and your brother everywhere.

You groan loudly at your own thoughts, and Taehyung turns his head, looking between you and the TV screen, "Uh....You can play Toad if you want.."

"Huh?" The choose your character screen is up, idle, waiting for you to move your joystick around. Taehyung's already picked, "No, it's not that. I don't even like Toad, you can play him."

"That's the rudest thing that's ever come out of your mouth." Taehyung pokes your side with a finger, "What's on your mind?"

"Everything." You sigh, scrolling around to pick a random character. Don't get it wrong, you love Mario Kart as much as the next guy, but right now your mind was far, far away from this moment and the game.

Taehyung pats your thigh, "Maybe losing will help." He snickers, just as the game starts up.

"Oh, you're on." You're not gonna lose, no matter how confident Taehyung is, no one could beat you at Mario Kart.

"Cheater! TaehYUNG. Joon tell Tae to stop do- You're cheating!"

"It's literally impossible to cheat at this game!"

Yoongi leans back against the island counter, content to watch you crash and burn as Taehyung wins yet another race. His victory laugh is deep, almost unheard under the sound of your indignant screeching. The rest of the boys gathered to see what you were yelling about, finding the sight of your losing streak more than entertaining.

Yoongi had paused only for a moment, making a light snack that everyone could enjoy if they wanted to, though, it was only an excuse to make your favourite. He watches as you scoot to the edge of the couch, he can't see your expression, but he doesn't doubt that you're pouting with the cute furrow of your brows that comes with your concentration.

"Namjoon." You whine to your brother, though Namjoon's hands fly up into the air, phone and all.

"Nope, leave me out of this."

"But he's cheating!"

"I'm not! You just suck."

Yoongi picks up the tray of Hotteok as soon as everyone calms down, carrying it over to the group. He rests the tray down on the coffee table, careful to move quickly so he doesn't block the screen for too long.

"Oh! Sweet! Thanks Yoongi." Namjoon is the first to move, leaning forward to grab one.

"Wait, Joon. They're ho-" Yoongi snaps his mouth shut as Namjoon has already picked it up. He promptly drops it, pulling air through his teeth before blowing on his fingertips.

"Ow." Namjoon pouts at his fingers, rubbing them against the material of his grey sweats.

Yoongi sighs, "Be careful, would you?" He focuses on the TV screen, you're directly behind Taehyung, throwing a blue shell that sends him skidding off the road just in time for you to cross the finish line.

"Ha!" You push at Taehyung's shoulder in your excitement, sending him against Namjoon, who drops his Hotteok on the floor.

Namjoon stares forlornly at the pancake for a quiet moment, while you do a victory wiggle in your place, his misfortune ignored.

"Well there you go, who wants to play?" Taehyung asks, glancing around the room. Jungkook waves his arm, getting up from his space on the floor by Hoseok's legs to totter over. "Yoongi! Nice of you to volunteer."

"What? I didn't...?" Yoongi stares at Taehyung like he's sprouted a second head.

Taehyung ignores him.

"Hey I wanted to play..." Jungkook whines, Taehyung ignores him, too.

"Guys, let's go take a nap in the bunk room." He stretches his long legs over Namjoon's, pulling him up by the arms and shares a look with Jungkook who was likely, as confused as everyone else.

"I'm not tired, though. I napped when I got here." Hoseok pipes up, pressing his lips together when Jimin not so subtly nudges his side with an elbow.

"Let's go take a nap." Taehyung repeats, eyes narrowing slightly at Hoseok. He relents under Taehyung's gaze, sighing as he stands and drags Jimin and a complaining Jungkook.

Taehyung smiles brightly, dropping his hands heavily on Yoongi's shoulders. Yoongi doesn't know what the kid's playing at, but allows him to direct him to sit next to you.

Yoongi shares a look with Seokjin, who shrugs and stands to leave too, linking his arm with Namjoon, "I found a book I think you'd like Joon. But we have to look for it, it's lost in my bedroom somewhere..."

"Oh...Kay? Sure."

Their voices trail off as they head up the stairs, and Taehyung waves as he backs out of the living room, with a sweet - suspicious - boxy smile."Have fun you two!"

"Okay what the hell." Yoongi mutters, turning his head to look at you. You didn't look his way, staring dead ahead at the TV, fingers tapping lightly at the control.

He hears you take a breath, "Wanna play Toad?"

"Uh...sure."

A few minutes go by before Yoongi could finally relax, getting comfortable on the couch focusing on the game and not the fact that you're less than a metre away from him. You're nibbling on a piece of hotteok, a little too quiet for Yoongi's liking. He was expecting you to be yelling because he's way ahead of you.

"So...can I ask you a question?" Yoongi keeps his eyes on the screen as he asks, afraid to look at you because he might slip up or stop all together. He could already hear the little voice in his head screaming at him to shut up. "I just wanna ask about...what you wanted to tell me in the kitchen?"

Yoongi doesn't normally pry, people's business are theirs and not his. But curiosity is driving him up a wall and he just needs to know. Maybe he was being foolishly hopeful again, thinking that whatever it was had something to do with him. That's why you hadn't said anything when Taehyung interrupted, right?

Yoongi wonders what Taehyung's deal was, first he was being too clingy with you - not that it's any of his business - and now he's acting so painfully obvious; trying to get you both in a room alone. It didn't go over Yoongi's head, as not a lot of things do.

He purposely lets you win the race, though, your victory was unsounded as you set the controller aside. "Right... kitchen..."

"You know you could tell me anything, right?" Yoongi says softly, fingers just wanting to reach for yours, if just to offer comfort. He tucks them against his palm though, and into the pouch of his sweater for an extra precaution.

"Yeah I know," You smile faintly, "like old times right?"

"Yeah exactly, and I won't judge, you know that. So whatever it is, just say it."

Maybe his words were a bit harsh? You stiffen a bit in place, sighing through your nose before you turn to look at him. The determination from earlier is back in your eyes again, and Yoongi finds it impossible to hold your gaze, and he's the first to look away this time. Keep it together, will you?

He feels heat climbing his neck, racing to each of his cheeks and he hopes to god you just think he's going pink because it's cold in here. Seokjin really needs to get that crappy heater fixed so Yoongi can blame something if you ask about it.

"Okay so remember the time when you-"

"You two are being awfully quiet." Seokjin pokes his head into the room, staring at you both, but not too long, before his eyes find the tv screen. "Oh, Yoongi, did you win?"

"No..." Yoongi sighs, watching as you shut him out once more.

"Really? It was so quiet..."

You make an offended sound in the back of your throat, straightening a bit to glare at Seokjin.

"Yoongi, can you help me with the firepit?"

Yoongi follows Seokjin outside along the wrap-around porch, the sun was halfway in its descent, painting the sky in a flurry of soft colours. The lake glistens with amber crystals, catching the sun's sleepy gaze as it drifts slowly off behind the hills; almost out of sight.

The sunken fire pit was in the backyard, something Yoongi helped Seokjin install last year. He's quite proud of it really, he did most of the heavy lifting while Seokjin stood around telling him how and where he wanted things like a glorified dictator.

As Seokjin gathers the firewood and steps down the three steps to throw the logs into the firepit, Yoongi realises that he didn't actually need any help.

"Watching you try to talk to Y/n is so painful. Like that time I broke my arm but worse."

"I actually wasn't doing the talking." Yoongi grumbles, enjoying the satisfying crunch of gravel under his sandals as he walks over to the cushioned semi circle bench and sits to watch Seokjin do all the work. "You have terrible timing."

Seokjin scoffs, shaking his head, "It's a wonder Namjoon hasn't figured it out yet...you're so obvious."

Yoongi feels like Seokjin just isn't listening to him, continuing his mission of getting the fire going; his words completely ignored.

"Joon is oblivious sometimes."

"You are too."

"Here, this one's longer."

Yoongi watches as Seokjin trades wires with Jungkook, patting him on the shoulder as the younger man happily sticks his marshmallow on the end of his wire. As usual when they're all together, there's laughter in the air, and the lightness Yoongi feels in his chest is something he misses when he's alone.

He watches the moon rise behind the trees, full and glowing brightly in the cloudless sky. The fire was warm, the burning wood crackling softly, sending little glowing sparks up into the air. Everyone had their own bag of marshmallows for toasting, with chocolate and biscuits for s'mores.

"This is nice," Hoseok comments, smacking Jimin's hand away from the smores he was setting up, tucking them into the corner of a small bowl he brought. Jimin gets one anyway; sneaking it away while Hoseok wasn't looking.

"Yeah, we haven't done this in forever." Namjoon sticks the wire with his marshmallow a little too close to the fire.

"It's gonna burn if you do it like that." Yoongi reaches over and raises Namjoon's hand higher.

"When it's burnt it's the best, though."

"Are you a sadist?" Taehyung frowns at Jungkook, "it's better when it's just a little toasty."

"It won't melt inside if you play kiss and tell with the fire. You gotta burn it." Jungkook's marshmallow was just on the edge of charred and Yoongi watches with mild disgust as he smushes the thing between pieces of chocolate and unsweetened biscuits. He shoves the entire thing in his mouth and closes his eyes, moaning around the treat like it's the best thing he's ever tasted.

"Um? There's no way you're enjoying that." Hoseok didn't try to hide how he felt about it, narrowing his eyes at Jungkook. "Stop moaning like that!"

"I wasn't moaning!"

"Yes you were!"

Yoongi shakes his head, turning to look at you, who sat next to him, eating out of your own bag of marshmallows. The wire Seokjin had given you is still in your lap, untouched.

"Want me to make one for you?" He asks softly, already sticking a marshmallow on his wire. He hangs it over the fire and twirls it so it gets nice and brown, "Do you want it with the cookies?"

"Yeah, thanks." You smile sweetly at him, and Yoongi feels his heart stutter in his chest.

Once he's finished assembling the s'more, he hands it over to you. You take a bite out of it, and Yoongi struggles to breathe the very next second at the sound you make, turning his head swiftly to stare into the fire as though it would save him.

"Dude, Y/n. That's gotta be the best s'more ever created." Taehyung says, snickering from across the firepit, "Yoongi make me one, too!"

"You can make it yourself." Yoongi's cheeks flush, passing you a bottle of water when you choke.

"I wanna make happy noises, too."

When the fire in the pit smolders and the embers of the wood burn orange, everyone is ready to call it a night. The younger ones escape to the second floor bunk room first, Seokjin and Hoseok right behind them.

Hoseok is trying to convince Seokjin to flip a coin for the master bedroom while they go up the stairs.

"Owner's rights, Hobi."

"You have any idea what it's like to share a bathroom with those three? Have a heart!"

Their voices fade, and Yoongi is left standing in the entryway with you and Namjoon, feeling awkward and not quite sure what he should do with his hands. So he shoves them in the pockets of his sweatpants, and drags his feet towards the kitchen, suddenly thirsty.

You and Namjoon are talking in hushed tones, too quiet for him to hear, but he pays it no mind, it isn't his business, really.

You come in a second later, moving to the fridge just as Yoongi moves past you, and he's a little curious, a little worried, because you look a bit upset. There's a frown tugging at the corner of your mouth as you crack open a bottle of water.

"Everything okay?" Yoongi asks softly, fingers just itching to reach out for you, but he holds his own bottled water a little tighter instead.

"Yeah...Joon is just..." You shake your head, "Are you staying up to watch the movie with us?"

Your change of subject didn't surprise Yoongi, you've been doing that a lot today. He lifts his shoulder in a shrug, "I might...do you want me to?"

Yoongi would give you anything you ask for right now, hell, he'd find a way to pull the moon from the sky if you asked it of him.

"Huh?" Your eyes seems panicked for a second as they dart away to stare off elsewhere. "If you want to, it's up to you really."

"Then I'll watch." He gives an easy smile, "Are you sure you're okay?" He steps closer, a hand meeting your cheek gently, unintentionally and without Yoongi's consent. Simply out of his need to offer you comfort when he can, and maybe it's his wishful thinking, maybe it's that stupid thing called hope again; Yoongi swears you lean into his touch. Your skin is warm, like cooling tea on a winter's morning.

"I'm fine," You're staring at his lips as you say this, and Yoongi's heart skips before it gallops, threatening to burst from his chest. Maybe he's imagining it, but you move a step closer, and he does too, leaning down a bit to meet your height, "I just wanted to.."

Just another inch, if he moves just an inch closer. You're so close now that your exhales mingles with his in the space between you both, he could feel the chill seeping off the bottled water you hold, pressed against his stomach where your hands linger.

Yoongi decides he's not going to be awkward right now, he's going to be brave and just do this. He's going to kiss you and pour everything he feels into it, and hope - prays - that you feel it too.

"Ahem."

You and Yoongi both spring apart like teenagers caught doing something they shouldn't. Yoongi's cheeks are heating up too quickly for him to stop it, and yours are too, and he doesn't want to turn around because he knows who's behind him.

Think fast, Yoongi. Think.

"I hope your eye feels better. You should kiss - rinse! Rinse with warm water. 'Cause you know...germs...could uh.... get in there.... "

Really? Yoongi squeezes his eyes shut, already anticipating his death when he turns to face the grim reaper behind him.

Namjoon stands in the kitchen doorway, eyebrow raised, doing that thing he does with his jaw. Yoongi feels a little faint, looking at the ugly painting Taehyung convinced Seokjin to buy and hang up in the living room over his head.

"Y/n had something in her eye and I was just checking." He looks back at you and you look just as confused as he's feeling, smiling though, as if his misery is funny to you. "R-remember. Warm water, okay?"

With that he leaves, not looking at Namjoon, who's gaze he could feel at the back of his head.

"Joon, are you serious?" Your voice was a harsh whisper, a little loud in the silence of the kitchen.

Yoongi walks away, hands in his pockets, not catching Namjoon's reply as he makes his escape. What the fuck was that?

"Let's watch The Conjuring."

"Fuck that." Hoseok puts his palms up, "Unless you're willing to cuddle me to sleep, we're not watching that movie."

A chorus of groans fills the room, "For the love of God, just pick something already. Not you, Jungkook."

"It's not my fault Hobi's a coward."

Hoseok's reaches over Seokjin to smack the back of Jungkook's head, who immediately retaliates by hitting Seokjin instead. The three of them trade playful smacks for a moment, while Taehyung and Jimin argue about which movie would be best to watch.

"Okay let's just all pick something." You say, pinching the bridge of your nose between your fingers, "Rock, paper, scissors, whoever wins; we'll watch."

Terrible idea really, everyone knows Jungkook is going to win.

Yoongi opts out, not really caring what goes up on the screen. He's sitting with his hands under his thighs, trying to keep them warm but at the same time, keeping them from doing something stupid. You're right next to him on the couch, he's once again hyper aware of your closeness, the way your arm would brush his every time you moved, the scent of your shampoo, soft and fruit scented.

He focuses on the way a single tear slips from Hoseok's eye, the way he tries to make himself as small as possible on the other couch next to Seokjin with a white knuckled grip on the latter's sweater. Jungkook triumphs in his endeavour of beating everyone who played against him, laughing, carefree and malicious as he pulls up The Conjuring.

Hoseok keeps his head tucked behind Seokjin's shoulder for most of the movie, clinging to him and jumping at every loud sound from the TV; poor guy's going through it.

Yoongi is just barely watching, staring at the screen, but not really following along - he has no idea what's going on. Mind too distracted with the fact that you chose to sit next to him and not next to anyone else. He's still reeling from the incident in the kitchen, glancing at Namjoon who was stuffing his face with popcorn, form outlined in the glow of the tv.

He could feel the warmth of your thigh through his sweatpants, and every little movement you'd make at the jumpscares and the loud sounds.

Hoseok dips halfway through, going up the darkened upstairs hallway with his phone torch on. Jungkook had the audacity to fall asleep, drooling on Seokjin's shoulder and mumbling unintelligible words; unbothered.

"I'm going to bed." Yoongi says to you, not really sleepy, but not interested in the movie enough to stay and watch. You grab at his hand and he pauses, "What?"

"You're leaving me here to suffer?"

"You're a big girl, you can take it." He shrugs, patting your hand before getting up. "Night guys."

Yoongi lays quietly in his bed, staring up at the ceiling with a frown, unable to sleep. He turns his head, looking at the clock that blinks sleepily back at him and sighs, it's getting later into the night and sleep continues to evade him.

The house seemed to have quieted, the sound of Jimin and Taehyung arguing about who gets to use the upstairs bathroom first stopped a while ago, though, the stillness only allowed Yoongi's mind to wander off. He wonders if you're sleeping yet, he knows you have trouble sometimes, a common curse you both share.

He wonders about what you and Namjoon argued about, if it had anything to do with him. God he hopes not. The last thing he wants is for you and your brother to fall out because of him.

There's a soft knock on his door, quiet enough that he almost misses it. Just almost.

Yoongi gets out of bed, dragging his feet to the door. He isn't completely shocked to find you on the other side, looking like you're two seconds from walking away. Your hand still hovers, eyes impossibly big when they meet his in the soft light of the downstairs hallway.

"Hi." You say, softly, hand falling and gripping at the hem of a tee shirt he's sure belongs to Namjoon.

"...Hi?" Yoongi's brows furrow, not quite sure what you're doing knocking on his door at one in the morning, "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just wanted to talk to you..." He lets you shuffle into his room, and you walk over to the bed while he closes the door.

"What I wanted to tell you earlier..." You sit on his bed, a good distance away, enough to leave the space between you both cold and Yoongi longing for you to come closer. You seem to be struggling, staying quiet for a little too long.

"Hey." Yoongi calls, "Whatever it is, you can tell me, okay? You know I'd never judge you." He feels the need to repeat himself, just in case you need to hear it again.

"You will." You glance at him, bottom lip caught between your teeth, and you shake your head, "This was stupid..."

"Hey, hey." Yoongi grabs your wrist, stopping you from getting up. "How about I look over there?" He points at a random spot beside him with a thumb, "I won't look at you and you can just say it." He turns for good measure, staring at the wall on the far side of the room.

You're silent for a moment, a long moment that has Yoongi wondering. Maybe he should stop pestering you about it, bury his curiosity - his concern - in a box somewhere to forget about. He's been on your back about it for most of the day, granted, the universe apparently didn't want you to say anything, not with the way you were constantly interrupted every time you tried to talk about it. He should take that as a sign and drop it all together.

"You okay back there?" Yoongi asks softly, turning his head slightly, but not facing you.

"I wasn't really drunk." You say

Confused, Yoongi's brows furrow, "Huh?" He turns to face you, "What are you talking about?"

"The night you picked me up outside that bar." You're not looking at him, instead, you're looking down at your hands in your lap. The events of that night comes rushing to the front of Yoongi's mind, the way you kissed him, how soft your lips were.

"Wait, so..." Something in Yoongi's ears was buzzing, loud and distracting, as realization dawned, he feels a heat rising from his toes. "You-" he stands quickly from the bed, now that he knows exactly why you've been trying to say all day, he thinks he just might lose it.

"Why'd you leave without saying anything?" It's the first thing out of his mouth and Yoongi wishes he'd just shut up.

"I was embarrassed that I just kissed you out of nowhere like that. And you pushed me away, what else was I supposed to do?" You say in a rush, "I know you only see me as Namjoon's little sister."

"I don't." Yoongi says, and at your pause, his palms start to sweat, heart kicking against his ribcage. "Why did you kiss me that night?"

"You probably think it was because I was drunk. That wasn't it." You look him in the eye, "I wanted to."

Yoongi takes a breath and a moment to think carefully about what he's about to say, "Y/n." He runs his palms against his thighs, bottom lip caught between his teeth. "You were drunk. Just out of a relationship and you only kissed me because you were hurting, that's it."

"That's not-" You sigh loudly, pursing your lips and staring at the ceiling, "Do you even know why I dated that idiot? It's because you..." You trail off, picking at a loose thread on your t shirt.

Yoongi waits, giving you the moment you need to gather your words.

"I dated him so that I could forget you." You say softly, not looking at him, and Yoongi feels like he's buffering, like a frozen computer screen. Just standing there as he processes your words, it's taking a while to sink in, or they have, Yoongi is only trying to understand them. "I thought that dating him you would..."

Yoongi sighs, "Tell me something, yeah?"

You nod quietly, waiting. Yoongi watches you for a moment, he's more curious now, "How long?"

He watches as you fluster, eyes darting around to look at anywhere that isn't him. The way your fingers pinch at the dark sheets on the bed, you draw your bottom lip between your teeth and Yoongi just wants to kiss you. But as he's been doing all day, he gives you a moment; Yoongi is nothing but patient.

"Since we met?"

Is that a question? There Yoongi goes buffering again. He blinks a couple of times, mind going through the motions of his forced epiphany. The moments when you used to follow him and Namjoon around, all the staying up late texting as though you both were more than you were at the time.

"I really really like you and I tried to show you that night, but well..."

You get up from his bed with a sigh and step towards him and Yoongi tries his best not to take a step back, he allows you to reach him, to stand close enough for him to touch. He's panicking, on the inside, a voice in the back of his mind telling him that this is a terrible idea and that he should probably stop you.

He can't bring himself to, words stuck in his throat.

You're closer now, Yoongi could feel the warmth of you, and he swears this time that he'll be brave. So he kisses you first, fingers tangling in your hair, a hand gripping your waist to pull you even closer. He feels your hands against his chest as his eyes close, your lips are warm and as soft as he remembers, and he groans at the taste of you. His tongue finds yours, slowly, sliding against yours and he wants to savour this, commit your every sound to memory. Yoongi groans when your hands slide into his hair, tugging lightly at the nape of his neck.

He pulls back for air, lungs trying to take in as much air as possible, too quickly, he feels lightheaded. But that could just be because of you. He presses a fleeting kiss at the corner of your mouth, nose brushing against yours lightly. He's pretty sure this is what being high feels like, the rushing of his blood in his ears and the tingling at the tips of his fingers.

"You're gonna end me." Namjoon will too. The thought alone was enough to make Yoongi pause, realise the grip he had on your hips. One of his hands is just shy of the exposed skin under your tee shirt, hyper aware of the way your chest is pressed to his, your lips on his neck.

Namjoon is going to kill him.

He feels your teeth nip at the skin of his neck and he hisses between his teeth, your tongue follows. He pulls away, pushing you from him gently to take a couple steps back. He sees the question in your eyes, the soft furrow of your brows. He sighs through his nose, thinking about how much of a terrible idea this was, and how Namjoon would very likely drown him in the lake.

"Y/n...we can't." This was the reason he pushed you away the first time. Yoongi likes to think ahead, think about all the outcomes of a situation before he walks into it. This could go two ways, and Yoongi's mind can only focus on the worst scenario. What if this goes wrong? What if doing this now ruins everything, he'd not only lose you, but Namjoon as well.

He sees your pout and he looks away, wondering why he can't just let it happen and deal with the consequences later. But Yoongi isn't like that. He likes to sit and over think things.

"Is this about Namjoon?"

Yoongi startles at your question, jolting a bit as he drops his hands from your waist, fingers curling against his palm. He's not as good at hiding his thoughts as he presumed, or you just knew him too well for his own good. He answers your question with a silent nod, not meeting your eyes in the darkness of his room.

"Yoongi. He wouldn't care. Namjoon can't do anything, what I do isn't his business."

Yoongi goes to argue that that's not the point. You were so off the mark that he almost laughed, Namjoon wouldn't care what you thought. He wouldn't be able to look past Yoongi even thinking about touching you. So much for being brave.

You sigh, and Yoongi catches the hurt in the sound.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't push me away again, please." You reach for him and Yoongi doesn't stop you, because he can; he doesn't want to. "I wouldn't be here if I didn't want to."

"Are you sure?" He asks seriously, catching your wrist, ducking his head so that he could meet your eyes properly, "Tell me now that this is okay because when I start I won't stop."

You barely got to nod before Yoongi was kissing you again, pouring everything he had into it, hands moving down to grip at your ass in your cotton shorts. He takes careful steps, walking you backwards towards the bed.

"Just let me take care of you, yeah?" Yoongi gently pushes you back onto the bed, taking his time to strip you out of your clothes. Not letting his worries and doubts stop him from telling you how beautiful you are, or from kissing every inch of skin revealed to his eyes.

He kisses his way down your thighs once your shorts and panties are out of the way, stopping every now and then to nibble at the soft flesh. Your little sighs and moans are something he wants to record and keep with him forever, even though he wouldn't need them to remember.

He touches you lightly, just to tease, sliding his hands down your thighs, eyes locked on your glistening pussy. He wants to draw this out, ignoring your impatient whine and the rise of your hips at his touch. He's waited so long for this, wanting to taste you beyond the kiss you shared so long ago, Yoongi wants to make you beg. Reduce you to a mumbling mess of incoherent words, but at the same time, he too is impatient.

He shushes you gently at your call of his name, fingers parting your folds and watching the way your pussy clenches around nothing at his gaze. "So pretty, baby."

It was your only warning before he dove in, licking a board stripe from your engerance to your clit, focusing the tip of his tongue at the bundle of nerves. You suck in a sharp breath, hand tugging at his hair and it only spurs Yoongi on. He sucks gently in your clit, tongue moving in slow figures and dips a finger into your wet heat. He groans at the way your cunt just sucks him in, arousal dripping down his hand and he adds another, curling them against the soft spot within you.

He looks up at you, past your heaving chest to your fucked out face. Your parted lips, furrowed brows, glazed eyes looking back at him.

"Yoon--fuck."

Yoongi groans lowly in his throat, pressing his tongue flat against your clit, mouth flooding with your taste. He'd stay there forever if you gave him the chance, listening to the way your breath hitches and the sound of your moans and the feeling of your fingers in his hair. He wraps his lips around your clit and sucks harshly. He drives his tongue inside you, and the whine that leaves you has him rutting his hips against the bed. He can't get enough of your taste, the way your pussy clenches he's around his fingers.

"You taste so good, baby." Yoongi loves the way you grip at his hair, the way you tug sends tingles down his spine. He thrusts two fingers inside you, crooking them right, hitting the spot that sends your moans into a higher octave. He can't be bothered with how loud you're being, or if anyone's awake right now and would know exactly what you're both up to. You don't seem to care either, too lost in the pleasure; moaning his name.

"F-fuck, right there," you whimper, thighs tensing around his head. Yoongi groans as he obeys, crooking his fingers and rubbing at the spot that makes you sing so sweetly. His lips never leave your clit, tongue swirling around the swollen nub in figure eights. Dragging his fingers within the tightness of your dripping heat, he could tell you're close, feeling the way your thighs tremble. "Fu-"

Your back arches off the sheets, and Yoongi moans when your release gushes out of you and into his mouth. He stays there and takes it all, until you push at him instead of pull and Yoongi lets up, running his hands up your sides in an attempt to soothe as you tremble in the after wave. "You doing okay?"

"Yeah," you squeak out and Yoongi chuckles, getting up to sit back on his thighs. He watches you for a moment, watching the way your chest heaves with your every breath, your hair a tangled mess against his pillows. His eyes trail your form, down to the mess between your thighs that twitched at his attention.

"Sure? You good to go on?" He asks to be sure, squeezing your hip gently. You nod, reaching for him and he goes without complaint, caging you within his arms and kisses you slowly. His tongue tangles with yours, and he grinds his hips down against yours, seeking friction for his aching cock, dampening the front of his sweatpants.

"Fuck that feels so good." He groans, sucking bruises into the soft skin of your neck. He angles his hips so that the length of his cock rubs directly against your clit, shuddering, it feels so good and Yoongi can't stop. He slows down though, because he could feel his release racing down his spine. "Fuck, baby."

"Wanna..." You push at his shoulders, "Wanna suck your cock." Your hands are at the drawstrings of his sweatpants already, tugging, "Wanna taste you, too."

"Fuck, okay."

Yoongi gets off the bed to shuck off his sweats, cock springing free, red and pulsing, precum beading at the tip. He chuckles at your facial expression, eyes surprised even though your bottom lip is caught between your teeth. He notes the way your eyes follow the movement of his hand, he grips his cock and squeezes, thumb catching the translucent drop and dragging it down his shaft.

"You're big."

"Good for you, then?" He pumps his shaft slowly, whispering curses under his breath.

You roll your eyes, "It wouldn't have mattered if-"

"Shh." Yoongi shushes and crooks the fingers of his free hand at you, "Come here."

He leans down to grab a pillow behind you, pausing, "Where's comfortable for you?"

"Wherever you want me," you say sweetly, and it would've been cute with the way you smile, if it wasn't for the look in your eyes. For a moment Yoongi feels like he's in for way more than he bargained for, with you looking so pretty, alluring, like a succubus ready to siphon his soul. Such a far contrast from the you of earlier, fumbling with your words and flushing under his gaze.

"This isn't about me." Yoongi swallows, "Are you kneeling or do you wanna stay on the bed?"

"I'll stay here." You make yourself comfortable, propping up on your elbows, and Yoongi passes you the pillow to help you reach his hips in your position. You slide the pillow under your chest, already reaching for him before he steps closer and Yoongi sucks in a sharp breath when your smaller hand wraps around his cock.

You mirror his motions from before, pumping slowly and Yoongi's not sure if you're teasing him or not. Tongue snaking out to kitten lick at the head, you swirl it around before taking it into your mouth.

"Ah fuck." Yoongi throws his head back, a hand finding your hair as you take him slowly to the back of your throat. He feels your exhales against his tummy, just barely, his mind too muddled to focus on anything but the warmth of your throat and the wiggling of your tongue under his shaft. "You're doing so good, baby."

You hum a gurgle of a word Yoongi would probably never decipher, the vibrations around the head of his cock has him tugging lightly on your hair and pulling out and away from your mouth, breathing hard. He'd be damned if he comes so quickly, that shit will probably haunt him for the rest of his life.

There's a string of spit connecting your lips to his cock, and you smile like the minx you are, not letting him get far enough away before you're taking his cock into your mouth again, bobbing your head at a quick pace. Yoongi could cry, he's trying so hard, there's sweat dripping from his hair, you're pulling him closer, taking him deeper and his eyes roll back.

"Shit. Slow down." His words trail off in a moan, and he's unable to help the rolling of his hips, thrusting his cock into the warmth of your throat, gently, mindful of your breathing. You swallow and he swears, thighs tensing and he stops, pulling away again to release a stuttered exhale. Leaning down, he kisses you, licking into your mouth with haste, tasting himself on your tongue. "Wanna fuck you." He breathes against your lips, releasing your hair for you to scoot back up the bed.

He's quick to follow, slotting his hips between your thighs, stopping to map bruises against the skin of your chest. He laves his tongue over a nipple, fingers toying with the other, he takes the pebbled bud into his mouth just to hear you make a pretty sound.

"Yoongi." You whine his name, and Yoongi doesn't waste another second, hooking one of your knees over his elbow, other hand guiding his cock to your wet cunt. He stays there for a moment, tapping his cock against your clit just to watch you squirm. You raise your hips to meet his teasing thrusts and Yoongi chuckles, easing back to slowly drag his cock down your slit until it prods at your entrance.

He slowly presses into you, watching the way your pussy sucks him in, arousal coating his cock. "You're so fucking tight." Yoongi stills, gripping your hips, watching you through a lust filled haze. He thrusts shallowly into you until he bottoms out and stills, free hand squeezing your hip gently. He swipes his tongue over his thumb, pressing the digit against your clit to rub in slow circles, "Relax for me, baby."

When he feels your body relax around him, he moves, setting a slow pace to start, leaning down to slot his lips over yours, swallowing the sounds you made. You arms wrap around his neck, nails scraping red, angry lines at his shoulder blades. The pain only heightens the pleasure he feels, crossing his eyes and curling his toes.

"Fuck." Yoongi bites gently on your earlobe, "You're so good for me baby. So fucking good. Taking my cock so well."

He knows you're getting tired of his pace. You're lifting your hips to meet his thrust, moaning helplessly into his ears. "Want more, baby?" He leans back in time to catch your nod, kiss swollen bottom lip caught between your teeth. He grips your hips again, keeping you from moving, and slows down just to watch you squirm and beg for him.

"Ple-fuck. Jus-" your words cut off with a gasp, hands gripping Yoongi's wrists where he holds you. He sets a punishing pace, the sound of his thighs hitting your ass loud in the quiet of the room. "Oh F-fuck, Yoongi."

"This what you wanted, hmm?" He tilts his head at you, one eyebrow raised, sliding a hand up your sweat slicked skin to cup your jaw, you take his thumb into your mouth and Yoongi's cock pulses with the need for his release. He smirks, pressing his thumb down on your tongue, pace never faltering, his nerves are on the edge of frying, orgasm tingling at the end of his spine. Pulling his hand away from your mouth and presses his thumb against your clit, looking down at the way his ccok, covered in your arousal, disappears inside you.

Yoongi groans, the sound rumbling in his chest, feeling your pussy clenching around his cock, squeezing tight as your breath hitches. "Ah--fuck I'm gonna-"

"Yeah? Come for me, baby." As your body tenses and tremble, Yoongi chases his end, hips stuttering and he gasps, cock throbbing in time with his heartbeat as his release spills into you. "Oh fuck."

Head light and ears ringing, Yoongi kisses you, it's more tongue than anything else, but he doesn't care. He does his best to keep the full weight of him off you, peppering kisses along your jaw. He feels your every breath and his sweat cools on his skin, "You okay?"

There's sweat burning his eyes and he squints at you as you push his hair back and away from his face, you're smiling and giggling shyly. Like if he told you a joke and didn't just fuck you nine ways to hell. "I'm perfect."

He presses a kiss to your cheek, leaning back up again to carefully slip his softening cock out of your still pulsing walls. His release comes flowing out not two seconds after, he watches with his bottom lip between his teeth, cock giving an interested twitch.

Yoongi gets up before he starts something again, because he just might die trying to go through a second round so quickly. "Don't move, I'll be right back."

He looks around on the floor for where he left his sweatpants, he puts them on and shuffles quickly to the door. He only realises just how quiet it is now that it's quiet, he realises how loud the two of you were being.

He goes back to you with a warm, damp washrag, finding you close to falling asleep. He cleans you up anyway, mindful of your sensitivity.

When he's done he watches you for a moment, fingers finding yours first. Mindlessly he fiddles with them and reaches for his discarded shirt and passes it to you, releases your hand only for you to put it on. "We probably could've done this sooner." You say softly, smiling.

Yoongi tilts his head, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, "What? The sex or...?"

You lightly swat his arm, "You know what I mean."

"I do." Yoongi presses a kiss to your wrist, sighing when you gently lay that palm against his cheek. He believes that action speaks volumes and there's no need for words, but he realises that he hadn't said it back to you earlier. Though, he was very much distracted and his thoughts were absent. "I like you too...alot...just in case that wasn't clear."

He shifts on the bed to be closer to you and leans his head on your shoulder, "I'm sorry it took me so long. It takes me a while to come to terms with things. I overthink and make things harder for myself, I wasn't sure if this was the right way to go."

You hum softly, breath tickling his ears, "It's okay. I suck too. We could've avoided the run around if I'd just told you."

"Yeah, you're terrible. I had no idea what to do with your smoke signals." Yoongi raises his head, chuckling. Leaning over, he presses a kiss to your forehead and tilts your chin to kiss you softly. "Can I take you out? When we get back."

"Yeah, I'd like that."

Yoongi smiles, feeling like a kid and nudges you softly, "Go pee. I'll strip the sheets, go on."

He watches as you walk on wobbly legs till you reach the door and pause, turning your head to watch him with wide eyes, "you don't think they heard us, do you?"

"Nah, they're asleep."

"Dude, whoever was watching their porn so loudly last night, fuck you. Honestly, the lack of respect in this household."

It's the first thing Jimin says when he comes downstairs the next morning, looking like he'd slept on the wrong side of the bed. Eyes swollen as he takes the coffee Seokjin offers and the sympathetic pat to his shoulder.

Yoongi ignores the conversation, even though you looked like you were about to combust next to him. Seokjin was giving him a look from his spot by the stove, looking ridiculous in the pink apron he favoured.

"Yeah the walls are so thin in here it's wild." Seokjin wiggles his eyebrows at Yoongi and you choose that moment to choke on your sip of orange juice.

Taehyung pauses, fork halfway to his mouth with a strip of bacon hanging for dear life at the end of it. He looks between the both of you for a quiet moment, strong brows furrowed until something lights in his eyes. "Oh my god."

Jimin, who's slumping in his seat, looking like he wanted nothing more than to crawl his way back upstairs perks up at Taehyung's words, "What?"

Yoongi stares silently at Taehyung, daring him to open his big mouth and say exactly what he definitely wants to say.

"Nothing. Nothing...." Taehyung waves his hand with the fork, sending the piece of bacon flying off it and into his glass of orange juice. Jimin watches on with disgust as Taehyung fishes the piece out of the cup and tosses it into his mouth.

"The bin is right there."

"Are you drinking the juice?"

Yoongi runs circles into the skin of your knee, as Taehyung and Jimin bicker.

"Oh, Joon. Come eat." Seokjin wanders over to the entrance and Yoongi just barely catches the sight of Namjoon passing by, saying that he was going for a walk first. Hoseok and Jungkook enter just then, finding their spots at the table as Seokjin sets plates for them.

"I'll be right back." Yoongi says softly, pressing a kiss to your temple, leaving Jimin sputtering into his coffee. He pushes his chair back and stands, catching the way Hoseok squints at you.

He points, not saying anything before he leans around Taehyung to smack at Jimin's arm, "I told you so! You owe me fifty."

"Bold of you to assume I came here with money."

"You guys made a bet?" You ask, incredulous.

"Yeah. It's either someone was watching porn, or someone was getting it. You and Yoongi are the only ones not sharing a room..."

Hoseok voice fades as Yoongi shuts the front door behind him. It's cold, mist and dew clinging to the world and Yoongi regrets leaving his sweater in his room. He rubs his hands over his arms, the long sleeves of his t shirt barely keeping him warm.

Namjoon's already walking, a good distance from the house near the lake's edge. Yoongi takes his time walking over, gravel crunching under his feet, he slots his hands into his pockets to keep them warm.

When he reaches Namjoon, the younger man is crouched down, cooing at something on the ground. There's a little crab scurrying around trying to get away from Namjoon's curious fingers.

"Just let the little guy be." Yoongi announces himself, "Thing's probably scared shitless."

"I just wanna pick him up, though," Namjoon continues to try, sighing when the little crab escapes into the lake. "Oh well.." He dusts his hands and stands up, finally looking over at Yoongi.

"Aren't you cold?" He asks, and remembering he's standing out in a tshirt and sweats, Yoongi shivers. Namjoon looks all cozy in his beige sweater and matching beanie.

"I wanted to run something by you." Yoongi says, looking out at the lake and the way the light of the morning sun glitters against the still waters. He shoves his cold hands into the pockets of his pants, rubbing his thumb over his curled fingers. He realised that this is going to be as hard as trying to talk to you, and Namjoon waits patiently, watching Yoongi with eyes that seemed to know too much.

"Uh.." Yoongi chances a look, glancing at Namjoon who's just as quiet as him, waiting. "Look man, Y/n and I had a talk last night."

"Right?" Namjoon gives him a look, a confused one, head tilting and all.

Yoongi takes a breath and decides to go headfirst, though he takes a step back from Namjoon to be sure. "I really like your sister and we talked about it and I just wanted you to know that."

The uncomfortable look that morphs Namjoon's features wasn't what Yoongi was expecting, especially since the look stays there for a while as Namjoon just stares at him. He raises a hand to scratch at his cheek, "Dude."

"What?"

"Are you saying that I owe Hoseok fifty dollars?"

"...Eh?" Yoongi's confused, and it feels as though he's spent this whole weekend running on pure confused energy. Namjoon shakes his head, laughing in a way that makes Yoongi take another step back.

"I know. You two are terrible at hiding shit." Namjoon points his thumb over his shoulder, back at the house where he glances. From where he stands, he could see Seokjin, Taehyung and Jimin peering out through the window. "I know my sister, and I know my best friend. You guys are adults, so, really, there's nothing I can do but watch it happen."

Namjoon shrugs, and Yoongi flushes, cheeks heating. "But when I met her...you...you gave me a look."

"I was trying to ask if you wanted water!"

"That was not a 'do you want water' look, Joon."

Namjoon reaches over and pats his shoulder softly, hand lingering, "You have my blessing, if that's what you came to ask for." He smiles, eyes disappearing, but Yoongi's relief is cut short when he tries to shift away, Namjoon's grip tightening. "Though, she's still my little sister. I know where you live."

Yoongi chuckles, a little scared.

"Good talk." Namjoon nods to himself, "I'm going inside. Get out of the cold!"

Tagging: @madbutgloriouspond @blog-name-idk @taestefully-in-luv @btsstan12 @hamsterclaw @allhobbitstoisengard @dontstoptime @doneimnida @here2bbtstrash

[inkyvendingmachine]

T'was The Night Before Crisis... Season 4, Episode 1

💀 Call of Cthulhu: Haunted Hijinx Masterpost 💀 Call of Cthulhu Season Four Masterpost (Coming Soon)

Warning: This campaign is an edited version of  a Call of Cthulhu scenario from the Tales of the Crescent City book. While a lot has been changed, there IS spoilers for it throughout these posts.

WE'RE BACK. After over a whole heckin year of 10000 RP logs, we have returned with our final season of Cthulhu! It's been not just a year out of game, but a little over a year worth of in game time has passed too, and they boys are indulging in a chill, at home seasonal celebration... for now! Surely nothing weird will happen, nothing ever does around holidays for these boys obviously.

:)

Happy Holidays!

Art Credit: @inkdemonapologist : sketching + inking @inkyvendingmachine : concept + colouring

A week. Two weeks. A month. A season. A year.

A whole year and a couple of months go by without any crazy outside force trying to rid the boys of… anything really. The time isn't exactly calm or empty… but compared to recent events, for a while, things were… kinda normal?

Well, except for when Joey got Peter to help him meet with Y secretly to prevent the gang from continuing to mess with JDS, or when Sammy and Henry realized mid tennis match that a version of Henry had slashed him right through the center. Or how the Prophet can just pop out now without ink. And how Susie has been brought in on all this, and perhaps brought in on even more than just the supernatural content as her bonds with Sammy and Joey grow tighter. And how Peter is actually moving to New York City now and ends up visiting Jack just as Beans goes missing and now there’s many little Beans kittens. And the summoning spell to ask the spirit that helped them in Haiti what will become of Sammy and Prophet. And the other summoning spell for Prophet to get his instructions from the Masked Messenger. And Sammy still can't tell where he's going half the time after uncovering some of Prophet’s memories. And Joey is still a bit hesitant to leave the studio if not being actively distracted. But other than that! It's been normal!!

And the boys have made it all the way to Christmas. Joey's received some parcels in the mail, from the Fowlers and Nicole. The Fowlers actually sent each of the helpful boys uh… 1000$?? That's a thousand. EACH. IN THE 1930s. For helping out… which I guess if stuck eternally in soul lake hell, wouldn't have that money anyways. But still, that's quite a lot for the time.

Meanwhile, Nicole has had time to move on from her heartbreak, and is ready to start a new chapter in her life, and as thanks, leaves Joey both the keys to her old apartment (the lease being paid up for a few years already) and to her previous car, with a guarantee she's giving these things up for better, not to worry about her. And totally not because maybe all the occult scratches and bullet marks in the wall makes the apartment hard to rent, or the fact that her car is an extremely recognized Mercedes, or that both of these assets were hounded by gangs for a bit after her magical mistakes…

It probably is actually all out of good will and appreciation, and these things will come in useful, especially if they do need to deal with more mafia or what have you. Joey doesn't need them tracking Henry's car home to his family or back to Jack's house.

With those gifts out of the way, the actual holiday is spent in Jack's house, with a big potluck meal. This holiday celebration includes a small group of friends and their families, namely, all the people Jack has befriended and also would be okay with the Lurker partying with em. The event goes well, Sammy gets to play through the night, Henry’s children get to hang out with a real Bendy and also a buncha newly grown-up cats, Henry gets to eat as many cookies as he wants… 

That… slows down when Henry sees a yellow sign in a ribbon. But as soon as he tries to not lose his entire cool and freak out, it disappears… the ribbon was just a ribbon the entire time. Perhaps golden ribbons shouldn't be their normal holiday decor… 

Meanwhile, Peter feels eyes on him and decides to move away from the window maybe, especially because it feels like he suddenly knew exactly which star in the sky holds Carcosa at the same time… surely a fine coincidence to have happened at almost the same time. But nobody else is acting weirdly, sooooo.

The night wraps up, with Susie and Norman heading out first, followed by Henry and his family. Sammy also heads home after being socially exhausted and desperately needing his alone time, and Peter helps Jack clean up some before heading out too. Jack heads to bed, only to find an already asleep Joey with a Spark sprawled on top of him, probably after he “closed his eyes for a moment” a little earlier. 

The next day, there's technically work, but it's a short day because what's actually happening is a charity auction and party. A collection of “originals, signed by the creators” has been donated to help raise money for relief efforts in a few warring European countries, as well as the “entertainment” for the evening (Bendy cartoons, of course), courtesy of JDS, which means of course all the stars who signed the auctioned items were invited to the party as well.

Yes, even Sammy. 

(And also Jack, Henry, Susie, and Joey of course.)

The event is being held at a yacht club, advertised to the wealthies of the city midst the great depression, with live music playing and glittering evening wear, and uh. Denis.

Y'know, Denis?? That rich guy from NOLA who invited us to the masquerade?? That Joey casually name dropped his legal name to in order to keep him from tracing himself and Sammy back to JDS, when they didn't know who or how dangerous their initial information gathering was.

Anyways, a quick little talking him in circles by Joey corrects that past mistake, as well as gets him the information that Denis is actually related to one of the people who put the entire event together. Ha. Good to know.

Of course it's difficult to shake him afterwards, since Joey is one of the few people Denis knows all the way up in New York. At least Joey actually has a fancy car to talk about now.

Meanwhile, in the quietest, emptiest corner he could find, Sammy notices something odd about the song that's currently being played live. It sounds familiar, and while surely there's been some Bendy music played this evening…. This particular song is not that. But it WAS composed by Sammy.

In NOLA.

When he was improvising with some random music on the street while hanging out on the balcony of his and Joey's hotel room. Properly freaked out by having a song from a very scary time literally come back to haunt him, Sammy runs to find someone, (Joey is still busy with Denis), and comes across Jack first. But before he can fully explain, the entire party is interrupted.

Chatter turns into hushed confusion as some pale man up near the front starts speaking in tongues. It's hard to tell if he's trying to perform some ritual or just incoherently rambling, but it doesn't matter! Because very quickly there’s a gunshot!!

And the Prophet? He's awake. He knows what that gunshot was. He's been waiting for this.

It has begun.

Of course the entire party breaks out in panic once the gun goes off. Joey doesn't know what sort of Eldritch nonsense was happening up front, but upon scanning the crowd and noticing Jack and Sammy together, beelines for the snack table to grab Henry and search for Susie.

As everyone is being rushed out, some of the boys manage to notice that not all of the panic is simply from the mad ramblings and sudden bullet, but also we've got some people in the crowd bleeding from their eyes. How festive!

Upon getting outside, the Yacht club is of course already being surrounded by security and the police, as the sudden gun shots quickly alerted locals to the nonsense going on. Nobody is allowed to bolt until an investigation is conducted and people are questioned, but of course Joey managed to sweet talk his way over to a telephone to make a very important quick phone call.

To one Peter Sunstram! 

Turns out, between all their arguments, there are a few things they can agree on, which includes quietly spying on suspicious parties even though they should probably not be doing that if they actually wanna be safe but surely everyone will understand when they find out IT'S FINE.

Anyways Peter’s been keeping an eye on Y, and earlier in the day Y seemed to be performing some ritual before having some kind of … breakthrough? Revelation? Peter had told Joey of it, and in good faith Joey agreed to keep an eye out for WEIRDNESS, hoping that Y was upholding his promise to not be interfering with JDS anymore. But now this episode seems to have specifically happened, right at their exact event for the evening, so Joey does his best to pass along as much info as he can in that moment to Peter. As well as set up a backup plan in case anything else happens to them before they can escape the Yacht Club.

After some interviews with the police though, they’re allowed to go free. Listening to other partygoers' recollections they’re able to pick up a few more names here and there – the one who fired the gun up front by the bandstand is said to be another local gangster by the name of Johnny Nero, and the band playing on that bandstand one Red Leverett and the Jumps – but no evidence that really points the crew in any sort of serious lead. (including more commentary by Denis wHY ARE YOU STILL HERE UR NOT PART OF THE GROUP)

So having managed to collect everyone together, including Prophet returning Sammy to the front for the interview thank the lord (not that one)(not that one either)(maybe that one) the JDS crew head over to their very safe and secure hide away to talk about what just happened: that’s right, they’re going to Peter’s apartment.

And staying there through midnight! Listen, the last time weird shit started happening like this, everything popped off at midnight and there were panics all around. It’d be nice to know where people were this evening. And while they’re all sitting around waiting for that to pass, Henry and Peter can even talk about the really weird things that happened last night! Yknow, where Henry saw the yellow sign for a moment and Peter felt something watching him from space? Those very normal Christmas activities?

The group also gets informed about how Peter maybe has been keeping an eye on the Y that still hangs out in the city, and how Y was excited over some weird ritual. While he goes over that and also Joey and Peter guiltily kinda admit to their secret spying tendencies, Henry gets info from Linda when he calls to explain why he’s not home yet and how he won’t be home for a little while still. She’s remembered some research that crosses over with the prophecies they had gotten a month or so after the last big event like this. And Jack and Sammy bring up how they had been theorizing over who’s and what’s in the prophecies… for instance, that which the Phantom seeks, who bears already the scars of following the Mender’s lead….

Is it Peter? He followed Jack into the weird ghosty world. Is it Joey? He’s followed the Mender in other ways, and also literally bears scars caused from Jack’s healing. Or is it somehow Y?? Who seems… involved in this somehow, despite promising he wouldn’t be fucking around with stuff that might step on JDS’s toes again.

With no real conclusions, but midnight having come and past, people start to head home. Joey has someone drop him off at the studio, as after weirdness happened with any sort of occult stuff he’s interested in checking in on Bendy and the Stone. Since, those tend to be targets for this kinda creepy thing. Bendy is perfectly fine though, and hardly even noticed anything going on… So Joey picks up some of his notes and… finds himself unable to leave the studio. For some reason it just seems like the wrong idea… so he spends all night up researching, unsettled by how many non-leads he has into what will possibly happen next. It’s starting to feel like Haiti again, knowing that something bad is coming but really having no idea where to fortify with this information.

But he does have something new… 

He has plenty of things new now, including his dream spell. 

Peter’s not the only one who can spy, and while Joey is sure he’d hit some kind of barrier trying to peek in on Y’s dreams… just knowing whether the man was still alive, or possessed by some eldritch nonsense seemed like a good place to start. Maybe his excitement at the ritual earlier was coincidental…

The thing is, defying all reason, Joey’s able to step into Y’s dream just fine somehow.

This is probably not something he’ll regret doing later, surely.

[Next Episode] (not yet released)

[animasola86]

Kinktober: It is that time again.

Notes: Listen! I woke up feeling naughty again this morning and yet I somehow produced a fluffy, wholesome family life lovey dovey omg they are so freaking cute piece, at least for three pages, after that we're going straight to the topic of @kinktober2023: breeding kink.

Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x f!reader

Genre: Fluff/Smut // Words: 8k // [Read on AO3]

Warnings: NSFW! MDNI! Marital sex. Oh and also: breeding kink.

Warning: After you die of diabetes or cute aggression by reading the first part of this, there will be severe filth following. (Though to be fair, I think I've written worse before >_> Still, it's smut: so if you want to keep your innocence, please look away!)

It is that time again, darling.

It is Friday afternoon in the Sallow cottage, and you're sitting on the couch by the fireplace, enjoying a good book – completely ignoring the loud and certainly obnoxious argument your twin boys are having. They do it all the time, so it's nothing new.

They come after their father in so many ways, it's almost scary. From the messy brunet hair that you failed to comb so many times, to the deep brown eyes that can turn your anger into adoration in only a few seconds (they know that fact by now, which is never a good thing) – to the insatiable hunger for knowledge and the equally insatiable desire to always get what they want.

Benjamin and Archie Sallow surely are Sebastian's sons. As they bicker over who gets to play with the toy train first, your gaze wanders to the corner of the room to your quiet daughter.

Little Anne is in her own world, surrounded by various sheets of parchment and paper, her colouring pencils strewn about as she scribbles away, equally ignoring her arguing brothers. You smile softly as you take in her features. She comes after you, has your eyes and unlike her brothers and father not a single freckle on her pale little face, probably because unlike the men of the house, she likes to stay indoors, drawing and reading with her equally sun deprived mother.

Just as you return to your book, the door opens, and the noise of your bickering boys subsides immediately and turns into a wail of joy as the twins jump up and into the arms of their father. You look at Sebastian with wide eyes and an equally wide smile, you haven't expected him home this early.

“I'm home!” he calls, laughing with one son on each arm as he enters the small house.

You stand from the couch and walk towards him, unable to stop the need to kiss him. As you do, your sons issue grunts of displeasure, yet you only laugh and kiss your husband more.

“Did you miss me?” he asks softly, his dark eyes on you as he sets his sons to the ground again.

“I always miss you,” you whisper and wrap your arms around him.

“You know, I'm only on the other side of the lake, right?” he teases and grabs your chin to plant another kiss on your lips – followed by another synchronised noise of disgust from the twins.

He is right, of course. You chose this house in Aranshire so you can always look over the lake to the castle, imagining your husband walking the halls of Hogwarts, teaching kids in Magical Theory, being in his element. He still spends a lot of time there, has his own room in the castle if his work load gets too much, but every Friday to late Sunday he will come home to you and spend as much time with you and your three children as he can.

“I still wish I'd see you more...” you whisper and lean against him, your hand gently grazing the stubble on his cheek.

“You could teach too, you know? You were offered a position, remember?” he says as he guides you back to the couch.

“You know I can't,” you sigh and look around the house. Your boys are back fighting over the train toy and Anne is still so fixated on her drawing, she hasn't even noticed Sebastian's return yet.

“Soon you can,” he whispers and makes you sit on the couch. “The boys will be at Hogwarts and our little princess here –” he starts and sneaks towards the little girl sitting with her back to the room. “– can handle her own. Hey princess, Daddy's back!” he then says as he grabs his daughter under the arms and lifts her up swiftly. She squeals and kicks, then quickly relaxes and throws her tiny arms around his neck as a wide smile comes to her lips.

“Hello Daddy,” she squeaks, and he laughs softly as he hugs her back.

“How's my little girl?” he asks and tilts his head to look at what she has been drawing.

“Don't look!” she says in that sweet, high-pitched voice. “It's a surprise!”

Sebastian chuckles and presses his lips to the top of her head. “Fine, fine, I won't look! Keep your secrets!” he sets her back to the ground and gently ruffles her hair before he lets her go back to her drawing and finally returns to you.

You reach your arms out to him, and he follows suit immediately, settling down next to you on the couch, your arms entangled as he pulls you closer to kiss your forehead. For a moment you just sit together, looking into each other's eyes, the bickering of your boys just another background noise.

“I've been thinking, darling,” he then says, and one of those wicked smirks comes to his handsome face.

“Yes?” you ask carefully and arch an eyebrow.

He barks a laugh and quickly leans closer to kiss your raised eyebrow. “Don't give me that look, I know for a fact that you'll love it,” he then says and winks at you.

“Really?” you wonder and watch how he disentangles your limbs and stands from the couch, returning to the bag he has left at the door.

“Oh yes,” he calls back and rummages through his bag before he walks to the twins, holding something behind his broad back. “Boys,” he says with a mock-stern voice to get their attention. The mini versions of himself look up with big eyes, their fight momentarily paused. “Have you been nice to Mummy and your sister?”

The boys nod eagerly, already knowing what's coming. He always brings them back gifts when he returns on Fridays. They know the drill and yet they are always so excited about it. You smile softly as you watch the scene before you.

“Well, how about you give your Mummy and Daddy a little break and take this outside?” he then says and produces two toy trains in his big palms.

The twins stare at him, and Benjamin, the cheekier one of the two, raises an eyebrow. “Dad, we already have toy trains...” he says and holds up the toy that he has finally snatched from his brother's hand.

Sebastian laughs. “Not these ones. If you push this button, they'll get bigger,” he says and shows them what he means. “But you can only use them outside, do you understand?”

The twins rise to their feet and crane their necks to look at their father. You already dread the day when they would become as tall as Sebastian, but luckily both of them have yet to hit any major growth spurt. He holds the toy closer and looks at them intently.

“Do you understand?” he repeats in a rather stern voice.

They both nod. “Yes, sir,” they say in unison and quickly grab the toys from his palms and run outside.

“Be good! No terrorizing the cats, alright?” he calls after them and then closes the door again, turning towards you now with that wicked smirk. Through the closed door you can hear your sons laugh and giggle as the sound of a train horn fills the square.

“Will they be alright?” you whisper as you stand from the couch and walk towards him.

“Of course, don't worry! Edgar will have an eye on them as usual,” he says with a disarming smile as he grabs your hand and eagerly pulls you along, right towards your bedroom.

You hold him back and take a look towards your daughter, who is focused on her drawings once again. “What about Anne?” you whisper, knowing what your husband is up to.

“She'll be fine, too,” he whispers back, leaning over you to brush his lips against your ear. “She won't hear a thing...”

You blush at the implication. When you look up at him, you can't help but smile back as he watches you with those dark eyes that can make you do anything. Biting your lip, you nod and follow him into your shared bedroom.

As the door closes behind you, you are very glad that he put up all those silencing charms and protection spells and anything else that will keep whatever happens in here out of earshot of your precious children. Because when he grabs your waist and pulls you flush against his body, you know you won't be able to keep your noises to yourself.

He doesn't waste any time and starts to undress you with nimble fingers, quickly unbuttoning your shirt as he leans down to shower your face and neck with light, innocent kisses. You inhale sharply.

“Do you know how old our sons are?” he then asks as he pushes your skirt down your legs.

You are a little confused by his question and frankly, a little too distracted to think at the moment. “They are... ten...” you whisper.

“And how old is our baby girl?”

“Five,” you reply and tilt your head, letting him nibble on your neck as he gets rid of the last of your garments.

“And do you see a pattern there?” he then says and leans back to look at you with a wide smile.

You blink slowly. “Sebastian, what –”

“It is that time again, darling,” he says with a smirk and quickly pushes his mouth to yours, silencing any doubts for the moment. Your hands reach up and cup his face, and when you finally manage to push him off your lips, you stare at him.

“Are you sure about this?”

He laughs. “Yes! Absolutely! It's time for another one, don't you think?”

“But we already live so cramped here...” you start finding arguments, when in reality you don't see any real reason not to indulge in his desire for another child.

“You realize you are a witch and I am a wizard? We'll just add another room, no worries! And I thought you loved the cosy feeling of our tight little space...” he whispers, leaning back down to kiss your cheek.

You breathe a little harder. “Yes, I do...” you whimper as he sinks his teeth playfully into your neck.

“Then I see no problem with me indulging in your tight space,” he says, and his words make you shiver, or maybe it's his fingers slipping between your legs, teasing at your folds.

“Another one, hm?” you whisper breathlessly.

“Or two, who knows?” he laughs and quickly picks you up to carry you to the bed. You frown at his words. “Those twin genes are strong...”

You groan playfully as he sets you down, and you scramble back on the bed, watching him. He is out of his clothes in no time, and when he crawls over you, settling right between your open legs, he gives you a serious look.

“Only if you're ready,” he says quietly, his dark eyes wandering over your face.

You watch him, and despite the emotional blackmail of those damn eyes, you find yourself smiling and already imagining having another baby. You also think about the last times the both of you decided on adding to your little family. The many hours you had spent in bed together come to your mind, and you can only imagine how long it will take this time. The thought alone causes your legs to twitch.

“Yes,” you eventually say and reach your arms out to him. “I am ready,” you whisper, and when he follows your beckoning to lie on top of you and bury his face in the crook of your neck, you add: “Put your seed in me, Sebastian.”

He leans back immediately and stares at you, not having expected these kinds of words from his beautiful, innocent wife. A sly smirk breaks from his lips. And you smirk right back. He must know by now that your sweet face is only a facade. He's corrupted you a long time ago. And even though you spend nearly every weekend in bed together, enjoying the other's body, the prospect of doing the deed with a purpose, makes it even more exciting for you.

“Then we won't need these,” he says with a wider smirk as he leans over you to the night-stand, rummaging through the first drawer where you keep your contraceptive potions. “Instead we might need... this,” he whispers and produces a tiny flask. “It's going to be a long night, love,” he adds and looks at you, before he downs the contents of the potion he rarely uses, but when he does, you know you're in for a treat – that will last (him) a very long time indeed.

You blush deeply and bite your lip, the heat already spreading through your body. When he leans back, gently putting his entire body weight on you as he cups your face with both hands, you see something you see very rarely: a tear in the corner of his eye. You quickly lean up and graze your thumbs over his cheeks. “You make me very happy, you know that?” he says softly, smiling at you.

You smile back and lean up to kiss him gently. “I'm trying my best,” you reply.

He chuckles. “Oh you don't even have to try, darling,” he says and kisses you back so gently you almost forget about what will come next. “You just do, no matter what you do, what you say, how you look, just thinking about my beautiful wife and all the things she has already done for me...” He inhales deeply. “I love you,” he says and presses his lips to your cheek, his eyes boring into yours. “And I will always love you.”

The warmth his words (and the way he looks at you) create in you almost overpowers the heat you feel for him. Grabbing the back of his neck, you pull him down onto your lips and kiss him deeply. “I love you too...” you whisper breathlessly between circling your tongue around his. “I love you so much, Sebastian. And now fill me up already!”

You feel him chuckling against your mouth. “So eager,” he teases and pushes his tongue deeper into your mouth. When he leans back slightly, planting tiny kisses on your lips, cheeks and jaw, his low voice vibrates through your very core. “My naughty, naughty girl...”

You watch him with your head spinning from lack of air, a small smirk playing around your lips as he moves his mouth to your neck. While you play with his hair, he sucks and nibbles on your soft skin, marking you as his own, as if the ring on your finger and the three children somewhere beyond your closed bedroom door weren't enough proof that you were his and his alone. That is the last time you'll think about your beautiful offspring for this day (or so you hope), as other things settle in your mind and you really don't want them to mix.

When he is done with his mark, gently lapping at your bruised skin, he kisses your neck and leans back on his arms, taking some of his weight off you, allowing your chest to rise and fall faster as you watch him. He looks at you with those dark hungry eyes, and you inhale deeply as he starts showering your bare body with kisses, all the way from your collarbone over the peaks of your plum breasts (that he gives a gentle squeeze with one of his hands as he moves down) until he presses his mouth to your stomach, his fingers softly massaging your skin.

“I can't wait to fill you up,” he whispers hoarsely, kissing your stomach, his fingers pressing down firmly. “I'll fill your womb...” he says and rests his head on your lower torso as if listening for something that isn't even there yet. “And I'll watch you grow... knowing it was my seed that made you so...” You feel his heavy breaths on your skin as you reach down to gently caress his hair, digging your fingers through his locks, smiling softly to yourself.

He stays like that for at least ten seconds, giving you the illusion of peace and quiet and hopeful dreams of the future, a really tender and romantic moment, and once those seconds are over, he presses his lips to your stomach, pushes himself up and quickly leans back, looking at you with that wicked smirk again.

“Let's prepare my beautiful breeding vessel,” he teases and grabs your hips to position himself right between your legs.

You stare at him. “What did you just call me?” you laugh as he puts your legs on his shoulders.

He just smirks wider, and without any warning, he leans down and presses his mouth to your aching centre, kissing your lower stomach down towards your quivering core. You forget about his wording the moment his lips close around your clit. A soft moan escapes you as you throw your head back into the pillow. You feel his tongue prodding at the throbbing bundle of nerves as his fingers wrap around your thighs, squeezing them hard.

“Ugh, call me whatever you like...” you groan, your hips bucking against his face as he keeps sucking with vigour. He chuckles against you, his voice and the feeling of his stubble on your sensitive skin giving you all the friction you need to produce another long moan.

“Sweetheart,” you hear him say as he releases your clit and plants soft kisses on your heated skin. “Darling,” he continues, and you shiver with every term of endearment and every kiss. “Honey.” He keeps going, whispering more names as he presses his mouth to your lower lips, his tongue gently swiping along them. “Love. Sweetie. Baby...” He pulls your soft skin between his teeth and gently sucks on it, coaxing more moans out of you as your fingers grip his hair tighter. “Kitten. Pet,” he finishes as he releases you again and leans up to look at you.

You watch him out of half-lidded eyes, your breaths shallow. As he holds your gaze, you feel one of his hands moving over your centre, his fingertips tracing the outer edges of your labia. Warmth settles in your cheeks as he keeps rubbing his fingers over your sensitive skin, his dark eyes boring into yours, a concentrated look on his handsome face. When he teases a finger between your folds, he looks down and raises his eyebrows.

“So wet for me, my love,” he whispers and moves his finger up and down your slick, the slight squelching sounds filling the room – and you with enough embarrassment that you turn your head away and put a hand to your mouth to hide behind. “You are so beautiful,” you hear him whisper. “Everything about you... Don't be ashamed.”

When he suddenly leans over you and grabs your face with both hands, making you look at him, you gasp softly. His wet finger grazes your ear, and you bite your lip, swallowing hard.

“No need to hide from me, darling,” Sebastian says sternly, watching you closely. “I know every inch of your body, I've seen it so many times and it still amazes me to this day and all the days to come. What your body has given me in all these years... I cannot express how proud I am of you,” he whispers intently, before kissing you softly. “But I will always try.”

You grab the back of his head and kiss him back with fervour, not letting go of him now. He complies and deepens the kiss as his hand moves back down between your legs, continuing its journey through your warmth. When you feel him prod at your entrance, you whimper softly into his mouth. He shushes you and keeps his tongue in a playful wrestle with yours before he pushes one of his fingers into you.

Yours walls clench around him as he starts to explore your tightness, pushing against and scraping over your soft wet flesh until he pushes as deep as he can from this angle. It is when he begins to pump his finger in and out, slowly at first, then much faster and harder, that you moan into his mouth and hold onto him tighter, feeling the tension building up quicker than you've expected.

Suddenly he leaves your mouth and scrambles back down between your legs, repositioning himself right at your quivering cunt. He adds another finger and continues pushing them into you hard and fast, while his free hand holds down your hips that you can't seem to control any more. More moans escape you, and you have to grip the bedsheets as he leans his head down and sucks on your clit again.

His tongue is eagerly lapping at your nub, rigorously pressing and prodding it, licking and rubbing, while his fingers speed up more and more, the wet sounds echoing through the room. But you're too aroused to be embarrassed now as you thrash your head around in nothing but pure ecstasy. You moan his name louder and louder, and when the tension reaches its highest point – he suddenly withdraws his fingers, and you feel his face pressing against your folds as he slips his tongue past your stretched entrance.

“Come on my tongue, darling,” you feel him mumbling into you, and as he moves his wet fingers to feverishly rub at your clit, you comply without hesitation as the coil burst within you, and you cry out and press your back into the mattress, your release pushing out of you with a force that shakes your entire body as you arch your hips off the bed and right into his face. He moves with you, holding your rear with his free arm while he laps at your juices.

More tremors and shivers rush through you, before you slowly come down again, gently placed back with the help of his hand. Breathing heavily, your heart thundering inside your chest, you watch out of hooded eyes how he eventually emerges from between your legs, his entire face covered in your release.

You sit up then, shaking badly, but you feel the need to do this as your hands find his cheeks, and you wipe at them, watching him with your own cheeks bright red. He chuckles and grabs your wrists, leaning towards you to claim your mouth instead. You taste yourself on his tongue as you deepen the kiss hungrily. When he leans back, you sneak a hand out of his grip and push a strand of his messy hair out of his forehead, smiling softly at him.

He smiles back and gives you another peck, before he gently but firmly pushes you back down on the bed, his hand trailing your chest, teasing at your hard nipples, until he rests it once more on your shivering stomach. Pressing down hard on your skin, you see him lick his lips. You swallow at the sight, knowing what is going through his head right now, and soon enough he moves again.

You watch him scramble off the bed, your eyes inadvertently moving towards his hard arousal twitching slightly (the potion seems to have worked already) as he comes to stand at the foot of the bed. His hungry eyes move to yours, and in the next moment, he has grabbed your waist and pulled you towards him, your legs falling off the bed. You let out a surprised shriek-laugh. He then grabs a pillow and shoves it under your lower back, raising your hips up.

He's always so gentle in his preparations that you sometimes forget what kind of animal he can turn into once he is done with said preparations. Yet he's usually quick to remind you. As he positions himself between your legs, you watch him grabbing his cock with one hand, the other ghosting your stomach downwards until he teases your throbbing clit. When he pushes his tip against your folds, you brace for his intrusion, watching him with your lips parted, yet he takes his time and lathers his girth with your wetness first, slowly rubbing it up and down through your slick.

You moan softly at the sensation, one of your hands moving up to caress your firm and currently unattended breast. While you watch him stroke his cock with confident strength, you roll your nipple between your thumb and index finger, whimpering quietly. His eyes snap to your face, and the dark look he is giving you almost freezes you on the spot. As he stares at you, he aligns his tip with your entrance, and at the same time as he pushes into you with one swift snap of his hips, his hands move forwards and grab both of your breasts at once, firmly squeezing them as he rolls his hips against you.

A loud moan escapes you, and you quickly retrieve your fingers from his grasp before you claw them into the bedsheets. Your walls may have expected his intrusion, but when it happened, it still took them and yourself by surprise. His force is unrelenting, and he only stops pushing into your tight channel when his balls press against your arse. You gasp, barely able to breathe for a moment, as you try to adjust to his size.

He's holding onto your breasts tightly, using them to guide his pelvis flush against yours, and once he's satisfied with how deep he is inside of you, he starts massaging your soft flesh, his palms rolling over your nipples, coaxing more and more whimpers out of you. “I wonder,” you hear him say gravelly, “I wonder how big they'll get this time...”

You chuckle softly, even more so when you catch the slightest bit of pink on his cheeks. Unclenching your hands, you rest them on his, causing him to look at you. His smile is almost shy and reminds you so much of the boy you fell in love with all those years ago. Even back then, he has been able to do the most vile things to you, but when it came to your breasts, he had always cherished them greatly, probably even more so now that they were so much bigger.

He licks his lips and folds his body over yours, moving within you as he does so, causing you to gasp slightly, before he places a soft kiss on your mouth, holding his face there for a moment, as if asking you something he cannot quite put into words. But you know what he wants to do, and with another chuckle, you put your hands down and move your chest up against the firm grasp of his. “Go ahead,” you whisper.

His eyes light up, and as he lowers his face down, moving his hands to hold your waist, his mouth quickly finds the pert bud of your left breast, eagerly sucking on it. As you moan softly, your hand starting to caress his hair once more, you watch him swirl his tongue around your sensitive skin, his teeth grazing it almost a little roughly. After nurturing three very hungry children, feeling the mouth of your husband there doesn't come as a surprise to you.

His words, however, catch you a little off guard. “I can't wait for you to lactate again...” he mumbles against you, and you hide your blush with a soft laugh.

“You might need to put a baby in me first, you know?” you tease him after he keeps caressing your tender tits, sucking on one and massaging the other with his fingers. You even buck your hips against him, reminding him how he's still buried deep within your warmth.

Without leaning back, he looks up at you, the creases in the corners of his eyes deepening as he smirks against your chest. “Who's impatient now?” he teases right back and gives your hard nipple a firm suck and a quick nibble.

You inhale sharply, glowering at him. He laughs as he leans back eventually, his fingers drawing soft lines on your stomach as he does. Once he's towering over you once more, with his hands now firmly on your waist, he tilts his head. Without another word, you feel him pulling out slowly, your walls clenching around him, trying to suck him back in. He almost slips out all the way, but then he thrusts forward harshly, hitting your cervix with a force that makes your breath hitch in your throat.

He repeats the exact same motion several times, each time pushing as deep as possible with as much strength as he trusts himself to exert against you. You quickly turn into a moaning, whimpering mess, your legs twitching badly with every slam of his pelvis against you. In the middle of your haze, you admire his control and wonder when he'll lose it as well. But he stays very deliberate in his movements, guiding his length in and out of you with slow but hard stabs that leave you shuddering and aching for more.

His grip on your waist betrays him though, you can see the veins and muscles popping beneath the skin of his arms as he tries to keep that steady rhythm for as long as possible, even though you know he wants nothing more than to ram into you in rapid, forceful little snaps of his hips as he fucks you open to finally receive his seed.

You watch him out of half-lidded eyes, your lips parted and swollen, your noises bleeding into the slapping of skin against skin that fill the small room. You manage to move your shaking hands down, gently brushing against the vice-like grip he has on your waist. He looks at you then, his eyes darker than ever, his own lips trembling before he presses them together into a straight line. In-between softly moaning, you smile at him – and that is all it takes for him to change his rhythm.

He moves his hands to rest on either side of your hips, clenched to tight fists, as he then starts to plunge into you faster, no longer as deep, but still pushing with as much fervour and vigour as he can muster. His groans fill your ears, and you close your eyes as the sensations build up more and more inside your stomach. Every thrust rocks you up the bed, but before he pushes you further, you raise your twitching legs and wrap them tightly around his waist, the change in angle coaxing even louder moans out of your throat.

Grabbing your thighs, he holds you in place and keeps slamming his pelvis against yours, eventually finding a rhythm that is both fast and deep, and every single inward motion hits that sweet spot right at your cervix. You squirm and writhe, whimpering more and more as you arch your back into the mattress, completely overwhelmed by the pleasure he is giving you. You throw your arms back and grab at the edge of the bed, holding onto it as if your life depended on it. The way your muscles contract it certainly feels like it.

“Come for me, baby,” you hear him grunt quietly, and when your eyes move to his face, you see that he's holding back his own release with how his jaw is clenched.

You start moving your hips with him, and it doesn't take long for you to fulfil his wish. The pleasure explodes inside you, sending you thrashing around on the bed, a long cry escaping you, before your entire body freezes and the coiled up tension dissipates in nothing but pure bliss that gnaws at the edge of your vision. He holds you tightly during your orgasm, keeping his rapid rhythm, forcing you higher and higher, until his hips snap against you for one final deep thrust, and it feels as if he's even deeper now, his tight, quivering balls buried in your folds as he comes right after you with a loud groan.

Your walls flutter around his cock as you feel him twitching within you. His warm seed pumps out of him with every twitch, painting your walls, squeezing into any orifice it can find, and as it does, he moves one of his hands to your stomach and pushes down hard again, feeling the sensation of his release through the deep tissue of your skin. You whimper slightly, and he eases his grip and looks at you, panting just as much as you do, but he still gives you a smile that almost pushes you over the edge again.

You reach your arms out to him, beckoning him closer, and he complies, leaning over you to press his lips to yours as you embrace him tightly. You can still feel him twitching inside you, still filling you up, as his tongue invades your mouth hungrily. Kissing him back, you moan softly against him, your crossed feet caressing his lower back as you do so. The warmth within you is indescribable, be it the actual seed seeping into you or the thought of what it will do to you eventually, it fills you up to the brim with happiness and then some.

You feel the same emotion coursing through him as he holds you firmly, his hands slipping beneath your body as he presses you to his chest and lifts you slowly into a sitting position. Once he releases your mouth again, you rest your forehead against his shoulder, breathing heavily.

Yet as you think he is done with you, happy with filling you up, you must have forgotten who it is that's holding you in his grasp. You should have known better than to think that Sebastian Sallow will leave it at this. He knows what he wants, and you know he won't stop until he gets it. It being the absolute certainty that his seed has found a home in your womb. And as you look at him, your limbs twitching in exhaustion, you know he isn't done with you yet.

That wicked smirk is back on his lips, and as you notice it, he presses his mouth against yours for a quick kiss before he slowly lets go of you, his hands prying your thighs open until your legs fall boneless to his sides. Pressing his hand on your lower stomach, he slowly moves back and pulls out of you. Sitting on the edge of the bed, you bite your lip as you watch him, the sensation causing more tremors to rush through your body.

As soon as his cock leaves your warm embrace, covered in your combined juices, he puts his palm over your entrance, trapping the seed that's bound to spill from you. “Hmm,” he makes in thought and looks from his hand to you and back down.

Raising an eyebrow, you witness the gears turning in his head, amusement settling in your chest. When he then grabs your hand and switches his hand with yours, pressing it gently against your wetness, you frown deeply. “Do you expect me to sit here with my hand down there, waiting for something to grow?” you tease, your voice slightly hoarse.

He chuckles a little nervously. “No, of course not,” he says and looks around the room. “Hold it for me for just a moment, okay?”

You watch him walk around the room until he stops in front of your dresser, shamelessly rummaging through your underwear drawer. He retrieves a pair, but then his eyes fall onto the box you store on top of the furniture piece. He drops the garment and grabs something else instead, and as he returns to you, your mouth falls open. “Sebastian... what –”

But you can't stop him as he takes your hand away and shoves one of the many wand handles you collected over the years right into your quivering cunt, plugging it shut. It feels cold and hard as it pushes against your walls. You gasp and shudder deeply, staring from the intricate black object poking out of your entrance up into his flushed face.

“You can't be serious,” you just say and shake your head. “Is that one of the marble handles?”

“It is, fits perfectly, doesn't it? I'll clean it after, don't worry,” he adds cheekily and leans down to kiss you. “Now turn around for me,” he then commands, waiting for you to obey.

You do, obviously, and stand up on shaking legs. You feel his hands guiding you as you turn around, clenching your thighs together to keep the handle inside. Once you climb back onto the bed on your hands and knees, you feel his fingers pushing the object back in as it threatened to slip out. Shivering, you lean down on your chest and elbows, arching your body to only keep your rear in the air. As you settle in the new position, he steps behind you, grabbing your hips to move you a little closer to the edge again.

You turn your head and rest on your cheek, taking a shuddering breath as you watch him out of the corner of your eye. He has his cock in one hand and gives himself a few tight strokes, breathing heavily. Apparently the potion still works, and he has a lot more to give you. His other hand plays around with the wand handle lodged inside you as he pulls it and turns it, teasing you with every slight movement.

“We should use toys more often, don't you think?” you hear him say, and you let out a tired chuckle that's almost a groan.

“Well, next time you bring gifts to the kids, think of me as well, alright?” you whisper into the pillow.

He laughs and pokes at the object again, pushing it deeper. You whimper quietly, your legs shaking at the sensation. “You can't tell me you never thought of sticking these things into your pussy,” he says quietly through laboured breaths.

“Who says I haven't?” you reply with a smirk. That renders him completely speechless. “You're usually gone all week...” you purr and lick your lips. “And a girl has needs...”

He exhales loudly, and suddenly he grabs the wand handle and basically rips it out of you. You shriek and squirm, and with a heavy thud it lands on the floor next to the bed. Before you can complain, you feel his tip pressing against your entrance. “You would choose one of those,” he says through gritted teeth, “over my cock?” He doesn't wait for your answer (and frankly it's not necessary), he simply rolls his hips forwards and rams his entire length into you.

Coated with his seed and prepared from the handle, your walls welcome him back with ease. You moan as he pushes in deep once more, wrapping his arms around your stomach and pulling you flush against him as he folds his body over yours. You can feel him pressing against your cervix and almost further as he stands balls deep over you, holding your shuddering body that would certainly fall into itself at the sensation if it wasn't for his strong arms.

“Doesn't this feel so much better?” he whispers as he leans down more, his lips brushing over your ear.

“Yes...” you whimper. “Of course... it does...” Breathing seems hard in this position with his body weighing on you and his cock prodding your womb.

He kisses your earlobe and starts grinding his hips against you in small circles, each movement coaxing more noises out of you. This time his noises join yours, and the heavy breaths he issues right against your ear make you close your eyes and moan softly as you dig your fingers into the bedsheets.

“Have you thought about names yet?” he then coos, and you can only groan as a shiver runs down your spine.

“No, Sebastian...” you mutter into the pillow. “Kind of... busy here...”

His laugh and the low timbre of his voice almost send you right over the edge. “I was thinking... Beatrice... if it's a girl... or Bartholomew if it's a boy...”

You squirm beneath him, exhaling loudly through your nose. “Bartholomew?”

“Yes...” he grunts as he starts giving you tiny thrusts that send tiny jolts of pain through your body. “Seems... fitting... you know with... Benjamin... and Archie... and Anne...”

“Sebastian!” you squeal and buck your rear against him. “Can we not talk about our children while you are balls deep in my vagina?”

“Oh sweetheart,” he chuckles into your ear. “That's where those children came from, why shouldn't we?”

You groan and bury your flushed face in the pillow. “I like Beatrice,” you then mumble, earning you another low chuckle that makes you shudder deeply. You feel him kissing your cheek.

“Would be nice to have another baby girl,” he whispers and inhales deeply as he halts the movements of his hips for a moment.

You relax slightly, but it only lasts for so long before he leans back suddenly, grabs your waist and starts ramming his cock deep and fast into your quivering cunt. The moans that fall from your lips are loud and quick and make your head spin. You grip the bedsheets tightly, your knuckles turning white, as you brace your body against his rapid thrusts.

Once again you'd be impressed by his stamina if your head wouldn't be so empty. As he grunts and groans, his movements far from deliberate now and more on the rougher side, you can only lie there, your face pressed into the pillow and your knees shaking so badly you wonder how you can still keep them up like this. Perhaps it's his grip on your waist that holds you up, or it's sheer willpower as you try to do your part of this deal in providing him the best angle for him to push his length into you.

You can feel him going deeper and deeper, and the slight shudder in his movements tells you that he's trying to press himself into regions he shouldn't possible enter, yet he tries nevertheless – and the pressure of his attempts is what kicks you right over the edge. The tension in your stomach coils up once again, and when your body starts spasming violently, you know you can't hold it any longer.

As your knees give way under the intense tremors, you feel your walls tightening around him painfully, all of your muscles contract, and this time, it's a long and loud wail that leaves your lips as you fold under the pleasure of your third orgasm of the day. The tight grip of his hands on your bruised waist holds you in that position, and you feel him leaning closer, one of his knees propped up beneath you in support as he keeps slamming his pelvis into yours forcefully.

All you can hear is the blood rushing through your ears, the almost obscene slapping of skin against skin and his deep, animalistic grunts as he exerts himself to crash over the edge as well. When he finally does, he groans loudly, his final thrust into you so powerful it pushes you right into the bed before his body falls on top of yours, his cock ramming deeper as he shoots his load right into your womb.

You cry out in a mixture of pain and pleasure, buried beneath his weight and overwhelmed by the sensation of his cum shooting into you in thick warm spurts as his cock twitches inside you, filling you up more and more as he lies heavily on you, his shallow breaths right in your ear. You can barely breathe yourself, but somehow it doesn't matter.

You're one step closer to bearing his fourth child.

It takes him a moment to collect himself again, and when he does, it's due to an interruption you both haven't anticipated. There's a faint knock on the door that makes you shudder deeply. He shifts on top of you slightly, inhaling sharply as he stretches his hand out to summon his wand from the pile of clothes next to the bed. You hear him muttering something and you know he's lifting the silencing charm on the door to answer whoever is on the other side.

“What is it?” he calls, trying to sound as composed as possible – despite the rather indecent situation you both find yourselves in.

“Daddy? Archie hit his head!” you can hear the faint voice of your daughter through the door.

You immediately start to stir beneath him as your motherly instincts kick in. But he holds you down with a firm hand to your shoulder as he leans back up slightly.

“Is he bleeding?” he asks through the door.

“No,” comes the hesitant answer.

He exhales loudly. “Is he conscious?”

“Is he what?”

“Can he talk? Cry? Are his eyes open?” he explains, in spite of everything calm and patient.

“He's crying,” Anne answers quietly.

“Then he's fine,” Sebastian mutters under his breath, and you are tempted to hit him if any of your limbs would work. He notices your reaction nonetheless and quickly kisses the back of your head. “I'll be there in five minutes!” he then calls to his daughter. “Go and get Mr Adley!”

“Okay, Daddy,” your little girl squeaks, and you can hear quick footsteps hurrying away.

After he puts the silencing charm back up, he drops his wand next to your head and leans down once more, pushing you deeper into the bed again, his lips brushing over your ear. You can still feel him twitching inside you, he's still not done filling you up. While you feel a little ashamed to have been interrupted by your daughter (though she luckily didn't catch you in the act, you really don't want your kids to ever see you like this), his body just kept going, and you admire his willpower once again.

You admire him, period.

For a moment you just lie there, your bodies moulded together, before you stir slightly. “Sebastian,” you whisper quietly, your voice muffled by the pillow beneath you.

“Hmm?” he hums softly against you.

“You realize that Edgar will come here, right?” you say with a soft chuckle.

“Oh blast!” he then hisses, and suddenly he leans back, unfolding his body from yours, leaving your skin tingling and cold without his warm embrace.

You feel him scrambling back, and when he pulls out, you moan softly as your walls clench tightly, threatening to pump his seed out as well. Yet he is one step ahead of you, and without any warning, you feel the cold, hard wand handle plugging your hole again. Squirming against it, you feel him grabbing your hips and turning you around before he pushes your thighs firmly together. “Hold that for me, will you?” he urges and then proceeds to dress in what must be a new record for him.

As you look at him, you can't help but smile. Inhaling deeply, you lean on your elbows and watch him. There he is, back in his shirt and his trousers, his soaked, throbbing cock hidden away behind the stiff fabric, not even hinting at the erection that he forced into hiding. He must be very uncomfortable right now, yet he doesn't show it one bit. When he notices your smile, he walks around the bed and leans down to kiss your sweaty forehead.

“I'll be right back, alright?” he whispers, watching you closely. “I promised you a long night, remember?”

“Oh I remember,” you whisper back and grab his arm gently. “Take care of our children, okay?”

“Of course, love,” he says and kisses you once more. “I bet Edgar would love a sleepover party, don't you think?”

You laugh softly. He winks at you, grabs his wand from beside your head and unlocks the door, before he leaves you alone in your bedroom, filled with his seed and the promise to give you even more. Lying back with a sigh, you close your eyes and shift against the wand handle between your legs.

Ending notes:

I almost feel the need to continue this and build a whole ass story around it. I mean, imagine a 30-something Professor Sallow, teaching Magical Theory, stepping into Fig's footsteps, teaching and inspiring young minds. And then when he's home, he has his cute little children (who'll attend Hogwarts soon-ish) and his loving wife and oh the potential this has! (But we'll see. Maybe I'll just drop a little more snippets of life with Dad!Seb in the future, who knows.) (Psst! Part two just dropped! Look!)

(By the way: The names of his kids are kindly borrowed from @subastian-swallows who made a Dad!Seb-bot whose prompt alone inspired me to write this!)

Oh and that wand handle... is this one, just for reference, if you need it.

Also, maybe a little disclaimer: I am not a mother and never intend to be one, but this mf of a pixel boy makes me indulge in things I never considered before, so I hope my attempt at portraying a family was somewhat realistic.

Thank you for reading!

Btw:

THERE'S A SECOND PART NOW!!!

[ masterlist ]

Other Kinktober submissions:

Pleasant dreams... and tentacles (somnophilia, tentacles)

A scholar and a pervert (overstimulation, sex toys)

The horny ghost (voyeurism, masturbation, spectrophilia)

It belongs to me (deepthroating, semi-public)

A Filthy Fantasy (1/2) (cnc, bondage, sensory deprivation, orgasm denial)

A Filthy Fantasy (2/2) (threesome, oral/vaginal/anal)

[molinaskies]

This cover is so important.

This is one of the retail incentive covers of IDW Sonic issue 1, 5th Anniversary Edition, illustrated by Adam Bryce Thomas and coloured by Reggie Graham. When I look at it, something about it tells a story to me, and that story is beautiful.

Sonic and Amy are at the Riverside Romp with Cream and Vanilla, but the rabbits are clearly giving them some space while doing their own thing.

Riverside is the town where Sonic and Amy meet for the first time in the comic series. The archway that holds the sign is also one of the decaying legs from Eggman’s crab mech, the first mech they fight together. Riverside is incredibly symbolic to them both, like how Never Lake would be in the games.

Their journey started rocky at Riverside. They couldn’t see eye-to-eye and had different approaches to how they both could help restore the world after the war. And yet, they still fully respected each other, dishing out compliments and praise and a desire to work together (in different ways). Amy even professes her love for Sonic and vows to him that she never wants to change him, and he bashfully asks her to stay with him in return. They cared for each other, loved each other, immensely then, and now, they’ve chosen to return to Riverside stronger as a pair and as individuals.

Sonic and Amy spend their day together, but they’re both their own people. Amy fawns over the sweets and the loving decorations while Sonic ogles a chilidog. They both indulge in their interests, but close together. One doesn’t need to be exactly like the other, and neither of them want that for the other. As long as they know the other’s there and always will be, that’s all they need. Being their own people despite their connection is what strengthens their bond, because the admiration they have for each other and their differences is so high.

But then, they still want to be together. They dance and cheer with interlocked fingers while sparks fly between their hearts. Cherry blossom petals sway around them, delighting in new beginnings and young love. Sonic and Amy compliment each other, bringing out the brighter sides of theirs souls. Amy’s having the time of her life, living in the moment knowing that Sonic is there with her now and always. But, beautifully, Sonic’s living the moment with with her, taking in her excitement and beauty. He usually doesn’t allow himself the pleasure, but he can’t help it, now.

Sonic and Amy have such a deep understanding of each other that it transcends language. They are in love, and I am in love with them.

[iamnotoriginalphil]

Soulmates (Larissa Weems x Reader)

Synopsis: In a world with soulmates, your crush is not exactly wanted.

Words: 2k

Warning: none

In a world full of magic, soulmates were hardly the most shocking concept. You knew of plenty of people who had found theirs, the bright colours on their skin a mark of exactly whose soul entwined with theirs. The first touch of skin contact was enough, even if that touch was little more than a brush of pinkies.

You were still waiting on yours.

You had assumed, perhaps wrongly, that living and working amongst people like you, outcasts, would bring you one step closer to finding the person for you. Over a year of teaching at Nevermore Academy and your skin remained as unmarked as ever. You kept waiting for the moment you saw your skin change to something bright.

Unfortunately for you, it also hadn’t stopped you developing a bit of a crush.

Your boss, the supposedly intimidating Larissa Weems, was devastatingly beautiful and always had a warm smile for you. You craved her attention, wanting those enticing eyes on you. Jut hearing her voice sent your heart fluttering.

And at night, if you dreamt of her whispering certain things in your ear, hands on your body, lips on your skin, that was your business.

The worst of it was knowing that there was no chance of her being your soulmate. You were sure, despite having no memory of it, that there must have been a brush of skin at some point. In more than an entire year of soft conversations and encouraging words there wasn’t a chance there’d been no skin contact at all.

All it did was make you work harder to keep it under wraps. You had nothing to offer her if you weren’t her soulmate. You knew she deserved the best, and that wouldn’t be you without that burst of colour.

That didn’t stop the way you found yourself fantasising about her. Red lips leaving lipstick marks on your skin. Fingers finding your heat. The way her breath would hitch under your touch. Moans mingling in the air.

One of the best ways to reset yourself when these thoughts began to become overwhelming was to swim. The cool water, the strain on your muscles, the mindless repetitive movements, they helped to clear your head until you could think again.

Hence why you found yourself emerging from the lake on a particularly chilly evening. You’d spent the better part of the day trying to push away the image of being pushed against the wall by a passionate Larissa after a heated meeting in her office. Your crush was growing out of control and you had no way of improving it.

You pushed your hair out of your face as you emerged from the water, shivering in the water. Toes sinking into the mud and silt at the bottom of the lake, you trudged your way out of the water, fresh air and weary muscles giving you the clarity you needed to continue your job.

“You’ve taken to swimming an awful lot lately.”

You blinked, sure you were hearing things. You could do that sometimes, conjure her voice in your mind, whispering things that would never be repeated. You took another step.

“Please don’t tell me you’re training for some kind of race.”

No, definitely not in your head. You looked up, no longer watching your feet to keep from slipping. Larissa was there, standing just far enough back from the edge of the water to keep from getting her shoes wet. She had that half smile on her face you’d come to know and her eyes were sparkling with mirth.

“No, no race. I’m not sure I’m really the athletic type,” you replied, suddenly aware of how little your swimming costume covered. The cool wind bit at your skin and you shivered. Her eyes travelled down your body and back up, concern marring her features.

“And yet you swim with an ease not often seen outside the sirens,” she replied.

You took another step forward. Your foot landed on the bottom before the floor fell out beneath you. You cried out, one foot sliding away from you as the other seemed to be trapped in concrete. There was a reason you watched each step carefully. You cursed her, Larissa, for being so distracting. You squeezed your eyes closed tight, the inevitable fall looming closer.

Strong hands caught you, one wrapping around your waist, the other landing on your shoulder. You opened your eyes, finding blue eyes peering down at you, red lips turned down in worry. You grasped Larissa’s arm, letting her haul you back onto your feet. Without a word, she swung your legs up, out of the water, depositing you on the grass.

“Thank you,” you said, not quite sure where to look. You’d been in her arms, for a fraction of a second, the whole world coming down to that contact. You didn’t know what to do with yourself now.

“Think nothing of it,” she replied.

Her hand was warm where it still rested on your shoulder. It was making it hard to think, her thumb brushing against your skin. You felt goose pimples rise, hoping she’d assume it was from the cold.

“Although I am now a touch damp,” she said said.

You let your eyes run over her body and yes, there was water clinging to her dress. Your cheeks flamed as you looked at her, knowing this was your fault. If you’d only been paying more attention. If you hadn’t let her distract you. If you could only get your crush under control.

“Oh no,” you said, reaching out, finger tracing over a damp spot close to her hip.

You heard her breath hitch and you froze. You knew you shouldn’t have touched her, it was too familiar. It would let her see inside your heart.

“Sorry,” you said, drawing back until even her hand couldn’t touch you.

The way she gasped had you whirling around, assuming something was sneaking up on the two of you. It wouldn’t be the first time a monster had been loose at the school. Vulnerable and alone you’d make a perfect target.

Only there was nothing to see behind you. Nothing out of the ordinary at least. The same view as always greeted you. You turned back around, expecting an explanation only to find her looking down at the palm of her hand, eyes wide, mouth falling open.

“What is it?” you asked, certain you’d missed something.

“It can’t be,” she muttered, but you didn’t think it was directed at you.

“What can’t be?”

Her eyes travelled up to you again, sweeping over you. Warmth pooled in your stomach at the way she was looking at you. Hope and incredulity and something unnamed bled through her face. Her mouth opened then closed.

“What?”

You grabbed her hand, staring down at the palm. Across her skin a galaxy of blues and green and purples shone out at the world. Your heart plummeted into your stomach. You dropped her hand like it was made of flames and stepped back.

“Sorry,” you said, “I’ll uh, I’ll just head inside and dry off.”

“You don’t want to talk about this?” she asked.

“What’s there to talk about?”

She reeled back as if you’d just slapped her. You took your own step back, horror sliding over your face. You had no idea what had just happened. The way she was looking at you, there was no longer any trace of hope.

“I know I’m not everyone’s cup of tea,” she said, “I apologise for any disappointment this has caused.”

“No I’m not disappointed. I’m happy for you. Congratulations. Do you know who it is?” you asked, “it must have happened recently for you to have not noticed until now.”

“Do I…” her eyebrows drew together, “darling, it’s you.”

You shook your head, tears springing in your eyes. You hadn’t thought she was cruel. Intimidating when she wanted to be, but not cruel.

“Don’t do that,” you said.

“Darling.”

She raised her hand, that hand, fingertips grazing against the skin of your shoulder. You jerked away, not needing this newly flirtatious behaviour when you knew she had found her soulmate. The new pet name was already ruining you.

“Look at your shoulder,” she said, a note of command entering her voice.

You shook your head again, taking another step back. Only this time, she took one forward, closing the distance.

“Darling, look at your shoulder,” she commanded again.

You glanced down. Her finger was back on your skin, making you feel dizzy. It was hard to concentrate on the swirling colours on your shoulder. Her finger traced along the edge of it, almost in an exact imprint of her hand.

“What?” Your brain was having a hard time connecting the dots properly.

“It’s you, darling. You’re my soulmate,” she said, “just you.”

“How is that possible?” you asked, “we’ve known each other for over a year.”

“I suppose skin to skin contact isn’t nearly as common as people assume,” she said, “but it’s happened now.”

“Yes.” You were still watching her finger trace patterns over your skin.

“How do you feel about this?” she asked, “I can understand if this isn’t what you were expecting or wanting.”

Your gaze snapped back up to her. Her expression had dropped, uncertainty in every line. You reached up, your hand hovering over her cheek, not quite making contact, not wanting her look like that ever again. Not when it came to you.

“Larissa,” you breathed. You didn’t know what was showing on your face but the concern began to ease, “I’ve had a crush on you since the moment I met you.”

A smile bloomed over her face, bright and wide and you weren’t sure you’d ever seen such joy in a person. Her hand began to move further up your shoulder, growing closer to your neck. You shivered again, now arching into her touch.

“That is a relief to hear,“ she said, “I was beginning to think I was in this alone.”

You cupped her cheek, a sigh parting her lips at the contact. She was too beautiful, your heart constricting at the sight. It was finally hitting you, that she was yours. Your soulmate.

“Larissa,” you said.

“Yes, darling?”

“If you don’t kiss me right now, I might combust,” you told her.

Her smile turned from bright joy into something more predatory. Your breath caught in your throat and heat exploded in your cheeks. That hand travelling over your skin grasped your throat, pulling you closer to her. You let out a surprised squeak.

“We can’t have that now, can we?”

The first brush of lips was surprisingly sweet. You whimpered, cupping the back of her neck, pulling her against you. Something in her broke. She growled into your mouth, her hand pressing against your lower back, keeping you tight against her body.

Her tongue swept into your mouth, dominating the kiss. A moan rumbled through your chest and you clutched at her like she was your life line. She kissed you deeper, taking your breath away. Her groan as you nipped at those red lips sent a jolt of pleasure right between your legs. If you weren’t in public at the school, you couldn’t make any promises about what you would do with her.

She drew away, lipstick smudged, eyes sparkling. She smiled at you, thumb running along your bottom lip. You nipped at the pad of her thumb, watching as her eyes darkened.

“Shall we continue this conversation somewhere more private?” she asked.

You threaded your fingers through hers, pressing a kiss to the back of her hand.

“Lead the way, sweetheart,” you said.

She pulled you in for one last kiss before leading you back up the school and to her private quarters.

[vintagemulti]

rainfall

pairings: bradley “rooster” bradshaw x pilot!reader

desc: you’ve always had a thing for your best friend. this mission didn’t help.

warnings: this is quite long😵‍💫, swearing, sex references and innuendos, alcohol and drunkness, death and family member loss, dissociation mentions, i know NOTHING about pilots/flying sorry, this WILL be a series !!!

a/n: someone tell me to stop making series. i beg. this is my little writer brain not being able to watch anything without making a character WHOOPS. anyways, i’ve not seen the first top gun. so. cannon? who? we don’t know her. also i hate called bradley rooster i can’t work out why but i’ll only refer to him as it when flying. soz.

series masterlist

masterlist

you had been in bali when you got the call. you and bradley, in bali, relaxing. but who ever said naval pilots get to relax?

it was something you had gotten far too used to, having to pack up your things and get the first flight back to the states. sure, you had been the one to chose this career and the disruptions you faced were consequences of your own actions, but you had really - really, really - hoped that you didn’t get called up when you did.

two weeks in bali with bradley bradshaw, the highlight of your year. it had been planned for almost a year, which was saying something. normally you and bradley would say you’d do something, and it would never actually end up happening. but no - this vacation had went ahead, and you’d had six days of utter bliss before the dreaded number showed up on your phone.

bradley had been phoned right after you, his reaction being about the same. annoyed, upset but somewhat excited. what the fuck was all this about? both you and him being on the same mission?

and so you had packed all your stuff and made your way back to california, dropped your bags off at your separate apartments and rushed to put together an emergency bag, with your uniforms and workout clothes inside.

that took you up to now, sat in the passenger side of bradley’s new range rover, forty minutes into the drive back to the naval base on lake tahoe. it wasn’t far away now - only ten or so minutes, but the sun was beginning to slowly dip it’s head, ever so slightly.

you were still dressed in your summer clothes, a tight, black dress with white lining and held up by a strap around your neck. it was low cut, a little lower than you’d like for the first time meeting your other teammates, but there wasn’t any time to get changed.

bradley was dressed in the same way, tight white tank top covered in a hawaiian shirt, nude-coloured cargos covering his thighs. and, of course, his aviator glasses. was it really bradley without them?

he turned into one of the roads leading to the hard deck - a bar frequented by everyone within a mile vicinity - and you turned to look at him, right as the sunlight hit him. golden rays washed over his skin, his collarbones shining and under his sunglasses you could see his brown eyes - turned like honey in the light.

you thought he looked beautiful, but you’d never tell him.

“this better be good,” he spoke, breaking the moment of silence. “that hotel cost a fuckin’ fortune.”

rolling your eyes, you nodded. “you’re lucky i remembered we get travel insurance. who was it that was determined we didn’t, again?”

“oh, shut up,” bradley said, but you could see the outline of a smirk on his mouth. “no one ever told me we get that.”

“lies!” you laughed. “they put it in the ads, that if you get called up while away, they pay you back whatever you lost.”

it was bradley’s turn to roll his eyes. “alright, miss ‘i always read the fine print’.”

“at least i can read,” you joked back.

electing to ignore the snide comment he made back, you reached into the passenger side compartment, searching for your own sunglasses - feeling nothing. you looked around the car, sighing in defeat as you realised you must have left your pair at home.

spotting another pair of aviators on the dashboard, you picked them up. “can i borrow these?”

bradley looked at what you were referring to, almost laughing when he saw his spare glasses in your hand.

“go ahead, sugar, i won’t need ‘em.”

putting the sunglasses on, you pushed down the butterflies in your stomach that flew around with the pet name.

the hard deck came into view, looking busy already. it was so loud - you could practically hear the music playing from the jukebox all the way out here.

“takes you back, huh?” you asked.

“that it does,” bradley pulled into a parking spot. “feels like yesterday we were here last.”

“wrong,” you undid your seatbelt. “yesterday we were in a five star villa in bali.”

opening the car door, you stepped onto the concrete, your heels clicking against the ground. why did you wear these again? good god, it would be a long night. bradley joined you, walking towards the front door of the bar. it was so loud now - it was like you were already inside.

he pulled the door open, letting you in first. fireworks exploded all over your body as his hand moved around your waist, letting him manoeuvre himself to be standing next to you. you let him take the lead to where the rest of your team appeared to be, and you watched him walk - his swagger that was just so fucking hot almost making you forget you were stood completely still.

most of the faces you recognised - actually, you recognised all of them. pheonix, hangman, fanboy and payback we’re speaking to bradley, and someone you had recently been introduced to was the first person to notice you.

“rainfall! hey, how’s it going?” bob smiled at you, the other people snapping their heads to look at you as well.

“yeah, alright, how’re you?” you answered, him nodding a reply.

“wow,” hangman spoke first. “both rooster and rainfall arrive late, not in uniform? been busy, you two?”

“about as busy as your mum, hangman.” you retorted, those around you letting out a surprised laugh.

“that’s not the most important question,” pheonix tilted her head. “what the hell is this? what can they possibly be trying do here?”

you furrowed your eyebrows, prompting her to go on; “well, we’re the best there is. who the hell can teach us?”

the question took you by surprise - but it wasn’t irrelevant. the only briefing you had was this was a training program for an intense mission, and only those who had came top of the top gun class would be accepted, so, pheonix was thinking right. who could possible teach the best pilots out there?

a bell rang throughout the bar, interrupting your thoughts. everyone cheered, knowing exactly what the bell meant.

“poor guy,” rooster mumbled. “i’m going to the restroom, get me a drink?”

you nodded, walking over to the bar.

he wasn’t recognisable at first - he looked so different. but it was the eyes that gave it away, he was still young behind the eyes.

“it’s you, then.” you mumbled, taking the empty spot next to him at the bar.

maverick looked at you, realisation hitting when he clocked who you were. “nice to meet you, rainfall. i’ve heard lost about you.”

“so have i.” looking at him, he wasn’t the man you had built up in your head. he looked nicer.

sighing, maverick nodded slowly. “i thought that’s who you came in with.”

“he won’t want you to teach him, you know that, right? you… you ruined his life, maverick. his mum’s, too.” you said, although you knew it wasn’t anything he hadn’t heard a million times already.

“yep,” maverick clicked his tongue. “i thought that would be an issue.”

“he hates you.”

“i know.”

bradley might have hated maverick, but you didn’t. sure, he was an arrogant ass from what you had heard and he destroyed your best friends family, but you personally had nothing against him.

penny walked over to you, interrupting your conversation with her greetings.

“wow, y/n, you’re here too? damn, what a mission.”

“hey, pen,” you smiled. “i know, i know.”

she raised her eyebrows. “must be serious, huh?”

you raised your hands in defence. “i have absolutely no idea what this mission’s about, swear.”

humming in response, she changed the subject; “what’re you for?”

“uhh, a blue WKD for me and the house beer for brad.”

she nodded, looking at the man next to you. “he’s paying, by the way.”

you almost laughed, turning to maverick. “unlucky son of a bitch. you better take a loan out, maverick.”

“how was i meant to know the rules, huh? i’ve not been here in god knows how long.” he grumbled.

both you and penny chuckled as she served your drinks, taking one in each hand and moving away from the bar, you turned to look at maverick again.

“mav,” you called, and he looked around. “good luck.”

he smiled, nodding. you would admit it would be hard work for him, and it must be difficult to teach the boy who’s father you watched die. but then again, he could have declined the job.

spotting bradley, you walked over to him and handed him the glass of beer. he thanked you, face contorting in disgust as you noticed what you were drinking.

“i don’t know how you stomach that stuff, sugar, it’s all sweetener.”

“says the man who threw up after three of them. they’re only like, three percent as well.”

bradley narrowed his eyes. “all sweetener.”

laughing, you walked with him to join the rest of the group. your feet already began to ache with every step you took, straps digging into your ankle. god - it would be a long night.

-

if you were counting how many drinks deep you were, you’d have used up all your fingers. you’d been here for a few hours, at least, the sun was almost setting now.

you could see it from the small window in the bathroom, the blur effect on the window turning the sunset into just colour. you didn’t need to pee or anything, just a minute. it was a fair assumption to say you were an extrovert, and loved to be around people, but the noise of the crowd in the bar had become slightly too loud, especially as maverick had just been thrown overboard.

the sound of a piano playing came muffled through the door, followed by a familiar singing voice. it made you smile; hearing bradley drunkenly scream out ‘great balls of fire’.

washing your hands and quickly drying them, you walked back out of the bathroom and into the crowd, thanking the girl who had been holding your drink for you. you walked towards the piano, seeing bradley completely in his element.

“kiss me baby, ooh! that feels good, good!” he sang, everyone joining in.

leaning against the piano, you joined in, the lyrics coming as a second language, this song was practically indented into your brain.

as you sang, you watched bradley’s hands hit every note perfectly, his fingers tracing the keys with a gentle-harshness, something that just about set you off. a man who was good with his fingers? lord have mercy.

he looked at you, as if on cue, smiling as you sang out the words. bradley took a spilt second to remove his hands from the keys, gesturing to his lap.

you tilted your head. he can’t be serious, can he?

“sit!” he called, hands going back to playing the instrumental section.

maybe it was the drinks you’d had, influencing your system. but it took you the whole of two seconds to decide to follow his order, slipping under his arm and placing yourself down on his lap. people around you whooped, especially the ones in your team. had this happened before? you couldn’t remember through the tipsy-horny-lovesick haze that had clouded your vision.

bradley’s leg bounced, making you laughing against his chest. when he started singing, you joined in with him, your voice coming out as more of a tuned shout compared to bradley’s angelic singing voice.

“kiss me baby,” you looked up at him. that second you made eye contact - that whole second - felt like an eternity. it felt like no one was watching, thay for once the love that remained behind your eyes finally appeared behind his, too.

or maybe that was the vodka shots talking.

“ooh! that feels good, good,” he sang.

you looked away, staring at his hands once again while you sang the words. if you had kept staring, you would have seen the way he looked at you while he sang; “i’ma tell the world that you’re mine, mine, mine, mine!”

if you had seen that, you probably would have melted on the spot.

the song came to an end, everyone cheering for bradley’s fantastic piano performance, yourself included. you fell against his chest, laughing like a schoolgirl. he laughed too, taking his hands off of the keys to embrace you.

was this normal for best friends, you wondered? did everyone do this when they were drunk? the answer: wait and find out.

“i’m gonna get a drink,” you smiled at him, finally standing up.

“alright, darlin’, get me a beer?”

“god,” you feigned annoyance. “one day you’ll pay for your own beers, bradley bradshaw.”

you walked away before you heard his mumbled comeback; “yeah, our wedding day.” but, even if you hadn’t walked away, what would you have done?

walking to the bar, you leaned against it, ordering with penny for the god-knows-how-many-th time that night.

“thanks,” you smiled.

“is that a tan line i see?” penny asked, pouring out a beer.

“yep,” you popped the ‘p’. “i was in bali with brad, was supposed to be there until next week.”

“oh,” she sat down one of the glasses. “but you got called up?”

nodded, you took a drink of bradley’s beer, instantly regretting it. “fuckin’ hate the navy sometimes.”

penny stopped in her tracks. “oh, y/n, did i just hear what i think i did?”

your eyes widened. “no, penny, please, i’m seriously broke right now, i’m begging-”

the bell ringing cut you off. hanging your head, you felt multiple people clap your back.

“oh, no, what do we have here?” bradley appeared at your side, laughing.

“this one,” penny giggled. “was insulting the navy.”

bradley exaggerated a gasp, putting his hands over his mouth. “no!”

“yep!”

“tut, tut, tut, lieutenant l/n!” he joked.

you raised your middle finger in response.

“honestly, rooster,” penny was half way away, walking to serve another customer. “get your girlfriend under control!”

the heat rose to your cheeks, head snapping up. luckily for you, you were ninety-nine percent sure that bradley didn’t hear her, but when you were sober, you’d have to tell her off about almost spilling your decade long secret.

“my god, brad,” you walked away from the bar. “i’m gonna be so broke tomorrow.”

he giggled, a sound your drunk mind would have registered as the trumpets of heaven, the best music in the world - every lovely sound put together. god, how in love were you?

“come on, rainfall,” bradley led you to the table the group were all sat at. “the night is young!”

-

there’s a saying, if you had a dollar for every time this happened, you’d be rich. well, if you had a dollar for every time you’d gotten blackout drunk the day before the first day of training and had to get up at the crack of dawn, you’d have slightly too many dollars. every time, every single time.

as you sat, shoulders straight and hair tied ever so slightly too tight, the commander speaking about something you weren’t properly listening to - the thought of about seventy aspirin was popping into your mind, almost soothing your headache with the sheer thought of it.

footsteps came from behind you, but you didn’t turn around. you knew who it was. instead, you looked at bradley, who was sat in the chair next to you.

as his eyes fell on maverick, you noticed the way his whole smug demeanour fell - for just a moment. you then noticed how he put those walls straight back up, clenching his jaw and shifting in his seat. he cleared his throat, making eye contact with you and raising his eyebrows.

looking away, maverick started speaking.

you must have been truly hungover, because from the second maverick opened his mouth to right now felt like it went by in a blink - you couldn’t tell if you had dissociated the entire time or if you weren’t interested enough to actually pay attention.

zipping up your flight suit, you smiled to yourself. this was your first training exercise for what seemed to be an impossible mission. getting in and out of a thin passage within a minute and a half seemed unrealistic, but compared with the insanely low hard deck and the pull up? you’d be lucky if you made it out alive.

a few planes were already in the air as you stepped onto the tarmac, helmet in hand. looking to your right, you saw two planes, to your left; pheonix and bob doing push-ups.

the exercise was simple; don’t get caught. if you do, you have to do two hundred press ups.

you had almost laughed when maverick set the exercise, how insanely easy it sounded. unfortunately for maverick, he had never flown with you before - he hadn’t quite learnt the meaning of your call sign.

radio chatter sounded from your headset as you climbed into your plane, spotting bradley on the tarmac as well. everyone had insisted you two went last - the top two of the class. even hangman bit back his ego for two seconds to admit that you had finished top of the class, so you should go last.

that’s right, you came top of your class. one of the best pilots of the last decade, apparently. it had earned you quite a reputation, pilots almost always recognising you wherever you went. you were some kind of a legend.

buckling yourself in and triple checking your belts were secure, you pulled your helmet over your head, and your ears were filled with radio chatter. bradley got into the plane next to you, doing the same thing.

“when are we ready to take off, mav?” you asked, closing the top of your plane.

“any time now, rainfall.” he replied.

it was a feeling you always craved, taking off. as a little girl, you used to love going on holiday, just because when the plane would take off and your stomach would turn, it made you smile. from that moment, and from the moment you saw the pilots in all the different documentaries, you knew you wanted to fly planes.

just in a little more extreme way. a way, way more extreme way.

gaining speed, you clicked the needed buttons and flipped the right switches in order to take off, and the tarmac got smaller and smaller as you flew higher into the sky. hearing bradley take off a few moments later, you knew the game was about to begin.

you knew this would be personal for bradley - getting beaten by maverick. anything maverick did to him, it would be personal. you prayed he would be able to separate the pilot from the person, just for a minute.

“good morning aviators,” maverick spoke. “ready to play?”

“oh you are on,” you smiled, still gaining height. “old man.”

bradley laughed over the radio, making you smile even wider.

“for everyone listening over the radio,” you spoke. “get ready to listen to the best flight of your life.”

down on the ground, the rest of the team laughed.

“ready?” maverick asked. “three, two, one… the game has begun.”

you understood the purpose of this exercise - dogfighting. to watch out for yourself while attacking at the same time. playing both offence and defence.

seeing bradley slip into your peripheral, you looked around for the other plane. still gaining height, you hoped to god that your technique would stay reliable.

everything felt like a blur - you were flying so fast, so high, nothing felt real. keeping your eye out for maverick, you swerved through the clouds.

“all alright, rooster?” you hated calling him by his call sign. if felt so… impersonal, weird.

“all good here, rainfall. you?”

you nodded, even though he wouldn’t see it. “no sign of him.”

looking down, you could see bradley underneath you and to the right. he wouldn’t even notice you, if he hadn’t learnt to always look up.

“oh hello, you,” he said, the smugness seeping through the radio.

“hello, rooster.” you smiled.

as you stared down at him, a second plane came into view, far enough away that bradley wouldn’t notice him.

“rooster, on your left!” you called, swerving away as soon as you said it.

“shit,” he mumbled, and you could see him fly away.

“language, folks, come on.” maverick laughed.

“alright grandpa.” you joked back.

looking below you, you could barely see the two planes dogfighting, but from the small glimpse you got, it wasn’t looking great for bradley. maverick was too fast.

“hurry up, rooster,” you spoke your mind. “he’s faster than you.”

“yeah, thanks for that observation.” he grumbled back.

“cheeky.”

from your point of view, the dogfighting was getting even more intense, bradley constantly being tailed by maverick. you hoped once again, that bradley didn’t take this too seriously.

a dial tone broke your thought.

“and rooster, you are out.” maverick spoke over the radio, making you sigh.

“fuck you.”

and there it was; all of your proof that bradley had taken it personally. fuck, this would be a hard one to calm him down from.

“ready to fight, rainfall?” maverick said, and you could almost see his smirk.

pushing everything else in your mind to the side, you let the calm, slightly arrogant side of you take control.

“do you know why my call sign is rainfall?” you asked, already spotting maverick below you.

“i suppose you’re going to enlighten me?”

you let a beat of silence pass, making sure you were in the right position. it was obvious maverick was looking for you, but you were at least fifty feet above him, slightly in front of him. why did no one ever look up?

“or not?” maverick added.

“because,” you paused, gripping your gearstick a little tighter. “rain always comes from above, and you don’t see it until it’s on you.”

with those words, you descended with absolutely no warning. as you came closer to maverick, he seemed obviously surprised, fumbling for a moment to move out of the way so you didn’t fall straight into him.

“jesus, kid,” he mumbled.

“did you know that i came top of my class?” you pulled back up without hesitation, g-force pushing you back ever so slightly.

“yeah, i read it somewhere,” maverick was flying parallel to you. “i wasn’t too of my class.”

“oh, i know,” you somehow managed to keep your tone casual. “iceman, right?”

maverick hummed over the radio, obviously too focused on getting you out.

but your technique was working perfectly. descend on them, climb up, and when the least expect it….

pulling away, you circled around maverick, seeing the outline of a target appear in your helmet. he hadn’t even realised what you had done.

a dial tone sounded through the radio silence, everyone on land holding their breath - even bradley.

“you,” a voice cut through the radio. “are out. good game, maverick.”

the people on ground cheered almost loud enough for you to hear all the way up in the air.

“what the hell?” maverick was in disbelief. “what?”

“i’ll see you on ground, mav.”

-

the sun was already setting by the time maverick had finished his press ups. he must not have taken in personally, offering to buy you a drink for how well you had flown.

but you didn’t want a drink, you were too concerned with other things. it had been hours since the training had ended, and bradley was still outside, doing press ups.

you walked onto the tarmac, out of your flight suit and in casual clothes, the figure of bradley noticeable - everything still apart from him.

he was shaking, sweating, almost sunburnt. the most noticeable thing was his red eyes, they were so red you thought he must have burst a blood vessel.

“bradley?” you called, getting closer to him. he didn’t answer.

walking right next to where he was, you sat down. sat, right on the hot tarmac - it heated up your legs. “bradley, please,” you called again.

this wasn’t new - for him to do exercise until he just about burst. some people punch walls, some people drink - bradley worked out. maybe it was just as unhealthy as every other coping mechanism.

his arms were so shaky, he almost couldn’t even keep himself up right. you wanted right then and there to take him into your arms, let him cry his heart out and tell him that one day - one day in the future - it will get easier.

as if he could hear your thoughts, he stopped. collapsed onto the ground, arms finally giving in. you could hear him, choking out sobs between breaths - it just about broke your heart.

“come here,” your fingers brushed his arm, and it was like he just needed the instruction to do so, because he moved into your arms and clung onto your shirt, just like a baby.

you didn’t care where you were. no one was looking, anyway. everyone went home or went elsewhere hours ago, you and bradley were most likely the only two people left there.

“what is it?” you cooed, gently running a hand through his hair.

“he- my dad, he- maverick-” and that was all he had to stutter out for you to understand.

“i know, i know,” you bent over him, almost encasing him in your body. kissing his head, you repeated the phrase over and over again.

it was in that moment that for the second time in twenty four hours you thought to yourself - is this normal for best friends to do? it is, right? like, you would do it for any of your other friends?or maybe that’s what you liked to tell yoursef to deny the simple fact;

you were in love with bradley bradshaw, your best friend.

[cookiepie111]

༊࿐ 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐧'𝐭 𝐜��𝐭𝐜𝐡 𝐦𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐰 ༊࿐

Part 2 of drink from the leche of sirens

Part 1 here

A/N: I'm back after what felt like f forever! Crying screaming throwing up it's finally finished! Part two of könig x nymph! Black Reader. I'm over the moon so many people liked part one i loved writing it. Love to hear your thoughts on this chapter or any ideas. Feedback,likes and reblogs are appreciated🙏🏾 also if you wanted to be added to the tag list please let me know. I've read this like a thousand times but if theres mistakes im sorry oop(Yes this title is from the new hunger games. I watched it and I'm obsessed! Please talk to me about it! )

Sisters in order of appearance Aganippe, Bolbe

Tag list: @montenegroisr @kneelingshadowsalome @havikshoochiemama @wordstome

       𓇼 - - - - - - - - 𓇼 - - - - - - - - 𓇼

Red. you wouldn't say it was your colour. It's a harsh and rough colour that didn't suit you. A colour you've never taken any notice of before. But you're seeing it everywhere. It's in the berries, the birds, and the flowers. You're seeing /him/ everywhere.

"Sister! Sister! What about this one? " You watch, fiddling with the braslet on your wrist as your sisters pull up a man from the water, he's tall but too skinny and smooth. not your man. A shake of your head, and he's shoved back down the water. Why was it so hard to find this man? You should have paid better attention to his armour, although that wouldn't help much. You're not well versed in the human wars and their armies.

"When did you see him?"

"Around the willows and lake i think it was xxxx "

one of your sisters hums, coiling her hair around her finger, oak skin still wet from the water. "That was Around the date from the Eastern fight, so he's probably with the reds or the greens " that was something the most you've gotten about him "but they're both pretty big armies." She stills looking up at you

"are you sure you were supposed to heal him" huh what did she mean, were you supposed to do anything with him? he just found his way there to you, you could do whatever you wanted with him right?. You weren't sure what your sister was asking, the look on your face must have made her nervous "I mean, maybe you shouldn't have let him go"

       𓇼 - - - - - - - - 𓇼 - - - - - - - - 𓇼

Magic is believing its a lot faith. There aren't any other options könig has so faith and believing are the only things he can hold on to. Belief, that the charm held tightly in his hands, will bring out a nymph, and faith he'll see you again.

The water ripples in the centre, slowly then rapidly, as bubbles ascending into the air.

This is what könig hates about magic it's too unpredictable, it's recklessness, and lacks control. Makes it hard to challenge and counter it. He needs to be in control, know all the moves his enemy could make, and magic doesn't allow that.

The lady standing in the water isn't the one könig's looking for. Her presence is off in every wat, from her appearance to the way the air moves around her. Her hair falls straight down her body it only moves at the tilt of her head. He expected this. Of course, finding his little nymph wouldn't be in easy task, but he more than ready.

"You're not the one I'm looking for," his efforts to keep composure are wasted on her, try as he might to stay neutral, its hard to miss this annoyance that slips in his voice.

"I'm sure I can be just as good," she responds, wearing a warm and gentle smile that never reaches her eyes. It's wasted time trying talking to her, he needs answers not idle conversation.

The waters are calm and still, yet his legs weigh heavy in the water. He's fighting against the waters just to make it to her, he shadows the sun just standing infront of her. He knows his presence is off putting, most women would have turned and run they wouldn't let him get his close. She only smiles the closer he gets.

König feels his feet sinking, or at least it seems that way. When he turned to gaze at her, she's still adorned with that same smile. Only König's looking up at her, not down, His knees are immersed in muddy water. She's now beaming with joy from her new catch.

Her hand catch könig's chin as he struggles to break free, forcing his face to her "hey don't worry. I'll tell her how good you tasted!"

So she does know where she is. That's all könig needs to know, ripping himself from the mud. She stares blankly at him, unimpressed by his display of strength.

"Where is she?" König's hand wrapping round her throat

"Haha, what's this? Are you trying to hurt me?" she dismisses him. König watched as her body phased between liquid and solid trying to worm her way out. Her face drops as she panicked, clawing at his hand while he tightened his grip. " You'll talk"

They struggled for a bit before she let out a screech, causing König to loosen his grip just enough for her swim away. Regaining his wits, könig stands straight in the water, looking around. He'd lost her, but He'll remember this for next time. The spirits are tricky things

       𓇼 - - - - - - - - 𓇼 - - - - - - - - 𓇼

A high-pitched shriek ripples through the air, your sister rushing by, tears streaming down her face, complaining to everyone she passes, "YOUR STUPID SOLDIER ASSAULTED ME!"

"Your soldier?" Your attention sharpens at her call – she found him. She found him! Oh, she found him.

"That stupid man asked for you. He nearly killed me! He's such an ugly and scary thing, why else would he cover his face?". I thought you said he was cute!

Another sister chimes in, "You're just mad you have terrible luck with masked men." Your sister's face burns, her eyes sharpening as she turns to you, "If I see him again. That man is as good as dead." Ah, she's serious. It's best you find him soon.

𓇼 - - - - - - - - 𓇼 - - - - - - - - 𓇼

There isn't a better colour for könig than red. It suits him quite well. It's the colour of the flag he waves high, the flames that light the night, that clear the way for a sege.The blood that paints his body in all its many shades after battle. more than that. It's His source of comfort, his efforts, and proof of his labours turned physically in the form of a carnelin bracelet that sits on his wrist.

The only proof of his nymph he ( had). He'd never be so careless as to lose it. in all his years, he never lost it, if its gone, it's only because it's been taken. He can't lie he is a bit annoyed You took it, but in exchange for his life, he couldn't complain.

He should go clean up he's a mess from that encounter with that other nymph. It's not enough to warrant a full bath, just his face he can wipe his body down with a towel. He wipes the towel across his face, reaching down to wet the towel. In that moment, he freezes, there atop the bubbling water, a carnelin bracelet.

[anonymooseforever007]

Ring Around the Roses

(Alfie Solomons x female reader)

Summary: Attempting to get away from the Shelby party chaos, Alfie and his wife sneak off into Tommy's garden for a little fun. It isn't until the next morning they discover the consequences of their actions and Alfie has to remind his wife what their marriage is really about.

A/N-Hi Y'all! Possible TW's for only the end of this include Mentions of death, Unhealthy coping habits and self blame! Also this is for K's (@runnning-outof-time) 3K celebration! Congratulations you're amazing and I love seeing you on here❤️❤️❤️ I hope you like this! I haven't done a celebration before really but I saw your theme and the idea spring into my head. Despite the warnings it's mostly fluffy until the time skip! Also there's one part that implies smut but none actually written! Enjoy ❤️

WC- 6.6k

Main Masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Are you sure we can do this out here?"

"Do what dovey? I'm just taking a nice little stroll with my darling wife aren't I? Letting her get a quiet break from all those heathens inside."

You scoffed, knocking into your husband's side gently as the pair of you walked through the garden. For a man who seemed particularly fond of dark colours, Thomas Shelby's garden was particularly vibrant. 

"Oh hush, you only call them heathens because you're too scared to use the word friend."

"FRIEND!" Alfie scoffed while kicking at a particularly beautifully tulip that just happened to be nearby, just to prove his point. "No no no Dovey, THEY are not my friends, yeah. If I were to pick anyone to be my friend it certainly would not be ANY of them." 

You only rolled your eyes and shot a knowing smirk in his direction. For all your husband's spite and trickery, you knew he really did have a soft spot for the Shelby family.

"Alright love, I believe ya. That's absolutely why you immediately declined the invitation to come here tonight isn't it. Burned it in the fireplace correct? Told me not to put it in the calendar? Because you don't have plans at being anything other than vicious enemies is that right? The pie I brought tonight was a death threat wasn't it? Did you slip in some arsenic into the powdered sugar?"

Rolling his eyes at your teasing, Alfie couldn't help but smile as he watched you laugh at your own joke. Continuing your path through the garden you mindlessly reached back a hand for your husband a few steps behind. A clear indication of what you wanted. What you always wanted. Slipping his hand between yours, he let you drag him through the bushes, further from the party. With each step he could see you relax a bit more, as you enjoyed the scene around you.

"Is it quieter out here Dovey?"

Smiling softly, you only nodded your head before reaching out gently to touch the leaves of a nearby bush. Though the party was fun, it had gotten a bit loud and in the growing chaos you needed some air. So while Tommy and Polly were distracted trying to convince Arthur and Finn not to throw Michael in the lake, you and your husband had slipped outside. 

"Alfie, we should plant a garden of our own I think."

"Is that right Dovey? Does my lady want some bushes of her own to trim doesn't she?"

"I think we could get some nice rose bushes. I've always loved those."

"Roses, is that it? You got a feeling about those prickly little parasites don't ya Dovey? I never got why you liked them."

Chuckling you sat on the edge of a nearby wall as your husband dug his feet in the ground. You knew exactly why Alfred hated roses, and it still amused you to this day. 

It happened years ago, around the time you'd first gotten together. This was before Alfie was even able to grow a beard, and all his kisses resulted in a scratchy scruff that prickled your face. Way back when boxing was still his main pastime instead of "baking", both kinds actually and these days your husband finally knew how to make a decent muffin. In an effort to be romantic, he'd shown up at your work one day with a nice bouquet of roses. They were lovely flowers and you were immensely elated by the gesture, and especially amused since he'd bought the flowers from that very shop only the day before too.... However it was a shame you never got the chance to put them in water. See, somewhere between the ten steps it took to get from the door to your table, he had tripped and fallen flat on the ground. Don't worry, his face hadn't hit the hard ground, it was cushioned....by the thorny roses. Maybe it was a good thing the thorns had left so many bloody scratches. It meant you weren't able to tell his face had turned as red as the roses petals now surrounding him. Instead of the romantic date he wanted to take you on, the evening was spent with you dapping the cuts on his face with a damp cloth while he started at the wall, contemplating every life choice he'd ever made. That was the night Alfred Solomons decided he'd never trust a rose ever again. Not even the ones his darling wife sought to plant in her gardens.

"Alfie, come on! Roses aren't that bad, just because you had a little slip up years ago doesn't mean they all hate you."

Standing by up again, you held out your arms towards Alfie as music began to reach the garden. Shaking his head lightly, he set down his cane and took your arms, fully confident you'd be there to support him if his hip got too bad. You and Alfie had yet to dance tonight, caught up talking with others (which was really just your doing) and pointing out everyone who'd gotten too drunk and was trying piss in the plants. It wasn't something either of your minded to badly, the large crowds of people tended to make you feel a bit nervous and Alfie occasionally had a hard time keeping rhythm because of his hip. So most of your dancing was done in the back corners of the ballroom or privately in your kitchen, waiting for the midnight snacks to be done. 

However tonight, it seems you'd be dancing in Thomas Shelby's garden. Slowly but happily, you waltzed closely with your husband, stepping around the fountain and laughing as he stopped to twirl you ever few seconds. Other than the music from the house and the gentle crunches  of your shoes beneath the gravel path, the world was silent. When the song ended your husband gave you a gentle kiss and stepped back, though he was still holding you in his arms. Looking up above yourselves, you saw the constellations fitting the night sky.

"Ohh Alfie! Look at them! Aren't they beautiful?"

Beaming, you grinned up at the stars twinkling down on you before moving from your husband to a smaller empty plot of ground. You suspected that something was to be planted there soon, but paid no mind to the grime that would get on your skirt as you settled down to sit in the dirt. It was a nice little spot, right next to the rocky path and dug out in a manner that was lined on three sides by tall hedges. To anyone looking out if the mansion, the little alcove would have been completely invisible. 

"What are ya doing now Dovey? Is this the thing you said we shouldn't be doing?" Alfie teased you from where he was still standing.

"I just wanna sit and watch the stars for a bit. Come," remaining seated you patted the spot next to you, "Join me."

Alfie walked over to the spot but when he got there, he only raised an eyebrow at you and tapped his hip with the cane. You stared for a moment and then it clicked. Laughing slightly at your forgetfulness, you stood up, bowing dramatically, and held out your arm. 

"Right right, I forget you have the hip of an overworked, ninety seven year old parlor dancer. Shall I assist you to the ground my dear sir?"

Alfie only grumbled, but his eyes twinkled as you teased him. If anyone else had made the comment they'd have been dead before they blinked, but you were different. Alfred Solomons was capable of many things, but some nights when his hip got bad, he needed help moving around more, especially if it meant going from standing to sitting on the ground. You were happy to help of course, but being married for over a decade didn't mean the pair of you were above lightly poking fun of the other. Only two years ago, you had accidentally scratched part of your eye and needed to wear an eyepatch for five weeks. The first thing Alfie had done when you walked out of the examination room and asked if he could get food for dinner, was reply with "does patchy wanted a cracker" in reference to the one eyed parrot you'd seen in a film the month before. It was just something you'd always done together even before you started dating. A dark humor you both shared, as if joking about the hurt could make it better. 

Holding his other arm, you gently helped your husband lower himself to the ground, squeezing his hand comfortingly when he let out a small groan. After helping your husband take a seat, you settled into your own again, leaning your head on his shoulder as you looked to the heavens. 

"You aren't really gonna plant roses are ya Love? What if something happens to them?"

"Like what? You assault them with your face again?"

"....Maybe? But like why do you really enjoy them? I still don't see the charm."

Sighing, you shifted your gaze and looked your husband in the eyes.  One of your hands moved up to his face, as you gently caresses the one spot on his face that refused to grow hair like the rest of his beard. You knew it was another old war wound, but this was actually one he had yet to tell you the story of. Gazing into his eyes a few moments more, you then changed positions so you were seated across his lap, one leg in either side of his.

"Why do I love roses?....Their petals are as soft as their thorns are sharp and given the right hand, their climb up any wall in their path. Not only that but their petals can have many uses for food or paint or even my blush. That means they are able to change their usefulness based off their situation at hand. They are able to adapt, nor are the helpless. Some people say the point of the thorns is to choke out anything else threatening to take the roses' livelihood." you gently held your husbands face between your hands as you continued, "I like roses because they remind me of you Alfie. Because they are beautiful, and strong, and dangerous. You are a gorgeous and strong man, and I know how badly you try to protect me every day. You are so kind to me, but I know how far you'll go for me. I would go just as far for you. You are my rose Alfred Solomons and so I love them as all they remind me of you."

Alfie was quiet for a moment, observing what you'd said. His hands sat on your waist, thumbs rubbing gently in your sides. 

"You saying I'm like a fucking flower Dovey, is that it?"

"Yeah, you're my flower though."

"....Alright."

"....You know why else you're like a rose love?"

"Why poppet?"

"Because it can be a pain in the ass to keep you alive sometimes."

Alfie only put his hand to his chest in mock offense, while your grinned up at him mischievously.

"Oi, now you better watch your words there Dovey."

"Make me Rosie," you whispered, grinning as your leaned closer to your husbands face, pressing a soft kiss to his jaw.

Gently Alfie leaned back, taking you with him until his back was on the ground. Hands, still on his face, you could feel the smile on his face. Slowly one of his hands moved to your head bringing you down so he could kiss you again. Sweet at first but it quickly increased in passion and vigor. Though eventually you had to pull back for breath, and it was then you realized his hands had already rearranged your skirts in a way overnight you both.

"Alfred? I know we can't do this out here?"

Your husband only laughed, reaching towards his belt as he pulled you close again.

"Slide down a bit farther and I think you'll see we definitely can Dovey. It's only a matter of being quiet enough to evade capture."

It was a nice little spot, right next to the rocky path and dug out in a manner that was lined on three sides by tall hedges. To anyone looking out if the mansion, the little alcove would have been completely invisible. And luckily, the music was loud enough to hide the sounds of rustling bushes...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It wasn't until the next morning when you realized what went wrong...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After making it back to the house last night and finding half the dog food "mysteriously missing", the pair of you had decided to call it a night. And since business was going so well Alfie had elected to take a few days off, hoping to spend more time with you. It also meant he'd finally be able to sleep in.....or so he thought.

A sudden crash woke Alfie from his slumber the next morning. 

Shooting up, he automatically looked to his right, and his heart stopped for a moment realizing you weren't there. Another clatter from downstairs and a frustrated scream from you had him practically jumping out of bed and grabbing his gun. You usually like staying in bed for a few more hours, especially when he was there, so the fact he could hear your distress from upstairs made him worry. 

Carefully Alfie snuck down the hall, peaking in rooms to make sure no unsavory figures were lurking behind the door. Another annoyed groan accompanied by various curse words hurried him to his final destination. 

"Love, are you alright?"

It was a stupid thing to ask as you were very much not alright. The kitchen was a mess, looking like every cabinet had been opened and all the contents pulled out. Pots and bass were laud hurriedly across the counters as you rummaged through every nook and cranny. A quickly glance into the living room told Alfie it was scattered in a similar state. But you hadn't responded to your husband, not the first time or even the second. It wasn't until Alfie stepped right up behind you, putting his hand on your shoulder, and turning your around to face him when you responded.

"I can't find it."

Your voice wavered as you admitted the truth. Looking down like a small child about to be told off, you averted your face from your husband's. Alfie was still confused, but he could tell whatever you were rallying about was obviously important.

"Can't find what Dovey? Whatever it is it's probably isn't too bad. I can help ya find it righty?"

"No Alfie you don't undertstand."

"Then help me understand Love. Let's get through this together like we always have yeah? Come on, tell your husband what we're looking for." Carefully cupping your face in his hands, Alfie guided you to look at him again. He could see the tears welling in your eyes as you spoke.

"....I.....I lost my wedding ring Alfie."

"Oh."

It was the simple oh that broke the dam. Stepping back from your husband, tears began to stream down your face as you shoved your fingers in you hair as if trying to hold in the stress.

"SEE I told you it was terrible. I...I woke up this morning and went to the bathroom and noticed it missing when I went to clean my hands. I figured I'd just taken it off la... last night but it wasn't by the bed table like I usually put it. Then I went through the bathroom and it wasn't there. I've gone through every room in this hours and I can't fucking find it!!! I don't ....I don't know where it is Alfie. I just... oh god." 

Covering you mouth with your hand, you realized where you lost the ring. 

"Alfie the fucking garden."

"The garden? Love you haven't made the garden yet, how could it be there?"

"No, TOMMY'S garden. It has to be there. It fell off last night when we were rolling in the dirt. I've been meaning by to get it resized. Oh fuck this is awful"

Alfie actually chuckled at your realization. Of course the ring would fall off in the most inconvenient place possible, but he wasn't about to tell you that.

"Thats alright Dovey we can just..."

Throwing your hands in the air you interrupted your husband, frustrated at yourself for a number of reasons. It stung Alfie's heart to see you like this. Carefully he dragged your hands from your face and pulled you into a hug. Soothingly his hands ran up and down your back as he tried to comfort you.

"We can just what Alfred? Waltz back over and demand he let us dig up the plants for it? He'd probably ask why and what are we suppose to say then huh Alfred? Oh you know, we lost it in the garden you see...Well what were you doing there Y/N? ...Nothing much just fertilizing the soil, pollinating the flower, playing like the rake and ho, rustling the bushes, sowing seed in the garden, FUCKING IN THE FLOWERBEDS!!!! No we can't do that Alfie we just can't! It's probably gone forever... I'm so sorry."

Alfie was the one to hide his face this time. He knew you were in distress but he was amused by one of your last sentences. You always were good with the innuendos. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he tried to get you to calm down. He knew at this point you weren't so mad about the ring, as just overwhelmed by the lack of success you'd had in finding it.

"Yes love, we can tell him all those things and if he'd got any sort of romantic bone in his tiny, banged up little body he'd offer us shovels to dig if we need them. And if not then I'd wager every deal I'd ever have with his lot is out the fucking window isn't it. We've been married since before the little one of them was teething haven't we? It's not like they don't think we're fucking. Besides it's a decent fucking garden, Tommy should have know what he was doing when he made that little hidey spot didn't he? It'll be fine. And if I find it then I'll get to propose to you all over again won't I? I think if I got one wish left in the word it would be to do that again. Ask if you'd be mine forever and let you know I'll always be there. Love I promise. It's alright Dovey, it's ok. No need to get worked up about it's not such a big deal."

Thought he was trying to help, his last sentence only made things worse. Stepping pack from Alfie you threw your hands up again.

"IT IS OUR MARRIAGE ALFIE! And I've practically lost it like it means nothing at all! How can you say that!"

There it was. The really reason you were so worked up. Not because you'd lost the little ring. It was because somewhere in your mind, over the years you'd been together, you'd gotten the idea that if you didn't have it on your were almost betraying everything you held dear. As if you thought without the ring, all the vows you'd mad together were nil. Alfie couldn't help but laugh at that. He laughed hard too, like you'd told the funniest joke in their world. 

"You think that ring is our marriage?"

Stepping closer again Alfie took your arms and pulled you closer.

"Our marriage is so much more than that fucking ring love," he said, cupping your face between his hands again. "Our marriage is me stealing Ollie's shirt before every lunch date because his is cleaner than mine and wanna look my best for the best, that's you by the way. It's you grinning at me through the glass window at fuck O'clock in then morning when I've taken the dog out for a piss since you thought it'd be funny to lock me out in the cold in my fucking skeevies again. It's me paying a fuck ton of money to the flower shop down the street so you could get a rose every week I was away fighting. It's you spending hours patching me up after I had a bad fight even though blood makes you gag yeah. When you refuse to give me dinner until I give you a kiss and when I won't give you a gift until I've gotten a hug? Sharing a bath after a hard day? That's our marriage. You interrupting my meeting because you're so excited to show me a new book? Me interrupting your book club because I've just gotten back from a business trip? You demanding I come to bed and cuddle up, only to shove me off of you later when you're too hot? Me tightening jars in the pantry so you have to get me to open them? Making fun of each other's injuries, patchy? Don't you see it? You. Me. You. Me. You. Me. WE."

"Alfie..." You couldn't help but smile at your husband's words realizing he was right.

"Dovey, It isn't defined by a thin piece of metal with a tiny fucking stone that I stole off a rich toff at a boxing match one day. Our marriage is YOU and ME and every little moment in between. And I promise it's always gonna be just that. And do you know why that is Treacle?"

Alfie had moved his hands again, now resting them on your hips. Gazing at you lovingly he waited for your answer.

"Why Ally?"

"Because I'm your flower remember? I'm your fucking rose.... and you're fucking my sunshine, Dovey. I have no chance of living without you."

Wrapping your arms around your husband, you buried your face into his neck. Losing the ring you'd worn almost every day for years didn't seem so criminal anymore. 

"Alfred Solomons when did you learn to say something so romantic."

Your husband only chuckled as he step away, grabbing some of the boxes you'd pulled out in your panic. 

"A master never reveals his secrets Dovey. Now come on. Let's clean this up and then we'll go get you a new ring eh? Wouldn't want any gangly miscreant thinking they've got a chance with you would we?"

Looking at the damage you'd done, you couldn't but sigh, maybe it would have been better to wake your husband immediately before diving head first into your expedition. Now you were kicking yourself since you'd just redone all the work you'd don't last week reorganizing every thing.

"I'm not sure the jewellery shop will still be open today by the time we finish Alfred. I'm not even sure we'll be able to finish this in a week with the mess I've made."

Your husband just bonked you lightly with the broom he handed you and nudged you in the direction of the living room.

"That's alright Dovey. Because unless you've got some nefarious little plans I haven't heard of to steal my dog and run off, I don't think either of us is going anywhere anytime soon aren't we?"

You could only smile and kiss him on the cheek.

"I suppose you're right. We've got all the time in the world...."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Two years later...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Shelby, I want my dog."

The Shelby in question turned around, eyeing the woman before him. He knew this day would come. Only he expected it to be sooner, a few days, maybe even a week later...but now it was four months. Four months since he....despite his feelings towards the man, Tommy couldn't help but feel slight regrets for what he'd done. Especially seeing the state of her now, standing in his garden.

"He's just gone on a walk with Charlie and Finn. They should be back in an hour or so."

"I'll wait... I see you filled in that empty plot of ground. They're lovely flowers, I don't remember them being there two winters ago."

Tommy averted his gaze to the bushes you were pointing at. Indeed the small alcove where you'd hidden with your husband had been filled. In its place grew a thick rose bush, blooming with life. You smiled, and to anyone else, they might have thought your look truthful. And some of it was, thinking of the happy memories connected there. But Tommy could see deeper than that. Behind the smile he could see the same pain he had when he looked in mirrors. The pain that came from losing the thing you loved most. For as different as you both were, he knew the tactic you played, though the mask you wore was much brighter than his. And for now he decided he could respect that. He could pretend just for a moment, if only to help you. It was the least he could do, seeing as he was the reason you wore it... He was the one to pull the trigger.

"You're right. The gardener put them in almost two years ago, right after the party where Arthur and Finn tossed Michael into the lake. Do you remember that one? I saw you talking to my sister but never saw you leave that night."

A genuine chuckle left your mouth hearing his words. You played with the ring on your left hand. Only two years old and very expensive, but in that moment, it felt like you were wearing another ring again. One that was much older and worn, that you hadn't seen in years. 

"I do. That was certainly a night I'll remember forever. It's a shame you got rid of that little alcove. It was a nice little spot away from the world wasn't it."

Tommy could only nod and take another drag of his cigarette.

"Did Alfie ever tell you about the first and last time he gave me roses in person. I mean, of course he probably didn't and I'll have to tell you sometime, but I think you might find it funny. There's a lot about him I'm sure he hasn't told you. But then again, knowing him there's probably a lot he did..." You trailed off, staring at the flowers a bit longer, remembering that day over a decade ago, not really meaning to tell Tommy that, doing so anyway. After all, no one had heard from you in months, so it made sense to him, that you'd be eager to talk to anyone. Even the man you should hate most in the world.

Silence descended on the pair standing tense in the garden. There was so much to be said, but neither knew where to start. Truthfully, you'd only talked to Tommy a handful of times, but he felt like he'd already known you like his sister. He couldn't help but scoff, thinking of all the times Alfie had gone off on a tangent about you during a meeting. Sometimes, your mention had nothing to do what was being discussed at all, Alfie just liked to brag about the good he had. In the end it was Tommy who spoke up first, the guilt of his past actions finally caving in on him.

"Y/N, I'm sor..."

"Don't. Thomas, I don't want you to say sorry," turning from the vibrant blooms, you faced the capped man. "I don't want you to say sorry, because you know what? I don't blame you. You're completely alright. I'm not mad at you.... It's my fault I suppose. I could have stopped it."

Tommy raised his eyebrow, curious to what you meant, and also concerned. There was something in your eyes that made his stomach turn slightly hearing those words. But he couldn't exactly place why.

"What's that suppose to mean Y/N?"

You only let out a bittersweet laugh and stared out into the garden again, sitting on the edge of a familiar fountain before you revealed the truth.

"It's my fault he's gone I think. I should have known. I should have never left that day and I could have stopped it."

Tommy's brows furrowed as he sat down next to you. 

"What's that mean? You couldn't have known what his plan was? It's not your fault."

Absentmindedly, you picked at the leaves of a nearby bush. Though your voice was even, Tommy could practically see the war inside your head.

"It's how he kissed me when I left that day. I was only going to be gone a few days to visit my friend who was suppose to have her baby soon. Nothing dangerous. But it's the way he kissed me that should have tipped me off. He kissed me the way he did when he got on the damed train, in that damned uniform. He kissed me like he didn't think he'd see me ever again, going to die in the war. And I guess he didn't."

Tommy didn't say anything. He just let you continue. Something in his head told him, he needed to let your speak, he needed to keep you here tonight. If he let you leave today, no one would ever see you again and something in Tommy told him not to let that happen.

"You know I still haven't admitted it to myself just yet... The truth," standing up you began to pace around the fountain, circling the water. "Since I first got the call I haven't picked up the phone anymore, I'm scared of what I'll hear. I haven't opened any letters, because I don't want to see what they'll say. I still haven't even gone home yet. I've been paying for a hotel room by my friend's house and only leaving by when I need more food. I know it not good for me, but it's all I can find I can do. I've been telling myself it's just that. He's gone to the war again and he'll be back in a few months." Though you spoke with a smile as if talking about the weather, it was easy to see the pain in your eyes. You thought denying the truth would make the hurt go away. But it wouldn't, Tommy knew it was only a matter of time before you broke. And like with Cyril, he felt like he was the one who needed to help. So he decided to play along for now, letting you keep your act up. Atleast until he could figure out the best way to fix the mess he still felt he'd made.

"You tell yourself it's the war eh? Do you write him letters."

"Yes, I write him one almost every day. But I haven't sent any. Did you know that I was rarely able to send them to him during the war. Something about his post being secretive, and no one should know where it really was. So I'd just... write a letter everyday and when I got a letter that his squad was resting at a safe camp every few months I'd just send the packet of them.... If I was lucky I'd get one back, but most of the time I just had to wait. I learned a lot about waiting then. I learned it was better to laugh too. Laughing helped me stay sane."

Standing up, Tommy began walking with you as you stepped deeper into the gardens.

"Laughing eh? Well I guess it's better than what I did. Almost drunk myself to the grave and then fucked off in a caravan with my son for a month. Seems you're handling it better than me."

You could only scoff at his response.

"Oh don't worry, there's been plenty of drinks for me too. I'm a happy drunk though, so I guess it helps my plan. After all, as long as I'm laughing, I don't have time to cry. I don't think I'll be able to stop crying the day I begin. So I'm just trying to hold off as long as I can."

"Aren't we all."

Silence fell in the garden again, and the two widowed souls walked back to the house. It was starting to get back and Tommy had noticed Finn's car pull up a few minutes ago. When you reached the back door you were met with a fluffy beast knocking you over as soon he'd caught sight of you. Cyril was happy to have at least one of his masters back. The man taking care of his now treated him well, but he still missed life with his old owners, even if he couldn't express it in words. 

While you reunited with Cyril and applauded Charlie on the tricks he taught the dog, Tommy went to gather some of Cyril's things and have Francis prepare a room for you. Tommy had no clue where you'd take the dog, but seeing as you seemed adamant about staying away from Margret, and apparently didn't despise Tommy (somehow), he thought it made sense to let you stay the night for a bit. And something still told him to convince you to stay even if just for one day.

On his was back down the stairs he noticed something sitting on the table and there was a click in his brain. He remembered the curiosity brought to him that morning during breakfast, and suddenly a lot of odd business meetings made sense. He finally realized who'd messed up the empty dirt patch that night two years ago. Grabbing the object off the table, Tommy headed back to the drawing room. Inside you were still petting your beloved dog, even though Finn had taken Charlie to get ready for bed. 

"Y/N, I went up to grab some of Cyril's things, but I think it may be better for you to spend the night here. It's getting late and I don't think either of us wants the dog getting hurt if you were to crash."

You laughed gently at his words, not caring to ask about the hand behind his back. Not thinking much about his words, you accepted his offer. You knew you should be mad at him, hate him, even what to kill him, but you couldn't. You were too tried to be mad at anyone right now. Besides, it wasn't like you knew where you were going anyway. You just wanted to see your...his dog again. Maybe if you had that little piece left, it would make it easier to move on. It would make it easier to pretend you weren't alone now.

"Alright. I'll stay. But only so Charlie can give Cyril a proper goodbye. I'd hate to tear them apart, it seems they've made close friends."

"They have," Tommy smiled, genuinely happy thinking of how closely his son had bonded with the dog. "Cyril's stuff is in Charlie's room now infact. They've taken such a liking, I can't keep them apart. We can get his stuff tomorrow, but I do have one thing I think you may want now."

You looked towards the Shelby man curious. "What is it?," you questioned.

Silently Tommy extended his hand to give you the object he'd snagged from the table.

It was a single rose... But something was different about it. The stem seemed to have grabbed something buried within the dirt to take along as it began to grow. Twisting and turning all the way out of the dirt, outwards towards the sun, as if offering the shiny object up. An ages old promise from the rose to the sun of an endless truth, never broken even in death...

The rose was offering his sun a ring.

And not just any ring. A wedding ring. Simple and worn, it had been stolen off a rich toff from a boxing match many years ago. It had survived work and war, seen blood and lust, and so many other things. And while the ring didn't define the marriage it represented a promise you thought you'd never see again. But here now, seeing how tightly the rose stem had grown around it, you knew you'd never have to worry about that again. Not even death could stop the love the rose proposed to his sun. Even in death he'd still offer her life.

You couldn't even take the rose from Tommy's hand before you finally broke. Laughing at the irony, Tears streamed down your face as you sunk to your knees, all the pain you'd been bottling up coming out. And thus you sobbed, hard. So hard in fact, it felt like you couldn't breathe. And you sobs were still mixed with laughter of disbelief as a million memories ran through your head, but none as loud as the one of that night and the morning after. 

Two years ago you'd lost that ring. Alfie promised that he'd look multiple times whenever he went back to the house, even if it meant having the meeting in the garden like "a bunch of prissy ladies at a fucking tea party" as he'd called it. And for two years he'd had no luck until now. But today, your rose had finally found the lost ring, even if you'd lost him months ago. 

Setting the rose gently on the table, Tommy sunk to his knees too. Letting you grab onto him, for a shoulder to mourn on. He knew you needed it. For so long you'd shut yourself away, denying the truth and trying to act like it didn't affect you. You wanted to pretend your world wasn't falling apart and now you couldn't any more. He'd been he same way, except he didn't have anyone to help him. He couldn't burden his one year old son with his grief and he knew most of his family still resented Grace to some degree. They hadn't been as destroyed by her passing as he had. He didn't want you to be alone like he had. For as many terrible thing as Tommy had done, he couldn't bring it upon himself to leave you alone now. And so he sat on the floor, holding you in his arms as the cracked dam finally broke. 

That night, until the early hours of the morning, Thomas Shelby sat comforting the wife of the man he'd killed. And he would until she'd fallen asleep, finally worn out from her grieving. In the morning he'd offer breakfast and they'd get to talking about the loves they lost. They were still both hurt and broken and mourning what they'd lost, but they weren't alone now. For two people so different they both knew what the other felt so deeply. Little snippets and stories about happier times, while watching a little boy play with a big dog, laughing as the pair rolled in the grass. And while both still grieved, there was a peace to be found in being with someone who knew how they felt. 

And while they talked, Y/N played with the ring on her finger. It was new and expensive and fit just right. This one was only two years old and didn't have many memories but she loved it just the same. And upstairs by her bed sat another ring, but this one was held tightly by a rose she'd placed in a vase. This was the ring that she loved more, and the one she really wanted to wear, but she couldn't bear to tear it from the rose just yet. She didn't know if she'd ever be able to. Maybe she'd let the rose dry out and preserve it like she use to do someone's at the flower shop when she was young. But for now she's let it live as it was.

Holding on tightly to a promise that not even death could divide...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

While all this happened a mailman was headed towards Birmingham with a letter from a dead man, asking about his dog and looking for his wife....

[exhaustedcatte]

Detention, boys!

“–pair of troublemakers, they are,” Pomona Sprout wailed. “I know it was them, but there’s no way to prove it.”

Minerva, who’d just walked in, already knew who the offending duo could be. “Potter and Black?”

“Potter and Black,” she confirmed. “Charmed all of my Mandrakes to sing! Sing! Can you believe it?!”

A smile unwillingly pulled on the Gryffindor House-head’s mouth.

“What did they sing?” Professor Sinistra asked curiously.

Pomona ducked, shy. “I didn’t recognize the song, but Ms Bones said it was a muggle band called—ehem.” She cleared her throat and whispered, “The Sex Pistols.”

Minerva suppressed a loud guffaw, forced it back down her throat, and allowed a small grimace. Sinistra had no objections, laughing cheerfully.

“I bet you that was all Lupin,” she said, still grinning. “I’ve heard him giving gospels on muggle music with such ardor, you’d have thought he was being paid to advertise.”

Minerva didn’t know muggle music, but she knew her boys. This prank definitely had their signature on it, not just the handle on magic, but the careless display of talent.

Charming those noisy crybaby Mandrakes was no easy feat.

“I’ll hand out detention for the weekend,” Minerva said easily. “Potter and Black for the frontline work, Lupin for definitely pointing them towards the charms and Pettigrew for stealing all of your Mandrakes,” she raised her brows.

Pomona sighed, smiling.

The thing was, it was easy to detain them for smaller, localised pranks. It had their magical imprint all over it. While they had stepped into juvenile delinquency and thrown dung bombs, most of their practical jokes were, well, practical. Neatly studied and practiced. Difficult charms and jinxes. Hexes that Minerva had almost forgotten about since her own school days.

They’d made the suit of armours duel outside the Defence classroom, transfigured every single notebook in their class into origami birds, charmed it to fly away and got them all let off class. Hexed the Slytherins to speak in haikus for two full days. They’d also frozen the Lake into an ice rink in the cusp of summer post-exams. Pranks against which Finite Incantatem were useless. They put a lot of effort into their jokes, which somehow turned out just as remarkable as their neglected schoolwork.

But she’d given them many cauldrons and trophies and broom closets to clean for all of those, because she knew only they could be responsible for such intelligent tomfoolery.

What was difficult to pin on them was larger, vastly spread magic, because their trace was faint when it was distributed wide, mingling with everyone else’s magic. In theory she would put all her money on it being the Marauders, but she couldn’t simply accuse them when no one had seen them out of bed, no misbehaving, nothing. Very mystifying.

Which was why she was effectively silenced when she walked into the Great Hall on Tuesday. Everything seemed fine at first, but then she noticed, after hearing the excited tittering.

The Slytherins were emerald green. Minerva almost marched down to the quartet – the rivalry was telling. But she glanced around and saw the Hufflepuffs drenched in yellow. The Ravenclaws and Gryffindors were not spared either, dyed in their own house colours.

Minerva peered down her table. The other professors were trying to puzzle out how this had been achieved. She was silently proud that they kept glancing at the four boys on the far end, as if trying to read the answer straight from their brains. They knew no one else was capable of such advanced magic while still being playful.

Minerva looked over to them.

The Marauders were maintaining a strong air of ignorance despite the obvious looks being thrown their way from students and teachers alike.

Remus was stirring his likely fourth sugar into his tea, while Sirius kept nibbling the untouched toast from his friend’s hand. James was roughing his hair up and laughing at something Peter was whispering into his ear. They were also painted a vibrant red, probably as an alibi.

“I know it’s them,” Dumbledore said lowly, eyes dancing with mirth. “But I do think it’s rather spectacular, don’t you agree, professor?”

She huffed a laugh. “Yes.”

It was hard to tack this on them, not when Potter and Black, who despite knowing magic straight out of the womb, would vehemently deny everything and call it a fluke of someone’s luck. Not when Lupin, a severely clever werewolf who often downplayed his own intellect, would disagree politely and be off in that quiet way of his. Not when Pettigrew, the most unassuming and yet the sneakiest of them all, would lie impressively through his teeth.

She sat back and sipped her tea, enjoying the humorous sight of the bright morning sun reflecting off of the colourful skins of her students. But mostly she was observing her band of troublemakers.

They were still hanging off of each other’s shoulders like limpets, clingy and supremely codependent, in the best possible way. She watched Sirius proof-read a parchment Peter had given him. Remus was feeding James his scones and cream, who was trying, futilely, to tame his hair with a bottle of Fleamont’s Hair Gel that had just arrived with the owls.

These idiot boys, she thought fondly.

There would be no way to prove it was them other than their excited footsteps and victorious laughter that echoed through her office later that day.

Minerva McGonagall stepped into the hallway, unable to tamp down the pride in her voice when she called out, “Detention, boys!”

[simpforsix]

With all the stuff about the Titanic submarine I keep thinking about the tourism of sites of mass tragedy and human remains. It’s a really important conversation that I haven’t seen many people discuss outside of historical and final care provider circles.

The Titanic is a grave. The only reason that submarines are even permitted to go through it is because it’s in international waters. Other shipwrecks, like in Lake Superior, are frequently declared grave sites and have restrictions or bans on exploration of their structure. At the very least, there should be incredibly strict restrictions on Titanic exploration. It should not be a tourist destination. There may be still be human remains in certain parts of the ship, and the mud around the ship is filled with corpses. Considering the tragedy only happened 100 years ago, this tourism is very disrespectful. Also, exploration of the Titanic could potentially damage the structure, which would hinder academic research as well as further disrespect the dead and those who remember them. The structure will not be around for much longer.

Tourism of sites of mass tragedy can also be very dangerous. Obviously we know why the Titanic is dangerous, but it goes beyond that. Oftentimes people are not aware of the danger, or are reassured by authority that it is safe. For instance, many people visit active volcanoes, and some have been injured or killed by eruptions. For some, the danger is a feature. There are people who visit Chernobyl, an even more recent site of mass tragedy than the Titanic, despite being aware of the danger of radiation. It’s thrill-seeking, but instead of a rollercoaster people are putting themselves in danger to walk through human remains.

Our natural fascination with mortality leads many to disrespect the dead. The viewing of human remains in museums is a big debate, and I personally don’t think that we should display human remains without previous consent from the person. Imagine how you would feel if yourself or a loved one was displayed in a museum, or had your resting place constantly disturbed by tourists. 

It’s also important to note that this type of tourism disproportionately impacts people of colour. Eurocentric society systematically dehumanizes the bodies of POC, and this becomes crystal clear in how we treat their remains. Egyptian mummies remain on display in museums despite the disapproval of many Egyptian people. Many black bodies, particularly of women, have been displayed in museums, such as Saartjie Baartman who was finally buried in 2002. Indigenous human remains are also frequently displayed, and ancient burial sites are viewed as cursed land and get destroyed by construction. The remains of people across Asia have been sold and displayed, with recent displays posing the human remains of Chinese prisoners. Most human bones being sold originated from graverobbing the graves of Asian and Indigenous people. None of these people consented to this treatment, and these communities are still being harmed by the commodification of their dead.

Engaging with sites of mass death needs to be done respectfully. The dead deserve our care. 

It’s natural to be curious about tragedy and death, and engaging with our own mortality can be healthy. There are ways to engage with these topics respectfully. Many online resources are available to learn about death, with my personal recommendation being the youtube channel Ask a Mortician. Visiting cemeteries is another great way to engage with death, so long as you abide by the rules and have good intentions. There are some great documentaries about instances of mass death, with many available for free on youtube. You can visit designated memorials of the sites. The Titanic itself has a section in a graveyard in Halifax. I also recommend donating to and supporting the efforts of communities to have their human remains and cultural artifacts repatriated.

Sites of mass death need to be treated with the same respect as cemeteries. They are important and full of education, but we need to remember that these are real people. The dead are not fantastical oddities; they are us.

[thegirlwhorideslikeasamurai]

I'm having a déjà-vu that I've already posted about Yuuri's inner monologue at the beginning of episode 3 when he agonises about the stakes the Onsen on Ice has for him, but it's so hilarious that I need to pick it up again.

What cracks me up is that right after explaining that Viktor will return to Russia if Yurio wins, Yuuri goes like, "If I win, Viktor will stay in Japan and be my coach." But Yuuri doesn't think of Viktor skating in Ice Castle or accompanying him during his workout—no, he thinks of Viktor flirting with him on his first night in Hasetsu.

Yes, you've read that right: While Yuuri explains what is at stake for him at the Onsen on Ice, he thinks of Viktor flirting with him.

Note also the warm colours and the blurred lines of the image that add an atmosphere of nostalgia to the scene, like a memory Yuuri holds dear...

...compared to the actual scene in episode 2:

Seems like Yuuri isn't that opposed to Viktor's courtship endeavours, right?

Which leads me to the question: Is there anything else Yuuri wants Viktor to teach him except figure skating?

At this point, Yuuri is far from understanding sexual desire (that will come along with the discovery his Eros over the course of the story). He is also still far from being romantically interested in Viktor. To him, Viktor is a god-like creature he admires and has a crush on since he was 12, an fellow skater Yuuri copied over and over because he secretly craves to become his equal. And that is absolutely enough to be flustered when Viktor becomes flirty, even if the poor boy has no idea how to respond. (for clarification: crush, i.e. superficial fancy ≠ being in love, i.e. butterflies, wanting to date the other person, I had people trying to split hairs over this, no kidding)

Yuuri has been obsessed with Viktor throughout puberty and his entire adult life. That's long enough to have a whole library of fanboy fantasies in his brain. I believe that Viktor becoming his coach is a dream that formed in Yuuri long before the fateful banquet where he made Viktor crush on him. And what would be a better way to catch up to your idol than having said idol teach you? Where this fantasy is, there are bound to be others. After all, fantasies are a safe space, untethered from reality in the sense that the unhinged things Yuuri and Viktor would do in these are entirely decoupled from the things Yuuri would want from the real Viktor at some point in his existence because that fictional Viktor would be an abstract entity to project his fantasies upon, an ooc version of the real Viktor, and the fictional Yuuri would be an ooc version of the real Yuuri (I'm no longer talking about coaching figure skating. I'm talking about "Viktor-sensei, please teach me how to kiss!", or maybe even "Viktor-sensei, I want to do unspeakable things to you, please teach me how!", depending on how you headcanon Yuuri to act when he gets horny)

Yuuri's desire to emulate Viktor (and not necessarily being able to tell this apart from have Viktor around—yes, these two can be intertwined, and there are many hints in YOI that this is the case for Viktuuri), describes a characteristic of same-sex relationships that are depicted in other pieces of media, e.g. Bourne's Swan Lake or the novel Call Me By Your Name by André Aciman (I'd like to point you to that wonderful quote from this book).

I've digressed. My point is that Yuuri has still a long way to go until he figures out his feelings for Viktor. But this scene strongly suggests that he wants more from Viktor than keep on winning and keep on eating katsudon together, even though he might not yet be aware of the full extent of his wish.

If you enjoy my meta posts, please consider giving my blog a follow or checking out my works on AO3 (link in bio). You will find the results of my meta musings in there!

[ninjaneonleon]

(last seen at the tmnt au comp u _ u )

Mikey almost fell over backwards when the frantic looking Leo counterpart appeared in his vision. Casey, of course, was no help. She just laughed as he stumbled over his own feet and tried not to fall. In the end he just floated back to his feet properly with a small pout.

“Oh, sorry,” the Leo (Leon? Yeah, that worked for now) said, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly. “I just really need to find my Donnie, he’s, uh, not very stable with others.” He held up the photo he was brandishing a little more for emphasis.

The photo in question showed a version of Donnie that was very different to the brother Mikey knew and loved. Not only was he notably paler, his usual jade colouring going almost pastel, he was softer somehow. Rounder. He was also wearing a beautiful feathered tutu, had small white wings and was en pointe. That Donnie looked like he was all set to dance in Swan Lake, maybe even as Odette considering the feathered crown he had in place of a headpiece.

“No, I haven’t seen him. Hey, why do you say he’s unstable?” Casey asked, her eyes lighting up with excitement. Eugh boy, if Casey got it in her head that she wanted to try sparring with this unstable ballerina Donnie, there would be very little Mikey could do besides try to hold her back. Maybe if he got the Donnie back with his Leo, he’d be calm enough to not take Casey up on her obvious excitement.

“He’s, uh, well he’s very much got a swan brain?” Leon offered with a sheepish laugh. “Half the time he’s fine, the other half…”

“Oh, he gets violent and territorial?” Mikey had a few encounters with swans in the past. They were dangerous bastards who can and will mess you up. “Eugh boy, that’s definitely not someone who you want to leave alone. Leave it to me, I can help you find him.”

“Wait, you can?” Leon lit up with a relived grin. “How?”

“Like this.” Mikey held his hand out towards the photo and got a feel for Swanatello’s (heh, Swannie, that was a perfect name for him) energy. Once he as sure, Mikey plucked that very unique feeling chain from the air. He studied it curiously. “Huh. This is a very old feeling connected to him. Well, anyway, I can track him for you. Just follow me, we’ll get your Donnie back,” he promised, not letting go of the chain.

“Thank you so much,” Leon said enthusiastically. I’m worried he’s either gonna freak himself out or hurt someone.”

“Has he got memory problems or something?”Casey asked, following after Leon and Mikey. “Our Donnie can be violent but he’s very good at directing that away from people. Most of the time.” She shuddered, probably remembering the sago pudding incident. Mikey didn’t want to dwell on that.

“Yeah, he’s sort of been claimed by this mystic lake to be its guardian?” Leon offered with a shrug. “It means that he barely remembers anything before, and on his bad days, he doesn’t recognise us at all. He might look small but he’s just as strong as ever.” Based on the way Leon rubbed his arm, he clearly knew just how strong Swannie was.

“Claimed by a mystic lake? I might be able to help keep him calm for a while, if you wanted,” Mikey offered. If he could make sure Swannie could still sense the lake, he might stay calm enough to not hurt anyone during this whole thing.

“Anything would be helpful, thank you Mikey.”

They walked together for a little while, following the pale coloured chain, until Mikey spotted Swannie. He was looking around frantically, his feathers all puffed up from how worked up he was getting. Okay, Mikey totally had this.

“Casey, wait here. Leon, you too. Let me see if I can calm him down.” As he spoke, Mikey let a wave of magic wash over him. When it cleared, he was in his own tutu (orange, of course) and had his pointe shoes on. Oh yeah, that was awesome, he totally nailed the dramatics there. It might have been a while since Mikey had done any serious dancing but luckily, his body remembered exactly what to do.

He called for Swannie’s attention by putting a spotlight on himself and on Swannie, one only they (and Casey and Leon) could see. Then he let some music start to drift around, again, done so it didn’t bother anyone who was want involved.

Swannie looked over immediately, but when he heard the music, he seemed to relax. Perfect. Mikey made his way over, travelling in time to the music and throwing in some of his own choreography, warming himself up slowly. He and Swannie met in the middle and for a moment, they danced together.

It was simple enough to weave in some magic to their dance. A nudge to the mystic hold on Swannie’s soul, finding the link back to the lake, a touch of mental magic in the form of white smoke gathering around them to make sure he could feel the lake and feel it was safe, and tada! One fully conscious and aware Swannatello.

“Mikey?” He asked slowly as Mikey let the illusions die down.

“Not quite. I’m a different Mikey, buuut your Leo is right over there.” Mikey gestured over his shoulder to where Casey and Leon were waiting.

“Leo!” Like a bullet out a gun, Swannie shot over to Leo and clung to him, getting an awed hug in return. Oh yeah, Mikey was good.

“Nice going, Mikey,” Casey said with a grin. She clapped Mikey on the shoulder. “Wanna stick around with these two for a bit?”

“Yeah, if they’ll have us,” Mikey said, watching the twins get quite emotional as they hugged. “I think they could use some familiarity here, and besides, I wanna dance more with Swannie.”

————

@tmntaucompetition

[strrvnge]

This is a fic request, imagine dr strange x reader, he’s her dads best friend and they both have. A huge crush on each other for a very long time, he finally confesses in an agnsty way when she’s all I thought you cared about me, and it's a slow burn. THANK YOU I have been dreaming about this for nights 😭

I can't explain how much I love thisss!!! Also I'm sorry for taking so long to write this the last past months were kinda weird so... I hope you like this.

This is a bit different from your request, Stephen and reader are already secret dating

(note this request was my excuse to rewatch all too well, also Stephen's kinda an asshole in this)

So this is our table Stephen must be here any moment. Should we have a drink as we wait?"

Your father had been one of the best professors Columbia had ever seen, teaching there for over 20 years with numerous successful doctors being taught by him, one of them being Stephen Strange too.

In fact Stephen was one of your father’s all time favourite students and for a person as handful as your father that meant a lot. Since you were a teenager you could remember your father speaking of Stephen's accomplishments in family dinners, how great, how bright, how much potential he had. He was like the son he never had.

So even after he graduated due to his admiration for your father and your father's pride for him their relationship turned into a very strong friendship. And then you met him.

Of course both of you knew it was wrong. The age difference was one very obvious problem, the fact he went out for beers every friday with the father too but neither of you could deny the tension between you two.

So it started from shy smiles and lingering looks during dinners, to innocent touches in the little of your back and flirty remarks that to an outsider were just two friends teasing each other (the outsider being your father).

It was just flirting. What harm could it be? you thought

It was all innocent and fun until… it wasn't. The hand from the little of your back moved down to your waist, sometimes even turned into a soft squeeze. Nothing uncomfortable, yet nothing that was enough. You soon found yourself looking over your next illicit affair, dressing up in every dress and colour you knew complimented you, your heart ready to explode as you did so. You soon wanted more.

The problem was that you got it. Everything you asked for.

"Oh here he is" You quickly looked at the entrance of the restaurant and there he was. You couldn't help the little smile on your face. It had only been two days since you last saw him but you had already missed him. Always looking great and handsome and then she came in, took his hand and together approached your table.

"Happy birthday you old man!" Stephen hugged him "Sorry for being late. This is Dr Cristine Palmer"

"It's great to meet you,sir. Stephen has told me so much about you. I've read a lot of your work too. Big fan"

You knew she would come too. Your father said she was Stephen's date, Stephen said she was just a colleague. He needed a date for your father's birthday and "Christine is a very good friend that was available for the night. Nothing more" he had said and had kissed your forehead and you believed him.

"So Dr. Palmer, are you working a long time with Stephen?"

You could still feel his hand around you from your last get away weekend. His kisses down your neck, the hot sun in your face as you sat near the lake, the song you danced to in the kitchen could still be heard in the back of your head and if you focused hard enough you could still feel the overwhelming feeling you swore was love.

And despite that, she was sitting opposite of you. Bright like a rey of sunlight, successful, pretty, your father must already love her but most importantly so did Stephen. No matter how many times he denied it to you you couldn't shake off the feeling.

And there he was, sitting beside her, not ashamed or hiding his face. It made you wonder if that would ever be the case with you? If he would ever be as proud and happy to have you by his side,in restaurants and during walks, in family dinners and even in those dull charity events. Introduce you as something more than his friend’s daughter, as something more than a kid he had to drag along.

But then again perhaps things were better the way they were. A close and private relationship is always best even if they meant your friends and family don't even knowing, right?

Some boring conversations and introductions later the food had come and you sat quietly in your seat having lost all your appetite. No one had asked you a question in 45 minutes.

"So what are you studying?"

You looked at Christine quite confused as the whole table went silent waiting for your answer not having heard your voice for long time. You bit the inside of your cheek as Stephen took a sip of his drink and wrapped his hand around her shoulder looking at you too to speak.

As if he didnt know

And then he gave you a small smile

"I'm studying for a PhD in English Literature"

"Oh that's interesting"

"I had hundrwny different children become doctors but i couldn't get mine to do it’’ your father said with a bitter laugh yet loud enough for the whole table to hear his disappointment and you sighed.

"Technically you'll become a doctor too. Just the different kind one" Stephen smiled and Christine nodded sensing the tension.

She looked so pretty and relaxed it made you wonder if she knew what Stephen was doing last weekend, or perhaps for the past six months.

Actually he had developed quite a routine with you that sometimes had you asking yourself how no one had noticed your affair. Calling him every morning before your morning classes, sometimes even having lunch together, meeting you every friday night for your usual secret rendezvous on the other side of the city. You slept at his place, you ate at his place… it was only a couple weeks ago he was looking around apartments with you in New York, searching for somewhere nearby his place. It was only last weekend you ditched your friends for a little taste of him, a getaway weekend he planned just for the thrill of it. You had turned 25 in his arms for god’s sake.

.

"Well that was fun" Christine said to Stephen as you walked out of the restaurant.

Soon the dinner was over and while you tried hard not to overthink how comfortable another woman was with your boyfriend you were in a terrible mood.

"Yes it was" you looked over them and you almost wanted to throw up. You looked as she placed her hand on his shoulder, you looked as she kissed his cheek.

"Are you gonna head home, would you want me to call you a cab?" Your mother asked

"It's alright, I can walk her home" Stephen said and you looked up to him puzzled. "A friend of Christine is gonna pick her up so.."

"Thanks Stephen. Well goodnight" your father said and you started walking to your place.

"Your father was kinda harsh on you today" he finally spoke

"Isn't he always?" You murmured under your breath, your eyes pinned on each of your steps not daring to meet up with his eyes.

"Someone's moody"he said playfully trying to lighten up the mood.

You snapped yourself out of your thoughts and turned to look at him for the first time.

Noticing the sadness on your face he halted, wrapping his hand around your waist to turn you around before quickly realising what he did and let you go. Biting your tongue to hold back the tears you looked at him, the look of betrayal and sadness all over your face.

"What's wrong baby?"

Your stomach felt like a knot, tying your insides so tightly you wanted to cry. You knew you probably just played around and it wasn't anything serious for you to be jealous but honestly you didn't know why it hurted so much watching him with another woman. You just couldn't take it.

"You can tell me" He talked sweetly and the concern in his voice almost made you smile. Sure he kissed her but it was you he walked home, your place he spent the nights to, it was you he cared about. And perhaps it didn't have to be official to make it real, perhaps being a secret made it even more special. Right?

Smiling you stepped closer, shortening the distance between you, before pulling him from the collar and kissed him deeply.,

In the end it didn't matter how many women he took out to dinners if he came back to you at night. He was yours.

"Y/N" he laughed uneasily, taking a step back, breaking the kiss.

"What?"You smiled, still a bit fuzzy from the kiss. He looked at you trying to find the right words before finally saying

"I think it might rain. We should walk a little bit faster," he said and started walking as if nothing had happened. Confused, you looked as he walked away, not understanding what had just happened.

"Y/N?" He called your name, noticing you had stood behind.

"I just kissed you and you talk about rain?" You said and he just stared at you waiting for you to quit it and start walking with him.

Instead you stood at your place stubbornly not moving an inch till he answered you. Taking a deep breath he took a few steps closer to you.

"Not in the street, there are people watching" he whispered as if he was talking about something bad.

"Well people we don't know"you said, firmly staying at your place, puzzled by his unusual behaviour.

Biting his inner lip, as he always did when stressed, he looked around quietly, not daring to look at you.

"say something"

"Come on dont do this"

"Do what? You are the one who doesn't want to kiss me"

"What do you want me to say?" He said angrily "I don't want people to see me making out with a kid Y/N. I have a career"

"A kid?"you laughed, looking at him with wide eyes, not believing what you had just heard. "A kid?" You repeated shocked "Was that what I am for you?" You asked, a sudden feeling of anger and betrayal creeping over you.

"Come on dont act like this. Let's go home" he sighed trying hard to avoid picking up a fight with you.

"No!" You exclaimed, taking a step back.

No you weren't going anywhere. How could he say such a thing? After you've been through together you were everything but a kid. "Why don't you want to kiss me? You kissed her"

"Christine is different" he said and then instantly regretted his words.

"Yes she is. Because she's supposed to be a friend whereas I-"

"You what?" He snapped, slowly getting tired of your act "What are you?" You stared at him in shock, your eyes welling up.

"Fuck" he muttered running his hand through his hair. He took a deep breath before sweetly taking your face into his hands.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry" he apologised, kissing your head but you flinched away. "Of course I want to kiss you. I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I'm sorry"

"How could you say that?" You asked with a bitter laugh.

"I'm sorry" he said again but it wasn't enough. You hated how that made you feel. You weren't crazy, he didn't want to kiss you and you had to know why.

"I'm not a kid Stephen" you said now more serious, taking a step back to look at him.

"I know"

"Then why wont you kiss me?"

"Fuck Y/N why you have to do this!" He exclaimed and but you just stared at him.

"You kissed her" you murmured

"Don't get me wrong you're sweet and beautiful but none of this was serious and you know it" he said, his voice now low and gentle as if he was trying to explain something to a child. And perhaps he was, because you stared at him wide eyed trying to grasp each of his words, yet everything he said sounded so foreign in your ears.

"No I don't. We never talked about it, for me to know"

"We didn't talk about it because there wasn't anything to talk about." He explained, still not understanding why you were acting like that, his ignorance making you even more angry. "We both know it was -"

"What?! A one time thing?" You cut him off, defensively crossing your arms over your chest "Well don't get me wrong but it was more than one time Stephen"

You couldn't believe he thought of you as a child.

"This was never serious and you know it. Actually it's not just not serious it's wrong too" he finally said and you could swear your heart skipped a beat.

You took a couple steps back, looking anywhere but him, trying to hold back your tears.

"Perhaps if you were older" he said trying to soothe you but you just stayed silent.

"Do you like her?" You broke the silence and even in a city as alive as New York your words couldn't be more loud.

You didn't want him to answer that, too afraid of the answer. Yet you knew, somewhat hoped he would say just the thing you didn't want to hear.

"Y/N" his inability to look you in the eyes was enough of an answer.

"Do you like her, Stephen? Is that why you say this?"

"What no! Stop looking outside for the problem-"

"Oh you can say it. Say I'm the problem but don't deny that you love her"

"Love her?! Are you listening to yourself? We've just fucked a couple time, thats it" he said defensevily

"No Stephen no it's not just fucking. It's messages in the middle of the night, calls, parties, she is involved in every aspect of your life. And the worst thing isn't that you allow it, it's that you like it" you said now starting to get angry

"She's my friend and coworker"

"She's everywhere. Everywhere in your life and I'm nowhere"

"This is exactly why this can't work. You're so immature and needy"

"Why am I wrong? Where am I in your life? Who knows about me except for you? What the hell" you exclaimed looking at the other side.

"What the hell" you repeated now talking more to yourself.

You couldn't believe it after everything you've been through, everything you've done for him, all the lying to everyone you knew, the secrets you kept for him. How he let you all those months love and care for him, when he made you feel so special and sacred. What a fool you were.

"This is embarrassing" he said and you turned around and glared at him.

"You're so cruel Stephen. So cruel" you spat "I don't want to see you ever again"